#today i was about to send out a desperate plea to ANYONE who has the special edition to please please sell it to me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

glenncoco4 · 2 years

Text

You Can Count On Me Ch. 17

A/N: Trying to get back into this story. I think I’m gonna go one way but my mind has other plans.

••••

His eyes slowly flutter open as the morning sun rays shine through the window. A groggy smile spreads to his face as he reaches out to the other side of the bed expecting to be met with the warm body of his best friend, but to his surprise, it’s cold and bare. Panic begins to set in as he takes a look around the unfamiliar room at least he thinks it’s unfamiliar, the framed photos on his dresser say otherwise though.

Ruffling his hair, he makes his way into the living room just as there’s a knock at the door.

The confused blonde pulls it open and immediately feels his body go tense at the sight of the person on the other side of the door. His hand balled into a fist. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The older bald man can’t hide the confusion on his face.“What are you talking about? We had plans to go surfing this morning, son. Don’t you remember?”

“No, I can’t say that I do.”

“You really need to stop pulling those 24 hours shifts at the hospital.”

Now he’s even more confused. What the hell is going on here? “The hospital?”

“Yeah. Are you okay, son?”

He can feel the anger boil inside him at the man casually throwing around the word son.“Don’t call me that.”

Gordon looks on, concern shining even more in his eyes at how the shaggy blonde is acting.

Deeks does everything he can to look anywhere but into his ‘father’s’ eyes. He doesn’t know this man. This is not Gordon John Brandel.“Where’s mom?”

“She had to work today.”

And the most important piece of the puzzle he needs to be answered, cuz if Gordon is standing right in front of him and he’s yet to see…“Where’s Kensi?”

“Who?”

“My fiancée.”

“Fiancée?”

“Yes, my fiancée. You know, my best friend since I was 11.”

“Marty, your best friend since you were 11 is Kip. I don’t know who this Kensi is.”

His heart begins to palpitate once again. Only now his vision is starting to blur and he’s losing feeling in his body. “Where’s Donald and Julia?”

“Who?” There’s a beat of silence and Gordon notices the paleness of the blonde’s skin as if he’s about to pass out. “Son, are you sure you’re okay?”

Marty takes a look around his ‘house’ and sees the pictures of him and Gordon with their surfboards at the beach and them and Roberta. No trace of Kensi or the Blyes anywhere. God, this can’t be happening. Shaking his head, he grabs the keys off the counter, walks past Gordon, and jumps in his truck, heading to the only place his heart calls him to.

After a few minutes, he pulls up to her apartment, taking the stairs two at a time before reaching her door and knocking with as much urgency as he has inside him. “Kens? Kens, it’s me, open up.”

The door slowly opens, but the brunette he was expecting to answer doesn’t. Instead, it’s an older man who's pushing about 70. “Can I help you?”

“Sorry, I thought this was my friend’s apartment.”

“Oh, no, sorry, son. I’m the only one that’s lived here since 1976.”

“Do you happen to know anyone by the name of Kensi Blye?” He asks in one last desperate plea.

The old man sends Marty a sad smile. “I’m afraid not.”

She wakes with a startle at the feel of her bedmate tossing and turning, but it’s the whimper coming from his lips that has her jolting upright in bed and immediately running her fingers through his golden locks to try and wake him. “Marty? Baby, what’s wrong?”

The sound of her voice suddenly fills the air and he begins to calm down if only he could find her. “Kens? Kensi?”

“I’m right here. You’re okay. Just open your eyes for me, baby.”

He listens to her words and wills himself to do as she says. As he begins to come to, his eyes slowly flutter open and he’s finally able to let out a sigh of relief when he meets her beautiful mismatched orbs, tears immediately springing to his panicked eyes.

“Oh, baby, come here.” She pulls him into her embrace and he instantly curls into her body, clinging to her for dear life. “It’s okay. I got you.” She whispers, placing a kiss on the top of his head as he nuzzles further into her embrace, head resting against her chest.

After a few minutes his breath evens out, she’s not sure if he’s asleep but she asks anyway.“Wanna talk about it?”

“My dad wasn’t a dick, we never met and when I went to try and find you I couldn’t.”

“Sounds like a nightmare to me, but even so, if your dad hadn’t been a dick and you hadn’t joined the force we would’ve met and fell in love anyway.”

He tilts his head back, meeting her eyes that are illuminated by the moonlight shining in from the window. Home. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

He burrows his head back into her chest, unable to get close enough to her. “Please don’t leave me.”

The whine in his voice breaks her heart. She’s not holding her fiance right now, she’s holding the little boy that had to grow up way too fast. “Never. I’m never leaving you, Martin Atticus Deeks. Never.” Placing a kiss on the top of his head once again, she leans back against the headboard in hopes that he won’t go back to that dark place. “Don’t you worry. I’ll have a talk with dream me later.”

A dream-filled smile curls at his lips at her words as he feels himself slowly drifting off once again. “I love you, Kens.”

Those words will not sound like music to her ears. She wishes there was a word that adequately describes what she feels for this man curled up in her arms because love just seems blasé…but for now it’ll have to do. “I love you, baby.”

••••

The former Marine pulls back from his embrace with his pseudo son who looks a little worse for wear but at least they made it out. He hated when he found Kensi joined NCIS and then it got even worse when Marty decided to join the force, now he had both his kids putting their lives on the line. But at least they have each other’s backs now. “We’re glad you’re okay, son.”

“Me too.” Marty nods in agreement as Don and Julia make their way inside. He and Kensi were both kinda grateful that they had been out of town when he got shot just for the fact that they could’ve been there had their suspects made it inside.

The respective couples make their way into the living room, Don and Julia find their place on the sofa as Kensi takes a seat on the chair, Marty resting against the arm. The shaggy blonde shares a look with his fiancee, which Don instantly notices. Ever since they were young they could have a conversation only using their eyes. Now he didn’t always know what was going on but more often than not, it wasn’t good news. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

“Mom. Dad. I think you better sit down.”

The older couple’s brows furrow in unison, more worried than before. Don shakes his head, he’s never seen these two this startled before. “We are sitting down, baby girl.”

Just as Marty is about to say something, Julia’s phone chimes. “Oh, that’s Bertie.”

“Can you put her on speaker?” Marty asks. He was about to call her anyway. This is something they all need to hear together.

“Why?” Julia’s hesitant at first but something in her daughter’s and soon-to-be son-in-law’s eyes tells her she might not want to know the answer.

Marty takes a deep breath and releases it with a heavy sigh. “This is something you all need to hear.”

“Oh, no.” Roberta’s panicked voice fills the room. Her mind immediately going to a place of dread.

Julia’s brow furrows, feeling as though she missed something. “What?”

“They eloped.” Roberta sounds dejected as she says the words as if it’s the most obvious answer to why their kids wanted to talk to all 3 of them together.

The young brunette rolls her eyes. Of course, that’s the first place her pseudo-mother goes. Wouldn’t be her otherwise. “No, we didn’t.”

“Okay then out with it, we’re not getting any younger.”

“There’s no easy way to say this but-“

“Oh god no. No, no, no, no.” For being hundreds of miles away the redhead’s able to jump to conclusions a lot quicker cuz before Kensi can finish her sentence, she cuts her off, and once again it seems as though it’s not to a good place.

Julia gasps, her eyes going wide as she looks back and forth between the kids. Her mind seemingly tracking with her best friend’s. “You two didn’t break up, did you?”

“Of course not!” The shaggy blonde can’t help but raise his voice when he answers his mother’s absurd question.

Seeing as though this is getting out of hand quickly, Kensi does her best to get them focused back on the problem at hand. “Look, Mama B, you’re gonna need to move back down here for a while, it’s as simple as that.”

“What? You’re joking, right?” The redhead is a little outraged by the demand. “Jules?”

“She’s not joking. The vein is throbbing.” Julia cringes as her daughter grows a little more irritated.

“You two gonna tell me why I have to move back or am I just supposed to bow down to your every command? I have my geriatric sex therapy clients to think about.”

“I know it’s gonna be hard.” Any other time he would cringe at his mother’s work being brought up but the comment is out of his mouth before he can even process it.

“Kens.”

At the sound of her name being called on the other end of the line, she does as previously instructed and turns to her fiancé, pinching his nipple and twisting, earning a yelp from the shaggy blonde.

His brow furrows in bewilderment as he meets his partner’s eyes, confusion written across his face as he rubs the even more sensitive area on his chest. “Hey! What was that for?”

“Your mom.” She shrugs. Last year when Roberta moved up to Seattle to be with Umberto she made Kensi promise that if Marty ever said something crass about her job while they were on the phone, she’d give him a Texas Titty Twister for her since she wouldn’t be able to. Honestly, the brunette never thought she’d get the chance to do it.

“So are you two gonna tell us why she has to move back down here or are we gonna have to guess?”

Marty shakes his head in disbelief that he’s about to break this news to his mom. Especially since she thought she’d gotten out of this nightmare 20 years ago. “Believe me, you’d never guess this.”

“Unless it’s my ex-husband coming back from the dead I think we could come up with something close.” Roberta stays it off hand, huffing a laugh.

Don, Julia, and Roberta wait for the partners to play off the redhead’s statement but the only thing that fills the room is silence.

••••

“I was checking on Deeks, okay?” Sam huffs, unpacking his things from his bag. Also, trying to avoid his partner’s line of questioning at all costs.

Callen quirks his brow. “Checking?”

“Watching his back.”

“You were trying to catch him.”

Sam lets out a deep sigh knowing if he doesn’t answer his partner’s questions he’ll just keep pestering him. “I wanted to make sure he was switching up his routine so this doesn’t happen again.”

Kensi has to bite back a smile as she steps into the bullpen, straight towards her desk as she listens to the pair bicker. She and her partner have had to be very careful this past week to avoid being caught by the ex-Navy SEAL. It wasn’t that they didn’t want people to know they’d gladly shout to the world that they’re engaged but there is this matter of the bet, both counting on their prize when their guy outs them. Luckily it wasn’t too hard seeing as though she’d just park in his garage and wait until Sam left following her partner in the morning.

“And?”

“Got tired of waiting for him to leave home. I guess he slept through his alarm clock.” Sam shrugs, pulling out his laptop.

“Better call him then.” The brunette does her best to keep a straight face as she pulls out her phone and presses his number on speed dial. If only they knew she and her fiancé had this all planned out the first morning they caught Sam creeping outside Marty’s apartment.

Kensi brings her phone to her ear and just as planned a ringing erupts from within the bullpen. Throwing both Sam and Callen off guard.

Sam’s brow furrows as he follows the sound towards his bag. “That's my bag.” He slowly opens it as if there’s a ticking time bomb inside, scooting things around until he finds the perpetrator and pulls it out. “What the...?”

“That'd be for me.” The blonde detective walks up behind the hulking man, snatching the phone right out of his hand and pressing the answer button. “Marty Deeks.”

The brunette’s eyes light up meeting her partner’s cerulean blues. They haven’t pulled something like this since they were in college. She almost forgot how fun it was. “Hey! It's Kensi. How did your phone get in Sam's bag?”

Marty shrugs as if he has no idea. “I must have, uh, slipped it in there while he was waiting in line for coffee. Medium triple, low fat, hold the foam.”

Sam shakes his head in disbelief. “Nope. There’s no way.”

“Clearly there is.” The team leader huffs a laugh.

“You have something to do with this?”

Kensi tilts her head, a smirk playing on her lips as she eyes the ex-Navy SEAL. “Would I tell you if I did?”

Marty walks up to his best friend, throwing his arm around her shoulders as he flashes their teammates a million-watt smile. “That’s right, fellas. Her loyalty lies with me.”

“I’m gonna find out how you did this.”

“Maybe you will. Maybe you won’t.” The detective shrugs, knowing good and well that his best friend won’t give him up for anything.

Irritation written clear across his face, Sam sends a glare towards the blonde before making his way towards ops. “You’re lucky you have Kensi to protect you, Shaggy.”

And just like that, the fun’s over.

#Densi #Densi AU #Kensi x Deeks #Kensi Blye #Marty Deeks #You Can Count On Me #Densi Fanfic #NCIS: LA #NCIS: LA Fanfic

21 notes · View notes

court-of-forever-undone · 3 years

Text

I Knew You’d Come Back to Me

Chapter Two: Slept next to her, but I dreamt of you (Cardan’s POV)

Summary: While homesick and heartbroken in the mortal world, Jude finds a pile of letters on her doorstep that include an official pardon and a love confession from Cardan. What is supposed to be a happy reunion quickly falls apart when Jude is told Cardan has returned to Nicasia in her absence.

Cardan is determined to make it up to Jude.

**This fic is inspired by the love story between Taylor Swift’s characters Betty, James, and August.**

Should you wish to listen: Cardigan | Betty | August

Tags: Multiple POVs, angst and a happy ending, Jurdan, post-wicked king, canon divergence

Masterlist

Read on AO3

Four Months Post Exile

If she has decided that she wishes to stay away and forget about Elfhame, me, then I will forget about her as well. Except that I can’t because for the eternity she has been gone there has been nothing to rid my thoughts of her.

I grab the nearest pitcher of wine, not that they are ever far from my reach as of late, and swallow as much of the tart liquid as I can. At least if I pass out there is a chance I may dream of her, or dream of losing her. But it is a chance I am willing to take.

There is a revel happening, for a reason I cannot remember. Probably honoring some guest that I cannot be bothered to care about at this point. I tend to the kingdom as best as I can for the day, but by the time the dawn is rising I do everything I can to forget the subtle human features that haunt me. The curve of her ear, the flush in her cheeks, the softness of her form.

Since she has been gone there has been an unbearable ache in my chest that only seems to worsen at her memory. I’ve taken back up with a variety of powders that I grew accustomed to at Balekin’s parties. The numbing sensation is highly preferable to the agonizing dread that awaits me in sobriety. At least when time passes differently, I can imagine that she is home again, or at the very least, I can pass more days until she returns.

Her return seems more and more uncertain because despite my letters, she has not come home, nor even responded to them. She has made no inclination that she intends to return, which is ridiculous because she is the queen. When she returns I will have to remember to remind her of all the accusations she threw my way at neglecting responsibilities, meanwhile she has spent months in the mortal world as if waiting for me to come bring her home myself.

I grin at the idea. A trip to the mortal world could quickly end this ridiculous torture. At least I would have the chance to see her in the flesh.

She could get her anger out and then return home with me. At this point, a curse from her lips would sound like music and her fingers curled around my neck would be ecstasy.

In time, that anger might turn to forgiveness and we can all move on from this nonsense.

Present Day

What a dreadful day today has been. I should have returned to my chambers the moment I was given news of a wine shortage because poisoned wine had been found in the castle’s cellars, because that meant I had to suffer through the small council’s bickering mostly sober, followed by hours of grievance hearings from folk. For a kingdom full of people who find me utterly incompetent, they sure do make plenty of pleas to the crown.

Only one hour remains until I can leave the presence of my court and scout for my own wine to drink, poisoned or otherwise.

“Cardan…?” Nicasia said with the air of a question.

I respond with a non-committal sound before glancing in her direction to my left. Again, she had found a seat nearest mine, despite my repeated reminder that she was no longer entitled to that spot. We were nothing beyond friends with a bit of history, even if my entire council, mother, and Nicasia herself thought it was ridiculous to prolong a “land-sea” alliance any longer.

I turn back to the conversation I had been ignoring and make an appropriate response, before quickly tuning them out again. Courtiers have nothing better to do than waste my time.

Admittedly, I could see my advisors’ point and I haven’t exactly fought to deny Nicasia’s advances anymore. Not when the one I want has rejected me entirely, favoring a mortal over me and forsaking our kingdom to my inadequate rule.

If I were a kinder soul, I might have been content to see her happy and adjusted to the mortal world, but I am not. I hate myself for sending her away and I hate her just as much for not wanting to return. Every time someone suggests I marry, I want to scream the truth for the entire kingdom to hear.

I married the mortal Jude Duarte. I did it so she would release her hold over me, but I also did it because I wanted to. I wanted to make her my queen and share this dreaded life with her; the powerful, defiant, occasionally murderous, human woman with all her soft features and perfectly odd ears.

Pride be damned. If she returned, I’d allow her anything. She would never need a geas to command me. She was already a ruler, she deserved the credit. The court would eventually adjust to the idea of a human ruler once they recognized her rule. I would lead the most devoted of her court and in our bedroom, I would further prove to her just how devoted I was by spreading --

Nicasia’s hand sliding over my knee snaps me from my thoughts. The touch of her hand felt sickly wrong considering my thoughts of Jude. I brush her hand aside and purposefully ignore the hurt look on her face. I may allow her into my room on nights where even the wine and the powders cannot bring me peace, but she knows I am far too sober and there are too many people around for that.

At the edge of my peripheral I see a dark shadow approaching. The Roach; always a welcomed distraction usually armed with wonderfully bad news.

“Come to tell me of another attempt on my life?” I murmur as he bows down to whisper in my ear.

“You are needed at once, your majesty” the goblin reports.

At that, I laugh but make no effort to move. “There is a first for everything. What is it?” I am happy to use whatever matter it is as an excuse to leave, but I am curious what requires my attention that the spies could not handle themselves.

“Jude has returned. She is waiting to see you.”

His words hit like the hilt of a sword to the chest. I stand, jumping the courtier closest to me.

“I have matters to attend to. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” I say to no one in particular, trying to ignore the loud pounding in my ears as my heart threatens to beat out of my chest.

I begin to follow the Roach out of the room when I feel a hand on my arm.

“What is going on?” Nicasia asks, her eyes wide. I shake out of her grasp.

“It is a matter of great importance that does not concern you.” Instead of moving away, like my body demands to, I move in closer to her so only she can hear me. “I meant my words in the gardens. Do not show up this evening or any evening again.”

Her mouth fell slightly open as water rimmed her eyes. I didn't stay for her response, instead I turned back and followed the Roach into the tunnel, knowing every step was bringing me closer to Jude. As we stalk through the hallways, I cannot slow the questions bombarding my mind.

Did she decide against her life in the mortal world? Did she miss me as I have missed her? What should I say to her? Will she allow me to embrace her? Should I announce her return tonight?

I have envisioned dozens of scenarios of what I would say or do when she returned, but now that she is only a few steps away I have no plan past seeing her, holding her if I can, to make sure she is real and not my imagination come to life.

We take the final turn that I know leads to the headquarters for the Court of Shadows when Livier blocks the doorway.

“Where is she?”

I watch as her face contorts. She opens her mouth to respond before closing it again, clearly unsure how to answer. I don’t have patience for this. I have to see her now.

“Move Livier,” I demand.

How many months has it been since we had fallen asleep together after our vows? How long has it been that I’ve felt her pressed against me?

“Cardan, wait!” She exclaims as I try to move past her. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

I stop dead at her words.

Before I can speak, the Roach asks for me, “What do you mean? She sent us to get him.”

The pixie nods. “Yes. She went to the royal chambers, but she returned soon after and has stated she does not wish to speak.”

I cannot help the bite to my words. “To speak to anyone, or just me?”

Her silence gives me my answer. “Why?” I spit out.

She is on the other side of the wall. It has been months, what about my room could have made her decide against seeing me? A darker thought crosses my mind; what if she has decided to return to the mortal world again? The idea threatens to break me then and there in the dark tunnels beneath the castle.

Livier looks at her companion with unease.

“Why?” I demand again.

The Bomb swallows before explaining, “When she returned, she asked how long you and the Princess of the Undersea had been back together.”

My desperation melted into cruel pitiful laughter. She was jealous of Nicasia, while she had herself a human plaything. The hypocrisy was grand. I wonder how her face would look when I asked about the man and how she could possibly blame me when she broke our vows first. My laughter quickly fizzled into a frozen anger.

I needed to leave before the weight of the situation could bear down on me. In all my imaginations, I never predicted this. I had hoped she’d run to my arms or more realistically, slap me followed up with a kiss. But never returning and refusing to see me.

I want to beg to see her. Beg for her forgiveness. Beg her to stay even if she hates me.

As a king, I have every right to go wherever I please. But as a queen, she has the right to deny entry to anyone. So I turn in the tight hallway and take the turn that leads to my rooms.

She is home. She wouldn’t see me, but she is home, which meant I could fix this. She might not see me tonight, but I would win her forgiveness and maybe her love too.

****

After almost two weeks of announcements and planning, Jude’s coronation ball will begin soon. I have still yet to see her in person, but through messengers and letters she agreed to rule with me and begrudgingly accepted my proposal for a party to celebrate her return and status.

The actual coronation will not take place for another few weeks due to the time needed to gather all the court’s representatives, but this evening would be a full celebration nonetheless. She is home and that enough is cause to celebrate.

The party will also finally force Jude out of the shadows. I suspect she has moved around the castle quite a bit as I heard she met with her sisters and the Living Council, but she has made a careful effort to avoid me.

There have been several times where I have made it all the way to her door before deciding to leave and giving her the space she demands. For months now, I have had dreams of the moment we saw each other again; I have imagined her vulgar words and sweet touches. Tonight is the last night I can imagine because in a matter of hours I will see her again. For the evening, she will have no choice but to stand in the same room as me. I already announced her as my wife and Elfhame’s High Queen. After this evening, she can avoid me outside of official business, if she wishes. It would be devastating, but no more devastating than how it felt when she was gone.

I pace back and forth in my chambers thinking through all the details of the evening since I have nothing better to do. I dressed long ago in a suit twin to the dress I had sent for Jude. If I thought the last dress I designed for her was stunning, I am not sure I’ll be able to survive seeing her in tonight's creation. I gave the tailor a sketch of a silver gown with a fitted bodice and twin streams of fabric that flow from the shoulders. The hope was to create an illusion of the armor she seemed to favor. I doubt the tailor will disappoint and frankly, Jude could wear an old sack and still be devastatingly beautiful.

Before long I receive the signal to head to the ballroom. As I enter the room, I admire for the first time the servant’s efforts to fulfill my image for the evening. The decoration for a typical revel was nothing compared to the fanfare visible this evening. Long strings of lights and streamers hung from the ceiling and sweet and savory treats of all varieties are piled high on trays. The musicians and other entertainment for the evening are already in full swing keeping the guests happy and amused.

As is customary, the party has been going on for some time now, before the king and now queen enter. The center of the space is filled with revelers dancing and singing. At any other party, I would have gladly joined, but I cannot help the pooling sense of unease as I glance through the crowding looking for a particular face.

I do find the face I am looking for, but not the right person. Taryn is standing on the side of the dance floor chatting with some courtier. Locke is nowhere to be seen, which is for the best. If I notice him even causing Jude to frown this evening, I will have him locked in the dungeons for the night.

I occupy myself with some wine while I wait and use the opportunity to boast of Jude’s brilliance to anyone who decides they wish to speak with me. After about a dozen of these conversations, I finally catch a glimpse of her walking into the room with Vivianne at her side.

My Jude.

I admire her with total abandon. She is absolutely stunning. The movement of her steps causes the fabric to shimmer as it flows obscenely over her body. While I will imagine her in this dress for many nights to come, it is the crown that sits atop her head that captures my attention.

The crowd cheers at her arrival and many bow to her. While she keeps her emotions well concealed, I can see the smallest of smiles appear on her face. She enjoys the recognition. Seeing her now, if I could have given her this from the start I would have.

My heart-stopping queen.

I stay to the side where I am and watch her enjoyment from afar. She dances with her sisters from time to time and speaks to members of the gentry with ease. I know she has noted my presence, even if she has yet to look in my direction. When it is time to address the crowd, it is my turn to avoid her direction. I keep my speech to the folk short, enough to praise her and remind anyone who may be considering treason exactly who Jude Duarte is. At the final toast, I steel myself before addressing her directly.

“Welcome home, Jude.”

Our eyes meet for the briefest of moments, burning with a million unspoken words before she breaks away and turns to address the now-growing crowd around her.

It was the first time she acknowledged me since the morning I sent her away and suddenly the emotion behind that realization hits me all at once. I let my eyes linger on her turned back a moment longer, before downing my drink and disappearing into the gardens to wallow in my own self pity.

I told myself I would be happy if she just returned home, but now I realize how badly each moment I spend away from her aches. In school, I hated the way I longed for her. I had chalked it up to being a disgraceful obsession; one I would have been glad to be rid of whatever that meant for Jude. Now, I am equally obsessed with my mortal queen, but rather than having just my thoughts occupied with her, I feel a feral desperation to be near her, to set things right with her.

It is not uncommon for me to be followed, but when I hear soft steps behind me, the last person I expect to turn and see is Jude. Her brown eyes widened in surprise, as if she was not the one following me. We both stare at each other for a half a second too long, before Jude mumbles something and turns to leave. I take her by the arm before she can take a single step away. I won’t let her get away a second time.

“Ask me how hideous you look tonight,” the words tumble from my mouth before I can stop them.

She turns back to face me. I loosen my hold on her arm, but let my hand linger until she decides to brush it away.

“This again?” She asks, sounding more tired than annoyed. I didn’t realize how much I missed her voice.

Desperate to hear her again, I reply, “I can’t. You look like a knight from a story tonight.” A filthy story, perhaps.

Jude’s cheeks pinken as she shifts away from me. If I wasn’t afraid to lose her, I might have found her unease at my closeness cute.

“I’m glad to see the kingdom is still in one piece.” Jude acknowledges, changing the subject away from her. The distance between us feels infinitely greater than the foot of space physically separating us. I’d give anything to embrace her now.

“I had help,” I state simply. It is the truth. The Court of Shadows kept tabs on everyone, friends and enemies, and the Living Council for all the headaches they cause me, they did their job as well.

“Nicasia?” Jude didn’t try or simply failed to hide the accusation in the question.

I sigh heavily and take a seat on one of the garden’s benches. “Ahh that. Yes, it is about time we talked.” I motion for her to join me, to which she refuses.

“I don’t want to hear anything about the two of you. I understand we married out of political strategy, I won’t hold you to human standards of monogamy.” Jude echos my sigh, “After your letters, I thought… Well, I misunderstood the situation.”

My core twists at the way her voice trembled on the words. When did her pain stop being cruel amusement and instead became a twin knife that hurts us both?

“I meant every word in those letters” I murmured softly. How many times had I imagined this conversation before?

Anger burns across her face, “So, what? You got bored of waiting for me to return from the exile YOU-” she jams her pointer finger into my chest hard enough to bruise, “ordered! Maybe next time make sure your letters are actually delivered or perhaps don’t send me away in the first place.”

I stand, challenging her anger with my own. “You think I wouldn’t have waited? I went to bring you home. I saw you dancing with the mortal. Don’t pretend I was the first to stray.”

I expected more anger, denial perhaps, but not... confusion?

“What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t been with anyone else,” Jude yells exasperated.

“The blond male. I came to see you and…” I trail off when Jude laughs suddenly. “What could possibly be funny?”

She covers her face with her hands, shaking her head side to side, “Cardan, you saw me with a friend. Nothing ever happened between us, ever.”

Shame washes over me like a tidal wave. I had returned from that trip thinking Jude had made her decision to forget me and stay behind. I had walked straight into a revel and drank every drop of wine in sight. Nicasia found me a few hours later laying in the grass outside the castle and when she came near I did the one thing I thought would make me feel better.

Nicasia had been the first to notice me, my first real friend then lover. After Jude, I thought she could be the thing I needed again, but I was wrong. It didn’t take long for me to realize it would never be as it was before because my heart still belonged to Jude. If I had only spoken to Jude that night in the mortal world, none of this would have happened.

“I believed the reason for your continued absence was because you were still mad. I thought I could go to the mortal world and convince you to come home, but I saw you with the mortal man. I did not handle the thought of you with another well. Nicasia was there when I got back and… I let her into my bed, but it was you that I thought of every moment you were gone.”

Several emotions ripple across her face before she quickly schooled her face into the impenetrable mask she wears around others. She wears around me too. I continue before the fear of her rejection can stop me.

“There are no tricks within my words, so please hear me when I promise you, Jude, mortal High Queen of Elfhame, it is you I love. My heart is yours and forever will be. There will be no other’s, and if you choose to have me again, it will only be you.”

I raise my hand to cup her face and watch as her eyes flutter close. My name falls off her lips like a plea and I think it might be the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. I lower myself to meet her soft lips. Her hands soon find the front of my jacket and I don't fight when she tugs me closer to her.

Without breaking the kiss, I use my free hand to grip her lower back and pull her back into the garden seat with me. On my lap, Jude opens herself up to me and I greedily take in more of her, missing the taste of her. I can’t help but continue to caress her body with my fingertips, long after we break to catch our breath. I place a series of kisses along her neck, each more drawn out than the last before I speak the cruel fact still on my mind, “of all my terribleness, the worst thing I ever did was what I did to you.”

It hurts knowing I can speak those words aloud. I reach up to wipe a stray tear that has fallen from her eyes.

“Will you have me again, Jude?” My heart pounds in the wake of the question. I watch as she considers it. Truthfully, I wouldn't blame her if she refused me, but it would be torturous to have her so near and not mine.

Slowly, she gives a subtle nod and I don’t hide my sigh of relief. She stares at me for a second longer, before smiling, “I love you, Cardan."

I capture her lips again, finding her more addictive than the sweetest wine.

“My sweet nemesis, how glad I am you have returned.”

Tag List: @wafflesandschemingfaces

If anyone else would like to join the list, let me know!

148 notes · View notes

raggaraddy · 3 years

Text

I'd Die Fighting

Request from @dramaclub-thin: Mafia BTS where the reader is shot for/because of them.

A/N: Thank you for your request! I really like the concept, and kind of got carried away with the stories and now they're too long. So I'll release them as individuals as I finish them. I hope you like them! ^-^

If anyone else wants to request you can here.

Mafia Bangtan Other parts:

Namjoon

Yoongi

Taehyung

Jungkook

Summary: Pinned down by the cops, you know you're the only one who can stop Jimin from getting himself killed.

Trigger Warnings: Police shooting, gun usage, blood, violence, death, ambiguous ending.

Jimin

Mafia! Jimin

You were in the middle of a scheduled pick up, collecting the gang's share of the profits for the month. There had already been 3 today and all had gone as routine as the times before. You're in a residential building site, parked in one of the driveways, and on a Sunday too, so it's nice and quiet and empty. There was no reason to think that this stop would be any different than the last.

That was until the lights and sounds of police sirens filled the street.

You could only watch on in dread as 4 cop cars sped into the driveway trapping you and the two men into a box. With a 10-foot foundation wall behind you and building walls on either side, you were now realizing that this location wasn't so much secure, as it was an obvious dead end.

Looking back in the side-view mirror, you can see Jimin with the dealer. The guy panics instantly, pulling out his gun without a chance to even aim it before he is blown away. There are dozens of deafening shots all at once and the guy, no older than you, drops down dead.

Barely able to contain your terror, you are not able to do anything but to watch helplessly as Jimin dives behind the rear of the car to avoid the stray bullets.

Slowly, the officers start down the concrete path, closing in tighter, all of them with their guns drawn, all of them looking alarmed and ready to fire. With this many cops, you know neither of you stands a chance. There is no escape here, not without a miracle. But you know Jimin. You know he isn't going to just give in. He's said it before, he's said it often. He might die, but he'll die fighting before he dies in a cage.

The officer coming closest to the car bangs on the hood to draw your attention making you jump. "Stay in the car," He mouths the words.

You can't abide. If you don't do something Jimin is going to get himself killed. He may be willing to die, but you're not willing to lose him. You shake your head hard, swinging the car door open, stepping out tensely with your hands upright. Your arms and legs are shaking with pure adrenaline, relying on nothing but a prayer that they don't shoot you right now.

"Get back in the car." "Stay in the car." "Miss, get back in the car." A sea of loud, demanding voices shout at you all at once. While your survival instinct is telling you to obey the angry people with guns, you ignore them all. Your instinct-your love for Jimin is greater than your fear.

Walking paced steps backwards, you're watchfully eyeing them. They're still pressing forwards, but they have slowed substantially. Half of the group aiming more aggressively, and the other half pointing their guns at you more hesitantly. Calls of stay in the car turn into orders to get on the ground. But you can't, you won't.

Coming in line with the back of the car, Jimin is knelt behind it his gun in hand. "Y/n! What the fuck are doing?!" he snaps, eyes full of worry.

He may bluster to everyone else, but you know the full expression. In private he'd whisper the ending to you and only you. 'I'd die fighting before I ever die in a cage. And I'll spend my life locked up before I ever see you hurt.'

"Get back in the car!" He growls.

"No," you whisper.

"Get back in the car!"

"No."

"Oh for fucks sake, will you just listen to me for once!" He growls, running his hand back through his hair, about to lose any composer he has remaining.

"No!" You shout, your eyes darting from the cops to Jimin and back.

He roars, grabbing your shirt, yanking you down the ground beside him. The commands of the police heighten and start coming more frequently as they steadily begin to entrap the two of you again.

"I'm gonna beat the hell outta you after this." He shouts, reaching over the top of the car to fire a slew of shots, not aiming to hit anyone but just trying to keep the cops away.

"Fine. Do it. But just let there be an after." You plead, eyes filling with tears. "Put the gun down. Please!"

"What?! No!"

"Come out with your hands up or we open fire." A far off voice, coming through a speaker, gives a sickening order.

Jimin's harsh defiant look turns to one of pure fright and frenzy. He knows if they're shooting at him, they're shooting at you.

His hand scrunches in the scruff of your shirt, dragging you flat to the ground further out of harms-way, using the same momentum to launch himself into the open, weapon ready. He gets only 2 shot off before they retaliate with more than half a dozen. Not all connect, one catching his leg, another his shoulder. The hits double him over, making him drop the gun.

It all happens before you are able to even turn back over. The sight of him struck has you screaming, acting rashly and impulsively. You wail his name clambering to your feet, wrapping your arms around his neck. Lifting him upright, you're covering him with your body as much as you possibly can. You don't pause think what might happen right now if the officers began to fire again. You only know you need to save him from them. Save him from himself. Pushing him with your chest, you force him back more and more until his body hits the foundation wall. You turn yourself around towards the encroaching men and women, shoving your weight roughly against him. To shield him, and trying your best to keep him pinned to the bricks so he is unable to act suddenly or foolishly.

Thankfully the cops still seem hesitant to shoot at you. Although you don't trust it for it to last much longer.

Your stomach drops, feeling a warm wetness dripping over the exposed skin on your upper back. Jimin's shoulder is bleeding heavily down you.

This is so fucking bad.

"Stop, please stop, Baby!" You whisper to Jimin, nearly unable to form the words due to the shake in your voice. It's just the two of you opposing 7 armed police officer. You know he hates the thought of defeat, he may even hate you for this, but neither of you has any way of winning this standoff.

His forehead presses to the back of your head, his hot breath fanning down your neck. In the smallest motions, you feel him nod against you.

Raising them in surrender, his arms come out from behind you. There's a sharp pain in your side with a sudden booming sound. It knocks your breath away. You whine, your hand squeezing tighter against his legs, into the fabric of his jeans.

"Y/n?" Jimin knows what's happening before you do.

One of the officers mistook Jimins actions as hostile and got twitchy with his gun.

You gasp slumping back into him, your legs weakening. He catches you, lowering with you as you fall to the floor. "Baby!"

Jimin looks up to the cop who fired. He's memorizing every detail of their face. Already having resigned to hunt them down and make them suffer.

Finally able to inhale, you cry out a low scream, pain spreading from your stomach up. "Jimin," you cry clawing his arm, fingers wrapped in his sleeve.

The swarm of police starts to move more frantically. A knee flies at Jimin sending him into the wall, separating him from you. Without him, you fall flat into the dirt. To your right one of the men is forcing Jimin to the ground with a knee trying to flatten him. But he isn't giving in, fighting and struggling against the weight, desperately trying to get back to you.

Even as there are three of them versus only Jimin, he is still putting up enough resistance that they are unable to fully hold him.

"Y/n!" He yells, as one of his arms is pinned behind his back, driving him heavily into the dirt. "Get the fuck off!" he snarls.

Your throat feels full. You're starting to choke, spluttering blood out and down your cheeks. Your hands clutching your stomach are wet and slippery from blood. The heavy amounts of it pouring from you making you weaker with each passing second.

"Alright!" There's a heavy thump as Jimin stops resisting and is plunged aggressively into the floor. "Just help her! Help her!" With all of the pain and fear you're feeling, it's the pure panic in Jimin's voice that finally brings you to tears.

Rolling your head towards him, his chin is dug into the concrete floor, his skin and clothes red with blood, his face pale and flush, his eyes red and teary with emotion. With him no longer fighting they are able to cuff his hands. They haul him to his feet, carrying his weight. He yells in pain, his cries turning into pleas for you, calling again and again for someone, anyone to help you.

One of the officers comes to your side pressing firmly on your wound making you shriek, spitting out even more blood. They speak into their walkie-talkie describing your state and injuries calling for an ambulance. Explaining that a male will be coming to the hospital by a police cruiser.

In front of you, the others are dragging a limping Jimin away. Being pulled from you he begins his fight again, battling to not leave you. But he's too injured and restricted to combat them much more. Only able to call out to you over and over.

Even as the car doors close on him, you can still hear him shouting your name. Even as you lose consciousness you can still hear the echo of his voice.

#bts #bts fanfic #bangtan #jimin #park jimin #yandere jimin #bts jimin #yandere bts #yandere bangtan #mafia jimin #bts requests #bts reactions #bts mafia imagine

291 notes · View notes

theblackrivergame · 3 years

Text

Hey everyone! Today is my beloved @nyehilismwriting ‘s birthday! So I fleshed out a snippet request she made very jokingly one day for her, and she said I could share it with everyone! ^_^

(it’s a post-game-content Vanator wedding snippet, in case you’re curious hehe)(also please go and wish her a happy birthday!)

Most of it is under the cut cos it’s a bit long!

--------

The door at the end of the corridor in front of you is not particularly substantial. It is, however, extremely well-guarded. You’re in one of the former Wolven Empire’s fancier hotels, which at least means that dotted along the length of the cream wood-panelled walls are various urns and statues that you can hide behind. That won’t help you get inside, unfortunately, but it’s a start.

There’s a quiet, almost inaudible whistle from behind you as Enarra also sidles into the alcove that’s currently sheltering you.

“I think she’s gone,” he whispers, and you nod gravely.

If you’re going to get in there, you’re going to have to time this perfectly. You meet his gaze for a few moments, tense but ready. He knows the stakes here. You trust him to keep you safe.

“I’ll watch your back,” he says, clasping your hand in one of his firmly for a second. “Go!”

You don’t need any further encouragement. You set off down the hall as fast as you can feasibly go without your armour clanking; it’s annoying that you’re stuck wearing this overly formal outfit, but you suppose it’s better than having no protection in case things go wrong.

No sign of the guard coming back yet. That’s good.

Once you get within ten metres of the door, you give up on the stealthy approach and break into a dash for the last few steps. You can’t wait anymore! It’s already been too long!

The second your hand touches the doorknob, however, you feel yourself lifted off the ground from behind, a powerful arm wrapping around your waist and hoisting you into the air.

“Come on, Luminita!” you whine, legs flailing helplessly as she carries you away from the door and dumps you back some ways into the corridor. “This is ridiculous!”

“I can’t believe you thought you could fool me,” she snorts, ignoring your pleas. “After all this time, you think I don’t know what you smell like?”

You fold your arms across your chest, sulking. “I had to do something!”

She pauses for a second, giving you something that approximates a fond, if toothy, smile, and then leans around you, calling out to Enarra. “I can smell you, too!”

“That’s a weird thing to just say to people, Damaschin!” he calls back, from his alcove. “I hope you know that!”

She just shrugs, her feet firmly planted on the ground, making it clear that she’s not going to let you past.

Suddenly, you hear Vanator clear his throat behind her, though it’s muffled somewhat by the fact that he’s behind the door still. “Is everything all right out there?”

As Luminita is distracted, you slip by her and dart over to try and open the door – but it doesn’t work. It’s locked, presumably from the inside.

“Come on, let me in,” you plead. “Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease? This sucks!”

“It’s bad luck for people to see each other on their wedding day before the ceremony,” he replies through the door, but you can tell from the tone of his voice that he’s a little less convinced by this explanation than he was when he and Luminita first brought it up.

Excellent! That means you can wear him down…

“Please, Vanator?” you entreat him, and then grin as you hear him sighing in response.

Luminita, however, also seems to have noticed him wavering, and appears beside you again, growling. “If you even touch that door handle I will eat you both! Neither of you needs any more bad luck!”

“You Wolven are so weird,” Enarra says from somewhere behind you, clanking his way along the corridor.

Luminita gives him an unamused look, though she doesn’t seem offended – probably she’s just generally disappointed in him for going along with your scheme. “Shouldn’t you two be leaving to head to the church?”

“That’s why we’re here,” you tell her, reluctantly letting go of the door. “I wanted to see him before we left.”

There’s a soft thud sound from inside the room that you think might be Vanator hitting his fist against the inside of the door – or maybe his forehead, it’s hard to tell.

“Do not open that door!” Luminita tells him, firmly, and he sighs again.

“I won’t,” he says eventually, though you’re glad he at least sounds like he’s suffering as much as you are. “I’ll see you at the church… it won’t be too much longer.”

“I just need you to know that I hate this,” you tell him, sullenly, and he laughs.

“So do I.”

With that, you direct one more largely toothless glare in Luminita’s direction and turn to leave, though it still really sucks. You don’t think there’s a single Wolven custom you’ve come across that does anything other than make things harder for you.

--------

There were three separate assassination attempts for you to foil on your way to the church, so despite leaving first, you and Enarra ended up arriving somewhat late. You then had to spend about five minutes outside the church trying to get all of the masonry dust off your armour and fixing your hair, extremely glad that you’d all at least known this would be a possibility beforehand.

By the time you get inside, everyone else is already there; it’s a relatively small crowd (for security reasons), so you can pick out your friends among the group fairly easily. Ia is there in the front row, wearing what looks like about half a suit, and Dassine, who looks as regal as anyone you’ve ever seen in her new High Judicar armour, is one row back alongside Annos and a very confused-seeming Omilitís.

Kebisa, who is officiating, is dressed in a gorgeous purple gown and silver ceremonial cape, while Luminita has changed into a sharply-cut scarlet dress uniform, but your eyes inevitably get drawn towards Vanator and become stuck there.

He’s still dressed mostly in black (of course), but you actually don’t think you’ve seen this particular tailored coat that he’s wearing before. The edges on it are so crisp that you wonder if maybe he had it pressed using magic somehow – it feels very at odds with your “the blood probably isn’t too visible against my dark outfit” armoured visage.

He doesn’t seem to mind, though… in fact that’s mostly why you can’t seem to look away from him. He’s just… staring at you. You think that maybe seeing you walk into the church has made the weight of the whole thing you’re both about to do really hit him, and then while you’re thinking that it seems to hit you as well, and suddenly you’re both just staring at each other, dumbstruck.

Enarra elbows you in the midriff sharply, bringing you back to reality. The look on Ia’s face tells you that neither you nor Vanator will probably ever live this down, so you keep your eyes fixed firmly on the altar and just concentrate on walking.

By the time you’ve reached the altar, he’s still staring at you – he’s making that unbearably soft expression he always makes when he has a thousand things he wants to say but can’t find the words. You take a deep breath, wondering if you’re going to make it any decent amount of time into the ceremony before making a fool of yourself again, and nod at Kebisa, who is standing between the two of you looking like she has to try very hard to maintain a stately demeanour and not just hug you both.

She’s just opened her mouth to speak when suddenly Luminita punches Vanator.

It’s not hard, at least not by Luminita’s standards, but it’s enough to knock him forward and send him stumbling into you. There’s a bunch of titters from the crowd; you exchange a look with him as you help him up wondering whether this is another Wolven wedding tradition, but he seems just as surprised as you, and in some amount of pain as well.

“Oh, are we skipping to the objections part already?” Ia interjects before anyone can ask what’s going on, standing up from their seat and pulling something out of their waistcoat pocket that looks like a list. “Because if that’s the case, I’d like to-”

“Shut up!” you hiss at them, desperately trying to keep the whole thing from getting further off the rails.

Your only reward for your efforts is a dramatic smirk; behind them, Annos bursts out laughing.

“What was that for?” Vanator demands, turning to Luminita, who looks affronted by his question.

“You said to punch you if you looked like you were about to start crying!”

“I didn’t mean in the face!” he counters, still cradling his jaw.

Kebisa covers her face with her hands in an unsuccessful attempt to muffle her giggling.

“Gods,” Enarra groans, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. “Can we just get this over with? This dress armour is killing me.”

It’s at this point in the proceedings that the doors into the church are blown off by an explosion.

It doesn’t stop the wedding, of course – your vows are shouted over the cacophony of the ensuing gunfight, and the signing of the marriage register an hour later once everything has calmed down is a suitably dignified moment spoiled only slightly by the fact that Luminita is covered in blood (not hers) and her dress uniform has been shredded into ribbons. All in all, it’s one of the less exciting afternoons that you and Vanator have spent together.

It’s everything you had expected it to be, and yet somehow also more.

#long post #the black river if #RO: vanator #RO: luminita damaschin #RO: ia #RO: annos #RO: kebisa malindile #RO: dassine ult sidi #love them all :chinhands: happy birthday freya!!! <3 #blood mention

69 notes · View notes

mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

Borrowed Time [Din Djarin x F!Reader]

ੈ♡˳‧₊*: • Chapter 4: The Bounty ✩࿐ ˚.✧

Summary: You are the princess of Mandalore, held hostage on your own planet by Moff Gideon and his army of Imperial troopers. Left with no choice, you send out a distress signal; a plea for protection— and who comes? None other than Din Djarin, a foundling of The Death Watch. He, by creed, is your sworn enemy. And where you have asked for his protection, he has been told by his mentor that he must marry you and gain the ability to restore Mandalore to its former glory.

Word Count: 2400>

Warnings: allusions to male masturbation, protector!Din comes with his own warning.

Series Masterlist

Maker, you were beautiful.

The way you slept was so peaceful, basking in the moonlight. Din was surprised you could even sleep that well on top of the rock hard slap he called a bed. He thought the child was cute when he slept, but as Din watched you, revelling in the way your chest rose and fell with every breath, he swore he had never seen such heavenliness in his life.

He’d gotten lucky, he had to admit that. You were the Manda’lor, and you could’ve been a Gungan or a Rodian or who knows what… but you weren’t. You were a human who looked distinctly similar to the illustrations of angels in the fairytale books Din grew up reading. You were brave and fierce, but you were still the same girl who burst into tears only minutes after meeting Din. You were special, different. And Din had never let himself feel this way about anyone before. Truthfully, it scared him.

And Din didn’t get scared either. He was a scarred, battle hardened Mandalorian warrior. Very little affected him... but already, his heart ached for you. He was yearning. He saw the way you were with the child, and the love you had in your heart. He was a fighter, and the way the creed had brought him up, he’d never known any different, but you were a princess. You showed him that you didn’t need to win your battles through violence, but you could do it through peace and love. Just like your mother; duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore.

Din sighed, and raised his hands to remove his helmet. You were asleep, so it was okay. Just for once he wanted to look at you with his own eyes. And somehow, it was even better. Din discarded his gloves and quietly took off his beskar armour and boots, preparing to settle himself down for bed, but as he undressed, he didn’t take his eyes off you once. So so beautiful.

Maybe you and Din were more similar than you first realised, because Din was throbbing by the time he went to the refresher. He leaned against the cool wall and closed his eyes, palming at his erection through his pants. He felt so confined and he was desperate for some kind of relief. But when he closed his eyes, he wasn’t seeing the usual darkness. All he could see was you.

-----

You weren't sure how long you had been asleep for. But it was the distinct smell of bone broth that woke you up. Your eyes slowly fluttered open and it took you a few moments to focus your vision, getting used to what was about to be your temporary (yet still new) home. You stretched your body and yawned, bringing your fists to your face to rub your eyes.

“You're up,” Din commented, his modulated voice stating the obvious. You jumped when you saw the beskar clad figure standing at the edge of the bed—just watching you. How long had he been watching you? “There's a bowl of bone broth waiting for you.” he informed you and you scrunched up your nose at the unpleasant smell. “What? You don't like it?”

No. Was there anyone in the galaxy who actually liked bone broth? You assumed it was just something the settlers on Sorgan ate because they had no other choice, and it was cheap. Did the Mandalorian really drink bone broth? He’d already sounded irked and you had just woken up.

“Uhm…” your voice trailed off, your gaze flicking between the bowl of soup and the Mandalorian. "Do you have any fruit? Sourberries, maybe?" You tried your best to dodge his question and sound polite, but judging from Din’s reaction, you mustn’t have done a good job.

Din scoffed, before taking his rifle out of the armoury and attaching it to the holster on his back. What did he need a rifle for? "No. You think I have the credits for that? Sorry princess." He grumbled. And with that, he disappeared into the shadows of the ship.

You felt bad. You didn't mean to offend him, although you could completely understand how your comment came across. Ungrateful. You weren't ungrateful, it was just… bone broth was what you fed to the palace bluurgs. It wasn't something you ever voluntarily chose to consume. You looked back over at the steaming bowl of soup and sighed. Why did you even feel bad? You barely knew him. You were the literal princess of Mandalore and - no, you wouldn’t feel bad for a child of the watch. If anything he should feel bad for the actions of his people and what they had done to yours. What they had done to you. You slipped out of Din’s bed and picked up your bowl of broth before heading down the hull of the ship, wanting to find him and apologise. He’d given up his bed for you, he was making sure you were well fed, the least you could do was say sorry.

But he was nowhere in sight. You’d noticed the ramp of the ship had been lowered, and a stream of natural sunlight was blazing into the ship. You had landed. Were you on Nevarro? Had he… had he left you without saying anything? Surely not. You padded into the cockpit only to find Grogu sitting in the pilot seat, playing with a small steel ball. He threw it between his three clawed hands and giggled every time he caught it.

“Hey kid,” you sighed, slipping into the co-pilot seat. “Where did your dad go?”

Grogu garbled a long winded response and you listened closely. No way. He was a bounty hunter? Kriff… you’d somehow managed to tie yourself into a bounty hunter’s affairs. You cursed yourself but continued to listen to the child’s explanation. Din had gone out to earn some quick credits, goodness knows what for. And he’d left Grogu on the ship with strict instruction to watch over you. You couldn’t help but laugh incredulously. He’d asked his child to make sure you wouldn’t get into trouble.

“He can’t just leave me on the ship and not say anything,” you laughed to yourself in disbelief, letting your head fall in your hands. The birds outside the ship tweeted and for Din to have left the ramp open, you knew that Nevarro must have been a safe planet. At least for the most part. “Do you come here much?” You asked Grogu, who nodded his head in affirmation, You hummed, picking up the child and nursing him on your lap. “Does your father always expect people to follow his rules?” you asked slyly, and even Grogu giggled. “Come on. Take me around Nevarro little one. I wish to explore.”

It wasn’t like you gave Grogu a choice, but you learned that he was practically just as mischievous as you were, and Din was wrong to leave a child in command of you. He was wrong to leave anyone in command of you. You’d lived on Mandalore your whole life, not once ever leaving the planet. Now you were finally further into the outer-rim than ever before and Din just expected you to stay on the ship? Not a chance. You picked up the child and carried him outside and oh stars - it was beautiful. The golden sunlight radiated warmth and you overheard the happy sound of children excitedly chirping away. Din had parked the Crest dead centre in the middle of town, it seemed, with stalls and vendors on every corner, peppering the streets. You hummed in contentment, and sat down on the edge of the ramp with your bowl of broth and Grogu.

“Do you like this?” you asked, mixing the broth with the spoon Din had provided you. Grogu nodded his head happily and you laughed. “Does Din eat it?” Grogu nodded his head even more and his lips curled into a smile when he realised you were about to try the soup. If both Din and the child ate bone broth regularly, then it couldn’t be that bad…

And it wasn’t, not really. You could get used to the taste. The odorous smell was more off putting than anything else. So, without fuss, you ate the bubbling brown substance and discarded the finished bowl back inside the ship. You weren’t going to be gone too long, just long enough to meet the townsfolk and get a feeling off the planet. You hadn’t been this excited about anything in a long time.

-----

This was never part of the plan, but in the 24 hours of knowing Din Djarin, you had softened him considerably; more so than what the Mandalorian would like to admit. He didn’t plan on being gone long. But he still wanted, no, he needed, to get on your good side if he planned on asking you to marry him. The thought of winning you over through a façade of lies didn’t sit right with him. He never had a strong moral compass but he believed that you should at least marry for love. But then again, love was a foreign concept to him. He’d seen it before, in his parents, but that was just a distant memory. It felt like a lifetime ago, and if the Armorer told him to marry you, he had to do it.

It wasn’t a choice. It was his duty as a Mandalorian.

“I need a quick job.” Din announced, sliding into the booth opposite Karga.

“Mando! Good to see you. Kid not with you today?” Greef Karga, esteemed magistrate of Nevarro asked.

“He’s on the ship,” Din shrugged casually, knowing that the child’s safety - and yours - would be guaranteed as long as you just stayed put. “I need a quick job. Something simple and on Nevarro.”

Karga scrunched up his eyebrows in bewilderment. “Coming from the hunter who normally takes four pucks at a time, this is new,” he chuckled. “But I don’t have anything of the sort. What’s it for?”

Din hesitated, having no reason to be dishonest but yet not wanting to explain more than necessary. “Sourberries.”

This was a foolish plan, but if you wanted sourberries then Din would get you sourberries. He had this primal urge in him to appease you. To win you over.

Karga blinked before erupting into a fit of belly laughter. Din shuffled around in his seat, clearly uncomfortable.

“Sourberries? Let me guess, is that code for something? I get it Mando. Us men have needs!” Karga laughed. “I do have one puck on Nevarro. Brand new. High paid. Imperial bounty," Karga hissed once his laughter settled down, but a smirk still played upon his lips. "You could buy a whole sourberry forest with the credits from this bounty.”

“You’re doing Imperial work, after everything we’ve been through?” Din frowned, shaking his head in disappointment. “Does Cara know?”

“It doesn’t matter. The Imps are the only ones who will pay Guild rates. Besides… I really didn’t have a choice. The guy who came to see me was an ex-ISB officer. Said he’s looking for a runaway princess. Figured the guy she ran away with is a settler on Nevarro. Told me he has a very distinct look but didn’t provide much more information.”

Din swallowed, his heart sinking in his chest. It couldn’t be, could it?

“What other information do you have?” Din countered. He had to know. He had to know so he could return back to the Crest and warn you. Maybe Nevarro wasn’t as safe as he’d predicted after all.

“Will you accept the bounty?” Karga asked. “Otherwise I can’t-”

“Listen, I need to know all that you know.” Din said sternly.

“Unless you’re willing to accept the puck, I can’t give you that information.”

Dank farrik. He couldn’t accept a bounty on you… he was your protector. What would he even tell you?

Once upon a time, he would’ve felt comfortable enough to explain his situation to Greef but if he was working with the Imperials again… maybe he wasn’t as trustworthy as Din once believed. He understood where Greef was coming from, to a degree. You were living during difficult times, but if he learned that you were the bounty and you were literally just a mile away, waiting on his ship, he’d have no choice but to notify this ex-ISB officer. If it meant Greef would earn his coin, Din wouldn’t put betrayal past him.

He needed the puck. He needed the puck because if he didn’t take it, another bounty hunter would. Of course Din wouldn’t let anyone even get near you, but if it was an Imperial bounty, he knew they’d just keep coming and coming. The Imperials didn’t give up easily. They didn’t give up with the child and they wouldn’t give up on you.

“I’ll take it.” Din announced after a moment of contemplation.

“Excellent!” Karga grinned, fishing out for the puck. “What I can tell you is this. She’s the princess of once of the very few Empire ruled planets. Could be Lothal, Naboo, Dathomir, maybe even Mandalore…” and then Karga began to describe your appearance. Everything from your eye colour, hair colour, skin tone… he had you to a T. This was not good.

“Do you know why she ran away?” Din asked, trying to swallow away any fear for your safety.

“I don’t ask questions like that,” Greef responded, shooting the Mandalorian a strange look. Din should have known better. “But they’re almost certain she’s on Nevarro so hopefully you won’t have to look far. I have no doubt a man of your talents will be able to bring her back to the Guild before nightfall, right?”

“Right…” Din replied, a little too quietly. “Dead or alive?”

“Alive only. No reward for a cold body,” Greef said strictly. “Good luck Mando,” Din was going to need more than just luck. He took the puck and stood up, Greef following from behind. “Hey, for your journey,” He smiled, handing the Mandalorian a bag of sourberries. “No charge. I’ve just… missed you.”

Din made a small noise of gratitude although it wasn’t received through the modulator, before taking the berries from his friend and leaving the cantina. It really was warm outside, so much so, wearing the beskar was even more uncomfortable than usual. He had to go see Cara, but suddenly, it was very unsafe for you to be on the ship if Imps were roaming the town looking for you. Thankfully, Nevarro had the perfect hiding spot for you; the covert. Only Din didn’t know how much the other children of the watch would take a liking to you… or you them. But neither of you had any other choice.

So when Din returned to the Crest, with sourberries and one hand and your bounty puck in another, he was mortified to see that neither you nor the child were there. His heart sank into his chest and his movements became erratic as he called your name and searched every crevice. Had they found you already? Had they taken the child? Oh no no no -

On impulse, Din fished into his armoury and grabbed more weapons, including explosives and detonators. He didn’t want this to get messy, but if the Imperials had taken both you and Grogu, there wasn’t a chance he’d go down without a fight. He’d have them begging for mercy. No one gets on the wrong side of Din Djarin.

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33 @sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor

Borrowed Time taglist is tagged in comments

Let me know if you wish to be added to my permanent taglist or my Borrowed Time taglist.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #baby yoda #grogu

310 notes · View notes

nohoney · 3 years

Text

Tell Me (When You’re Ready) 4.4

note: whoo finally back from a much needed break from the us series. went through a little bit of a lull where i had to step back and take some time apart from the series but i’m back again. this is something of an epilogue but also not? it essentially concludes part 4.

Us Series

warnings: 18+, drugs, toxic relationships, a bit of smut but nothing too descriptive

4.1 ✧ 4.2 ✧ 4.3 ✧ 4.4

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ✧

It’s a cold autumn night when you finally say it, when you finally tell them but it’s also done as a backhand to someone.

You convinced yourself that you did it because it was time to say it, you have heard both confessions so you needed to say it back.

In truth… you said it to hurt someone but you felt it justified.

You’re not a needlessly cruel person, you can get a little snippy and sarcastic but you’re not particularly mean to anyone. You’re too nice sometimes, stretching your patience out for certain people that took advantage of your kindness and that actually includes Touya but you have a strong relationship going so of course you let it slide with him. The point is, in general you’re just a decent person that doesn’t feel it’s necessary to put negative energy out in the world.

But you make an exception just this one time.

You just had to show her because clearly she wasn’t getting the hint.

Oh hell, who were you kidding?

They weren’t hints, Touya was literally telling the bitch to fuck off.

“The fucking cunt tried to force my zipper down so she could suck me off, almost had to knock her ass out when she wouldn’t get off me the last time.” Touya is pressing an ice pack to his cheek and glaring out into the view of his balcony, a cigarette in his free hand. You stand inside the apartment, the screen door shut but the sliding glass door leaves just a crack so that you can still talk to him, not wanting to breathe the smell of cigarettes directly. Keigo stands behind you with his arms looped around your waist, also apart of the conversation.

“And what, she smacked you afterwards when you pushed her off?” you ask as you lean your weight against Keigo.

“Of fucking course, you think I’m holding this thing to my face for fun?” Touya snaps at you before taking another drag.

Keigo squeezes his arms around you when you tense up, a silent signal for you to let Touya’s attitude slide. Understandably he’s pissed but you take it personal when he gets annoyed like this, like you feel like it’s your fault even though you had done nothing wrong. But Keigo reassures you by leaning down to whisper in your ear, makes it look like he’s just giving you a kiss to your temple, tells you to just let him be upset for the time being.

An eightball sits on the table, a little crumpled in its little baggy but otherwise not a drop was spilled when Touya snagged it back from Mai.

Touya’s whole body tense, his jaw is clenched, foot tapping repeatedly, and eyebrows pinched in annoyance. He’s muttering to himself, “Shoulda’ just cut the bitch off…”

You don’t really like to be around Touya when he’s tense like this, you’ve tried to calm him down a few times but sometimes he’s just too much for you to handle. So you let Keigo take the reigns and step away to go to the bedroom to give them some space. Touya’s still too pissed but he does utter out a quiet ‘alright doll’ in acknowledgement while Keigo kisses your cheek before joining Touya outside on the balcony. It’s best that Keigo help Touya cool down, more likely they’d both come to you when the mood was better.

And as you go into the bedroom and shimmy out of the pants you wore today, Touya’s phone vibrates on the nightstand. One notification… two notifications… three— wait it’s, four.

“Geez, who’s blowing up his phone?” you ask yourself quietly before picking up his cell. You unlock the preview screen of the phone, knowing Touya’s password since he gave it to you, and you sigh when two more notifications pop up. And it’s all from the same person, the whore that Touya decided to drop not too long ago. Mai’s sending message after message, apology texts for forcing herself on him. Pleas to not cut her off from the coke she’s come to rely on to get her through some rough days, his is the best and she won’t settle for anything that’s not his anymore. Desperate texts about cocaine then shift to her trying to reel him back to the arrangement they had before. You can’t help but frown that Mai is uselessly trying to seduce your boyfriend back into fucking her.

“C’mon, he already made it clear he doesn’t want you anymore.” you mutter to yourself as you look over the messages. “Fucking bitch…”

Very unlike you to use those kinds of words, Touya is rubbing off on you.

Keigo’s admitted to you in secret that Touya is coming pretty close to blowing his lid with this chick. And with what happened today, you wouldn’t be surprised if something was done about it. Touya obviously wasn’t going to go back, this is the first time in the relationship that he’s officially winding down the list of girls he still keeps to fuck, finally choosing one and tossing her out the window so that he can eventually just focus on you.

It’s annoying and a little hurtful still that after a year Touya is just now finally starting to get rid of the whores, but it strangely makes you happy at the same time knowing that he’s finally done it. You wish you knew the reason why Touya still bothered with them but he’s made it up to you, promised you that you’re his number one and that no one else means as much to him as you do. And what can you do but believe him, doing what he says and what he wants because you honestly don’t want to be without him either. Your body still tingles at the quiet murmur of Touya finally telling you he loves you when he thought you were fast asleep. Keigo’s own bold confession also brings a smile to your face and you think how much you love them.

Ding!

You frown at the notification.

It’s a nude.

You set down Touya’s phone and try to calm your nerves.

His phone notifications are suffocating and you don’t want to be in the apartment anymore, you feel like there’s something important you have to do. So you march out of the bedroom and head towards the sliding door, peeking your head out just a tad. “Hey, I’m gonna head back to my place okay?” you tell them, your heart beating a little fast in your chest and trying not to appear antsy. You can’t help thinking that what you need to do has to be done right away, that you might as well strike while the iron is hot. You have an excuse ready to use when Touya asks why but it lies useless on your tongue instead.

“No, stay here.” Touya commands without looking at you.

“But Touya, I really need-” you try to plead with him but you’re cut off once again as he says no once more. And normally you’d listen after the second time, especially considering the mood he’s in, but you’ve got adrenaline pumping in your veins and a mission on your mind that you just have to get done. “Touya, just let me-”

He doesn’t want to hear anymore, when Touya says that you stay, you stay. He pushes the sliding door open too hard, the glass rattling and startling you. He flicked the cigarette he was smoking over the railing, that same hand holding your jaw and squishing your cheeks a little roughly. Cigarette smoke lingers on his fingers as he holds you still, so close to your nostrils and you whine from it. You instantly cower and the adrenaline of determination is replaced with apprehension. You don’t like Touya’s temper, whether he’s directing it at someone else or you.

“Touya, be gentle.” Keigo says from his spot on the balcony, standing a little straighter and ready to get in between if needed.

“When I say stay, you stay. Understand?”

There’s no arguing with Touya, not when he’s got such an angry look in his eyes.

All you can do is nod your head and look down in submission. Never mind the reason why you were so eager to leave, that essentially you were being told to stay here without your permission, but in your mind you excused it. Whatever you wanted to do, it could wait, that it was better that you think about it first instead of just recklessly jumping into it. Touya was doing you a favor telling you to stay at his place without him ever knowing it.

Oh how everything Touya did change your thinking now, considering him more than your own feelings. But you think it’s okay, it’s okay because you love him and you understand him, loving someone means understanding the rough patches of who they are and knowing underneath that the things they do sometimes they don’t always mean it. You have to understand it and love it, even if it means letting your cheeks hurt from the way his fingers gripped into the tender flesh.

“I’m sorry Touya…” you whimper pitifully and look up at him.

Touya regards you quietly for a moment before telling you, “Go take a nap.”

He releases your face from his hold but it’s not gentle how he pushes you away, it almost makes your eyes water and that’s when Keigo steps in to smooth over everything.

“C’mon songbird, I’ll tuck you in alright?” Keigo’s leading you to the bedroom and gently shutting the door behind him. Touya should be the one reprimanded for treating you a little roughly but instead Keigo tuts gently at you as he brings you into a hug, “Baby, you know better than to test Touya like that. What’s gotten into you?”

Your shoulders sag in his embrace but you return it nonetheless. “I… don’t know. I’m sorry…”

His hand rubs your back soothingly and he kisses the top of your head, Keigo’s comfort easing you just a little bit. But even as he reassures you with sweet words and to just let what happened with Touya slide for now, you still think of what you were planning to do earlier if you hadn’t been commanded to stay here at the apartment. It would have to wait until you were out next time with neither of the boys with you.

And you think to yourself how much you love them, the echoes of their confessions making your heart bloom in your chest and the messages from Mai solidifying what you had to do for yourself.

It’s something you’d never done before, would never consider under the circumstances you’re putting yourself under but you needed to make a point.

Yumi is hosting another party at her house and you ask her what time the party starts, just like last time that she invited you but lets you know that your boys are welcome to come as well even though she’d like it to be just you. There’s a little bit of disappoint in her voice when you tell her Keigo and Touya will arrive with you, obviously wanting you to come alone so that she could have time with you, but you swear that you’ll treat her to brunch next time and it will be just the two of you. She seems accepting of it and cheers up at your proposal and then hints that she would like to re-up if Touya is going to attend anyway.

Touya comes into the bedroom after an hour and presses a kiss to your temple when you sit up against the headboard and asking how you feel. He doesn’t offer an apology from before, not that you were expecting it from him anyway, but he throws in ‘babydoll’ when he speaks to you, that subtle way of letting you know that he is trying to make up with you from before.

“Hey, let’s go to a party this weekend.”

“Don’t know if I’ll feel like it…”

He says he’s not in the mood but it swings in your favor when you pout at him and give him sad eyes, giving in simply because of what happened before. He’s not a social person, that much is apparent, but he’ll let himself be towed around by you if you’ll make it worth his time later on. And Keigo will be there alongside too to offset him, he’s very much included in what you plot in your mind.

And if you know the boys as well as you think you do, they’ll fall exactly into place where and when you need them.

You didn’t want to seem hasty by the time you arrived to the house, quickly greeting Yumi and a few other friends you haven’t seen in a while when you walk through the door. Keigo fits in naturally with the crowd while Touya remains standoffish with a disinterested gaze. He holds a beer in his hand and has an arm slung over your shoulders, not really used to being at a gathering and not conducting business.

He hates it but he at least came for you.

Yumi confirms for you that Mai is around and offers to act as a buffer if she were to come within vicinity of you, which you politely decline and say that you can handle it.

It does require a bit of liquid courage, a few shots of liquor to dull your nerves and seek her out.

Not that you had to look very far anyway.

Mai kept a respectable distance watching you and Touya from afar.

So she’s surprised when you approach her, your glazed eyes that tell her that you’re just a little drunk, that it hides the truth that you know why she’s bitter and directing it towards you. That it already hurt to know you were chosen by the man she still wanted but to see it right there in front of her was salt in her wound. But you told her that you could soothe her, that it doesn’t have to be like this, if she really wants back in then just play nice with you and maybe he would reconsider her again.

You instill a hope that maybe she can be able to reach out to Touya again, that in the way Keigo and Touya share you, that you’re willing to share him with her.

So you kiss her, your first kiss with a girl, a girl that hates you but cups your cheek as she leans into the kiss.

A girl who’s feelings you’re about to crush.

Touya and Keigo always have eyes on you, you know that ever since that party where you mixed for the first time and ran off, they don’t let you stray very far. Surprised doesn’t even begin to describe their shock when they find you lip locked with Mai, with the first whore that Touya decided to drop and was trying to get away from. So he approaches and turns your head towards him, his voice low as he asks you, “The fuck are you doing?”

“Makin’ out, s’okay yeah?” your words are a little slurred but you reach one hand to his shirt to pull him closer. “Make out with us baby?”

A beat of consideration.

Even Mai waits apprehensively but you have no worries because you know that Touya will say…

“Room, now.”

Keigo naturally falls in too, the four of you led up to Mai’s room in the house, heavy breaths and little moans from her that grate on your ears. You push it out of your mind that she’s made those sounds for Touya before you came along, been on his dick after buying buying a gram or two off him, but that she won’t be around again. It occurs to you that possibly what you’re about to do might piss off Yumi because this will definitely go around and you might potentially lose her as a friend but…

This is more important.

It annoys you a little too much how Keigo kisses Mai, seems a little too comfortable with his hands going up her shirt while Touya’s sucking a bruise onto your neck. Unlike Touya, he’s been faithful this entire time so it irks you to see your other boyfriend kiss her with just a bit too much energy. It bothers you but you know that you’ll get his attention with just a call of his name, “Keigo… Kei… kiss me.”

So he does, still groping at Mai while he leans towards you and tenderly presses his lips to yours. Under the impression that you were switching off to Keigo, Mai attempts to make her way towards Touya but you pull him towards you before he can even turn his head towards her when she whines out, “Dabi…”

Dabi… it’s almost foreign to you that a few months ago that’s what you called him.

No one else would ever get that privilege.

It’s just you that gets it.

Just you and them.

Us.

And it slips out earlier than you had expected but it falls naturally, “I love you…”

It stuns them for a moment but the boys know that they don’t have to fight over who you said it to because it was meant for the both of them.

It stuns Mai too, caught off guard to be apart of an intimate moment. To witness how Touya utters his own devotion to you, kissing you deeply and pushing her away and she knows that you set her up to look like a fool when you peak your eye at her with intention. And it’s not just one person you say it too, Keigo voicing it aloud as well and leans in to have his turn while she still stands stunned. It’s the most cruel thing you’ve ever done to someone else, right there in their own space too where she sleeps, reads, and does god knows what.

She gets the picture now.

Back off.

If you really wanted to be even more cruel and drive a stake through her heart, you’d kick her out her own room and let the boys have their way with you in that moment, you know she wouldn’t be able to overwhelm all three of you. You mildly entertained the thought of tainting the space that belongs to her and tarnish it even further with your bodies on her bed.

But you’re not looking to do that, you just needed to let Mai know that she would never get Touya back.

Well not that she ever had him in the first place but the message was sent regardless.

“Wanna be in our bed.” you whine to them.

No further instructions needed, you leave the party with a quick goodbye to Yumi who gives you a questioning look when she sees you coming from the bedroom hallway but says that she’ll see you later.

Keigo’s place is the closest to reach and it’s all a blur as you’re undressed by both boys and push you on the bed. You’re not quite certain where your body starts and theirs end when they join you, but they fuck you with a sentiment that was completely different than all the other times before. Better than the first threesome, better than when you all rolled together to fuck, it felt different and it felt right.

“Love you, fuck I love you.” Keigo hisses behind you, one hand coming up to hold your throat while the other pets your clit.

“Fuckin’ love you…” Touya whispers, his nails digging light crescent marks into your skin as you squeeze around him.

It was always in the atmosphere but unsaid, not until everyone was ready to voice it out loud.

And you were finally ready to say it back.

“I love you.”

#dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks x reader #tw toxic relationship #us series

51 notes · View notes

scintillasofbeomgyu · 3 years

Text

-ˏˋ⋆ ̥ 𝗳𝗼𝘅'𝘀 𝗵𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗲𝘁𝗵 – part one: the beginning (cyj)

pairing: choi yeonjun x fem!reader x kang taehyun

genre(s): fantasy, period!fic, nine-tailed fox!yeonjun, crown prince!taehyun, angst, fluff here and there

word count: 4,1k

the spirit who had been guarding the south side of the mountain, a nine-tailed fox, is requested by the crown prince of Joseon to make an appearance before his betrothed. though reluctant at first, he agrees on condition that their meeting is fleeting and under the guise of a mask.

an: this was inspired by the kdrama ‘tale of the nine-tailed’, hence the similar elements. events may or may not be historically accurate. ++ i’m really anxious about how this fic will be taken, but i’ve put too much effort in to let it sit in my drafts ksks. might post the part 2 if you want! let me know what you think!

(finally posting this as a gift for the immense support i’ve been receiving! thank you! ❤️ and low-key bc sumi has been thinkin about kitsune yeonjun)

Sealed by the promise of two youths many moons ago, your betrothal to the crown prince of Joseon was something which was not unbeknownst to anyone in the country. Many young ladies, noble and common alike, coveted your fortune and would make desperate pleas to the gods to have half the luck you did. And perhaps anyone else would have boasted about how fate had favoured them, but you didn’t.

“(Y/n)? Are you listening?” his highness asked, raising an eyebrow as you continued to flip through the pages of a book you had picked up from his desk. You placed the book back where you found it and turned to look from the pavilion, out across the pond and above the canopy tops to the mountains in the distance.

What had intrigued you about the palace was not the status, nor the riches, nor the people who dwelt within it. After all, you preferred to be neck-deep in books of history and literature, poetry, and volumes which questioned which was myth and which was reality. Your father, though, was as open-minded as anyone else was about the education of women at the time – not at all. So you had resorted to killing two birds with one stone; appeasing your father by agreeing to meet with the prince meant getting your hands on books you wouldn’t be able to find anywhere else.

But today, you had an entirely different motive.

“Do you believe in mythical beings, your Highness?” you asked, turning to face the prince who stared back at you, wide-eyed.

The seemingly sudden question had him taken aback.

From the very first meeting, you had puzzled Taehyun. Like you, although he knew he had to do it some day, the topic of his marriage hadn’t interested him. Or rather, it was more important to him that the person he would one day wed had the same interests as he did – the good of the people and the flourishing of the country.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t expect you to be as crazed about love and titles as the other noblewomen of Joseon were, at first. So he was pleasantly surprised when you had arrived at Gyeongbokgung, not batting an eyelash in his direction. But when he had attempted to open discussions about politics and solving the exorbitant taxes expected from the people, he’d find your nose buried in one of the books from the pile you sifted through by his desk.

Taehyun was already struggling to figure you out, and now you asked him this.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he cocked his head to the side, folding his hands behind his back. “have you come across something thought-provoking?”

“It’s quite straightforward; a yes or no question.” you shrugged, smirking as your eyes caught the not-so-discreet glances his personal guard and the eunuch had given one another.

Ultimately, to have relations with the throne was not all sunshine and roses. For your own protection, and to ensure you were not used as leverage against the king, your father had sent you very far from home – to Southern Jeolla. And it was upon your arrival back in Hanyang, after many years away, that you had come to hear the rumours which had surrounded the royal family.

A gumiho. A nine-tailed fox. The spirit which protected the forest. A being which could not be trusted. The one to whom the country owed it’s prosperity. The one at whose hands the country could fall into havoc.

You knew better than to believe the words of storytellers and self-proclaimed chroniclers. It was the fact that they had all said the same thing which had perturbed you. It left this unsettling feeling, which just wouldn’t fade away. So you read book after book, folklores and retellings, each and every documented account of those who had insisted they had seen the man with ‘eyes which glowed like hot embers even in the light of day’. It nearly drove you insane.

That was, until just this morning, when you had overheard the court ladies chattering away in hushed tones about how so-and-so had come to see the prince again, how much so-and-so frightened them, and how they wondered for how much longer the king would leave the future of the kingdom in the hands of such a wild-card.

You turned to look out beyond the trees again, a sudden gush of wind rattling their branches and sending their leaves sailing through the air. “Let me meet him. This... friend of yours, your Highness.”

“No.”

Taehyun nodded, taking a leaf from the shrub in front of him between his fingers, “I thought you’d say that.”

Yeonjun huffed, taking a bite out of one of the freshly picked apples the prince had brought along with him on his visit (as some sort of incentive, he supposed). The scowl he had adorned etched deeper into his face as Taehyun’s proposition crossed his mind a second time. He should have left the boy to the wandering spirits all those years ago, is what he thought. The fact that Yeonjun had allowed him to follow him around and meet with him must have made him cocky.

In the beginning, he trusted them. Yeonjun had spent thousands of years cultivating the forest and protecting those which lived beneath it’s canopy. He had taken an oath to never allow any harm to come to it, and as a sort of by-product, had taken up an arrangement with the king to hand over to him any miscreants who chanced into his territory. And for hundreds of years, this agreement was honored. King after king had revered the spirit who protected the people, throwing grand festivals in his honor.

Until humans did what they always do. They became consumed by greed and corrupted by power. They feared that the existence of a powerful being, and the esteem in which the people held it, threatened the very authority of the throne.

On a night which felt like yesterday to Yeonjun, the then king had convinced him to appear before the people, reasoning that he deserved to be celebrated and loved; not lurking in the depths of a forest where he wondered alone. His yearning for family provoked, he had left, only to return to enormous crackling fires which devoured everything in their path.

Now he was being asked to entertain the likes of one of them again? An insolent, entitled woman who was probably the daughter of some power-hungry government official nonetheless? He wouldn’t allow himself to be made a fool out of again.

“I’m aware you cannot leave the forest unguarded for long periods of time, especially at night,” Taehyun said, brushing the bits of earth from his hand onto his silk garment. “which is why I want to bring her here.”

The half-eaten apple hit the forest floor with a thud.

“What did you just say?” the same incredulity written on Yeonjun’s face, embedded into his voice.

Taehyun grinned sheepishly, “Hyung, can’t you do me this one favour?”

Quickly taking a seat beside him, the crown prince of the Joseon dynasty grabbed onto the sleeve of Yeonjun’s black robe and tugged at it. Yeonjun sucked a sharp breath of air through his teeth and slapped his hands away. The memory of a scared little boy in disheveled clothes, sobbing as snot ran down onto his lips crossed Yeonjun’s mind. He bit back the grin which fought to pull at his lips.

“I thought you weren’t interested in love? Why all the effort then?”

Taehyun dropped his hands from where they had been grappling at Yeonjun’s robe and stood up, clearing his throat before folding his hands behind his back again. Yeonjun smirked. “It’s not by choice, the woman in question is frightening. Only the gods would know the lengths she would have gone to had I refused her.”

Many minutes of back and forth bickering had passed before Taehyun managed to convince Yeonjun to appear before you. This reluctant agreement came with conditions, however. Leaving the mountain for even a moment during nightfall was out of the question, but that didn’t mean that he was okay with some suspicious woman wandering into his home. So, they had settled on the foot of the mountain closest to the north side. Yeonjun had also made sure to point out that although he had agreed to let you see him, he never agreed to introductions.

“You never struck me as the type to attend parties in the evening, your Highness,” you hollered from your palanquin which lagged behind his. When no reply came, you seethed, biting back the urge to punch a hole through the expensive wooden barrier in front of you. He had suddenly appeared at your father’s estate just as the sun had dipped beyond the horizon, not bothering to give an explanation before your father had the guards stuff you into the tiny varnished vehicle. “You haven’t yet answered me, your Majesty. The question from earlier.”

You cried out in pain when the palanquin was suddenly set down, tossing you up in the air like a shuttlecock. Hand still pressing down on your head from where it had hit the roof of the palanquin, you glared at Taehyun’s outstretched hand when the door folded open. You violently slapped the hand away and pulled back your skirt, nearly kicking his shins as you climbed out. Accidentally, of course.

Your behaviour amused Taehyun, a smirk finding its way to his lips. He whispered something to Soobin, his personal guard, who had given him a distressed look in return. He sighed as Taehyun placed a hand on his shoulder, giving a quick nod before returning to the entourage. You raised an eyebrow when Taehyun offered you a smile, gesturing his hand to the left of where the road forked into two.

The evening air was brisk; the various flora emitting a plethora of unique smells which blended together as they crawled into your nose. Leaves rustled as the forest creatures scurried across the floor; the occasional flapping of wings and hoots of the wide-eyed, mice-eating predators filling the otherwise eerie silence. The pale moon, which shone like a great halo in the sky, casted it’s light through the trees, creating beautiful natural skylights and mysterious shadows. The breeze was ever-so gentle, seemingly caressing your cheeks as you followed Taehyun down the path filled with earthy soil.

“You’re going to kill me aren’t you?” He chuckled at the question you had posed. He took a firm hold of your hand as he helped you cross the stream you had encountered, squeezing it a little tighter as your shoe glided off some algae, smiling when he heard the under-the-breath cuss.

When you had both safely crossed over into the field of long grass on the other side of the bank, he caught his breath for a moment. “My men say there came a troupe from Jeonju in Northern Jeolla a few days back,” Taehyun started, motioning for you to follow behind him as he stalked through the vegetation.

You groaned. Just how much torture was he planning to put you through? Did he find out you had ‘borrowed’ some of the books from his shelf?

After another few dreadful minutes of walking, an enormous tree came into your sights. It’s trunk looked as if it could house a small population, and it’s branches spread far across the open space; a meadow. Taehyun smiled in satisfaction and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead, before placing his hands on his hips. Was this what he wanted to show you? You were far too tired, and your feet hurt way too much to enjoy the sentiment.

“Right, as I was saying,” The prince continued. You took a seat on the soft blades of grass and began pulling the shoes off your aching feet. “Despite journeying across the country to perform in gisaeng houses, I’m told the productions of this troupe were rather enthralling – ”

The sound of your snorting earned a glare from the prince. You shook your hand, “I find myself in constant surprise this evening, your Highness,” you laughed. “Hearing the term‘gisaeng’ from your mouth would send chills down anyone’s spine.”

The distant strumming of a zither whispered in your ears and your body froze. Slowly, the field, which had been lit only by the silvery hues offered by the moon, glowed in shades of green and yellow as fireflies hovered in the air. Then the zither stopped. Your neck snapped in the direction of scuffling feet by the tree trunk. Figures dressed in black placed paper lanterns varying in size at the base of the trunk, before scaling up to the branches.

A gasp slipped from your lips when the zither had suddenly started playing again; much louder this time. Ribbons dropped from different branches around the tree, carrying men and women who spun as they unravelled. Sporting white masks in the form of a fox, they danced around the tree, twirling and swinging back, dipping low before soaring through the air with such delicacy it gave you goosebumps.

“This performance is called the Fox’s Hiraeth,” Taehyun whispered, eyes fixated on the scene before of him, “you asked the other day did you not? About gumihos in Hanyang.”

His Highness’ attempt to throw you off was painfully obvious in that moment, and it did not go unnoticed. But just before you could make the remark that you had been carefully curating for exactly this situation, the zither had come to a stop once again. Leaves rustled above you and you lifted your head into a pair of the prettiest eyes you had ever seen.

They were a shade of light brown; little flecks of green and amber peeking from in-between when light passed through them. Bewilderment swam in those sparkling orbs behind the mask, it’s wearer holding his breath, not looking away for even a moment. The feeling in your chest drew a smile onto your lips, so big, it pushed up the corners of your eyes.

“Hello.”

He pulled back suddenly, and a strong gust of wind blew right through you, making you squeeze your eyes shut. The wind seemed to blow harder and harder – Taehyun had to press his hands onto your shoulders to prevent you from being gone with it. When it had died down and you opened your eyes again, you shot up, shoving his hands away.

The lights had gone out and the fireflies were nowhere to be seen. The lanterns and the troupe too had vanished into thin air; leaving not a trace. But that was not what was distressing you.

Hands clenching fists into your satin skirt, your eyes searched desperately, “where did he go?”

“Who?” Taehyun questioned, tightening the black cloth strings of his gat. He blinked, feigning innocence so professionally, it antagonised you. “The performance is over; we should leave.”

Pulling your lips between your teeth, the agonizing feeling of having lost something important tearing at your chest, you made a decision. You were positive that Taehyun knew exactly what was going on, but you weren’t about to waste any more time trying to force an answer out of the tight-lipped prince.

Where the meadow under the peculiar tree ended, the forest started again, and spread all across the mountain. You could have been mistaken, and that man may have just been another one of the performers. But it was the forest. It felt as if it was calling out to you; screaming. Every one of your limbs ached to dash into its depths.

Taehyun cleared his throat and turned away instantaneously when he noticed you hurriedly tearing off your blouse. You tossed the garment carrying the golden emblem to the ground, and slipped your shoes back on, ignoring Taehyun’s voice which bombarded you with questions.

He grabbed onto your hand before you left and you stopped, peering down at where your bodies were joined. “It’s dangerous.” he said; his voice as firm as his grip, yet eyes pleading with you like those of a child.

Despite your fathers’ lasting friendship, you had never met Taehyun until a few days ago. And if you did, you couldn’t recall. The confounded stares he had thrown at you upon your arrival had amused you; they were not contrary to that of the other noblemen and their sons whom your father had introduced you to. You didn’t act like the prince’s woman – they had probably expected someone who they could easily manipulate and bribe to their liking – but you were very much the opposite.

It was his behaviour in the days that followed which had taken you by surprise. He’d have books stacked up all around his desk which varied in genre, and were organised by author and publication date, whenever you visited. He seldom spoke and never forced conversation with you, but he’d call for tea and sweets then leave them at a certain place on the tabletop untouched. You’d catch his eyes glancing up at you every once in a while in your peripheral vision, and a smile would find itself to your lips.

He cared for you and you had grown to care for him as well. But you knew that if you left with him right now, your insatiable curiosity would only grow and you’d just end up returning here anyway.

Placing your hands over his, eyes asking him to forgive you, you slipped out of his grasp.

“I’ll be okay.”

Yeonjun paced up and down the cliff once more. He glanced over his shoulder at the mask resting against a boulder behind him, then slapped his hands onto his face and lamented. He couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong. Everything was happening exactly as he had planned – the dokkaebi had put on their show, relishing in the fact that they were pranking humans; the trees, the breeze and the critters had agreed to set the mood for what he had intended to be your heart being won over by the Taehyun.

He peeked through the spaces in his fingers at the wooden guise, and proceeded toward it. He knelt down and picked it up, eyes fixating on the slots where they were housed previously. He was certain he had prepared for everything, but that all changed when his eyes met with yours.

They stared back at him in surprise, but that surprise slowly transitioned into a warmth which enveloped him; the light of the lanterns which reflected from them, inviting him closer. They scared him, too. Under the mask he had given himself the appearance of one of the lumberers who frequented the forest, but your eyes seemed to stare right through him. They reached into his depths, baring him before you.

Yeonjun glared, irritated with how foolish he had been. He should have trusted his instinct and refused Taehyun no matter how much he insisted. It was absurd that after all these centuries he still let himself fall prey to the ludicrous fantasy he would ever be able to live and feel as they do – he knew that was the real reason he had gone along with this preposterous idea.

His grip on the mask tightened before he hurled it into the bushes. Your voice exclaimed an ‘Ow!’, making him topple over in surprise. The golden rays of sun spilled over the summit just as you stepped out from the flora, bathing you in it’s warmth and highlighting your features as it chased away the night. You rubbed your head profusely where the mask had hit you, pausing when you noticed Yeonjun’s figure on the floor.

Hands on your hips, smiling in triumph, you blew the stray strands of hair from your face. “Found you.”

He had never in his life met such a vivacious woman. Your hair looked like a bird’s nest; tiny twigs and leaves buried within the now tousled black locks. There were tears in your hanbok. Stains of dirt, grass and mud soiled the skirt. Alas, you still had a stupid smile plastered across your mucky face. He caught himself before he started grinning like an idiot too, shuffling amongst the earth before rising with his back turned towards you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest. Was he looking down on your intellect?

“You’re not very clever for an ancient spirit,” you remarked, tossing the mask at his feet. His frame froze, making you scoff.

The hair cascading down his back was a pale shade pink which shimmered under the light. It contrasted the pitch black robes he adorned, which were embroidered with silver. When he turned around to give you a look of wry amusement, you noticed the bangs which framed his face were more washed out in colour compared to the rest of his head. His slanted eyes were mono-lidded, and they glistened as beautifully as the night before. His lips were plump; it’s colour reminded you of the strawberry tanghulu you had seen in the market.

He stepped closer to you, smirking at the way you were entranced by his beauty, until his face stood only inches away from yours. You cast your eyes away from him, gulping as you took a step back. His eyebrows furrowed when you cringed, staggering before you fell to the ground.

“Are you alright?” he fretted, the role of the charismatic flirt quickly abandoning him as he helped you to your feet. He wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you into his arms, and carried you to a place where you could sit comfortably. You gripped only his garments tightly, eyes still refusing to meet with his; the scent of flowers lingering on your clothes as he set you down. “His Majesty did not accompany you?”

He knelt down beside you and pulled off your shoes. Blood had soaked into your socks from all the hiking you had done the night before – the back of your shoes had cut deep into your heels; climbing over boulders and through thick vegetation had made the soles of your feet sensitive and prone to cuts and scratches. He pulled his lip between his teeth, eyes shooting daggers into yours.

He poured some of the alcohol he had been storing over your wounds, and massaged in the compound he made of medicinal herbs he had momentarily disappeared to go and find. He tore pieces of his robe to bind them when he was finished, then folded his arms over his chest. “I’m taking you back to the palace.”

You jolted up from where you were seated; Yeonjun pushed your shoulders back down. “None of my questions have been answered, I’m not leaving until they are.”

“Don’t you have a prince to marry?” he contended, tapping a finger on his chin, “they’re not going to be impressed when you return looking like this.”

“What’s your name? Are you really a nine-tailed fox? How old are you? Do you eat human livers? If so, why? Is it true that you are only able to receive titles like the ‘Spirit of the Mountain’ when you don’t feed human on livers? Are you actually a woman? Do you really want the best for this country? Do you wish to bring it to ruin for your own pleasure? Is it true that – ”

He took a step closer to you, and lifted your chin with his finger, closing your mouth. You held your breath as his eyes flickered to your lips, and he smirked noticing the blush spread across your face. He reached behind you and pulled the jade pin from your hair, the tresses falling gently down your back. Bringing the hairpin before you, and his lips to your ear, he whispered, “I dare not rob the future king of his woman, my lady. You should return home for your own safety.”

His hand travelled down the length of your arm, trailing goosebumps and setting fire to your skin. He placed the pin into your hand and lifted it, brushing his lips across your knuckles. His eyes locked with yours and you gasped as they glowed like a setting sun.

A horse whinnied as it strode into the area, making you tear your eyes away from Yeonjun’s. Taehyun slid off it’s back, rushing to your side. He grabbed onto your shoulders brows furrowing as he examined you from top to bottom. “Are you alright, (Y/n)?”

You nodded absent-mindedly, searching for where he had gone. Taehyun led you to his horse, and lifted you onto the saddle, sighing as he found you still trying to see past the trees and their leaves. You squeezed onto your chest as you rode away, an inexplicable feeling overtaking you. You had to see him again. Not out of curiosity. No, you – you just had too.

Yeonjun held onto the trunk of the pine tree and swung his body around from the backside. Watching you ride off into the distance, eyes still set on finding him, he sighed, twirling the ring he had slipped off your finger around his.

“(Y/n), huh?” he muttered under his breath, exhilarated by the way it rolled off his tongue.

245 notes · View notes

alecmagnuslwb · 2 years

Text

I Can Feel You Forgetting Me

Read on AO3

She knew it was all over the second the House of Mystery just kept spinning, looping violently around and around not responding to any commands or magic sending them tumbling further and further away from home, further and further towards the end. And when the floorboards started wrenching upward revealing an ugly stone all stained in blood she knew the day wasn’t going to end on a good note.

Zatanna runs her magic over the rock and instantly she feels what it is, what she hoped it wasn’t just going from the look of it. A little magically encoded message from Nick laying it all out for her, John has to forget her, forget everything about them and no one ever gets to tell him if they try it will be in vain. All evidence of what they were will live in her head, in other’s minds, but John will never know or they die.

It’s a curse that’s not made to be broken, a rare blood curse with meticulous work and rage poured into it over years, it would take them just as long to stop it from happening and they merely have minutes before they’re all pummeled to their deaths at the end of the universe.

It’s Nick’s one last hurrah. His one last attempt at ruining them like he’s always desperately wanted to. A ticking time bomb waiting to explode for fuck knows how long right underneath their feet.

The blood is theirs. John and hers mangled together. The little note that simply says surprise in Nick’s arrogant handwriting spitting in their faces.

There’s only one way out when blood gets involved in a memory curse, you either do as it says or everyone with the misfortune of being nearby dies.

If they were alone maybe it’d be different, maybe this would be the big bang end for them both but their whole team is there. Six friends who don’t deserve to be tangled up in a feud that should have died the first time Nick did.

“We can figure something out,” she pleas already seeing the decided look in John’s eyes.

“We can’t, we don’t have the time,” he says stepping closer to the stone.

“It’s a curse,” Rory says trying to intervene stepping over to them eager to help. “Curses are meant to be broken.”

Andrew rings in next laying a gentle hand on Rory’s shoulder pulling him back giving Zatanna a nod of understanding, giving them their space. “Not one’s like this, blood always changes things.”

He understands that more than anyone.

Zatanna stops John just short of the stone pulling him so they’re face to face as another violent hit shakes the house. The chandelier nearby comes crashing down, but neither of them even flinch.

“Well today sucks, huh?” she says trying to make a joke but it comes out weak.

John shakes his head with a forlorn chuckle. “Yeah, this one’s not going in the diary for sure.”

The house rattles again, nothing but darkness speeding past the windows. “I should have fucking killed him when I had the chance,” she says not really meaning it, but meaning it. There was a moment in that final showdown with Nick and the Books of Magic where she had him in her grasp, she could have ended it all right there, but sentimentality and morality and a few things she wished she had a little less of took over.

“No, you never deserved that on your conscious,” John says reaching up a hand to gently hold her cheek. “Trust me I did it once, it haunted me and then it didn’t even stick, remember?”

John rubs his thumb gently under her eye catching an errant tear she didn’t give permission to fall.

“Plus, it wouldn’t have changed this. He set that timer long before you had him pinned,” he says sadly. She can hear in his voice how badly he wishes that weren’t true. That he’d go back and finish Nick off for the second time if it could change this moment.

“This isn’t fair,” Zatanna says petulant and angry at Nick, at the world. They’ve been through so goddamn much, fought so hard to get here. To get to this place where they work and they’re good and this is how it ends without them having even the slightest say in the matter.

John smiles at her sadly. “In my experience not much ever is.”

Zatanna tilts her head back willing the welling tears to stay put her hands gripping into John’s white shirt so tightly it almost rips. It feels silent around them, white noise deafening out everything but this horrible final moment they get to have. It’s almost like it’s just the two of them at the end of the world. She wishes it was, that’s how they were supposed to go out one day not like this.

The house takes another massive hit causing them both to stumble to the side John’s shirt actually ripping from Zatanna’s nails holding tight while they shift. They’re out of time, she can feel it in the chaos that’s not going quiet around them anymore.

“I love you, Zatanna. More than I ever thought a sullied soul like me could ever love anyone,” he says pulling her in for one last kiss. She can tell it’s the last from the way he holds her, from the way he doesn’t linger when they come up for air. He pulls away gently coaxing her hands open from where they’re still gripped tightly into the shreds of his shirt and walks right over to the ugly, deep red stone placing his hand over top of it.

“I love you, John,” she says fighting every instinct in her body to pull him back to her.

“I wish I’d get to remember that,” he says before pressing his hand to the stone a blinding flash of light overtaking them all.

***

John blinks away the blinding light his ass fully knocked to the floor. He really wishes these bloody people would get out of his house. His chandelier is broken, there’s tears in his shirt, he doesn’t know how they got there, and every window is busted to hell. Fuckin’ heroes. And they say he’s the messy one.

Every time he gets himself twisted up with them he nearly dies, and he’s very good at achieving that all on his own thank you very much. They came here to recruit him for their little, stupid Justice League Dark and the House clearly didn’t like that setting off into some magical fit, so they can leave.

“Alright, near-death experience was fun, but I don’t want to join your shitty goth punk band so you can all get out now,” he says brushing himself off and standing, immediately lighting a cigarette. Zatanna can’t seem to stop looking at him, probably annoyed with his rudeness.

Swamp Thing looks like he’s going to protest, but Zatanna who’s not far from him stops big green, the two exchanging some silent conversation that John’s certain is not a pleasant exchange of words about him. One by one they file out all looking at him in this weird way that he assumes is mostly just angry, maybe a little disappointed. Why any of them are surprised he’s not interested he has no idea, they don’t want to work with him either. The things he toys with, the lengths he goes to get things done none of them are capable of that, none of them have the guts to be around that.

He practically has to push Ragman out the door, the wide-eyed kid looking at him like he has a million arguments to make that John couldn’t be bothered to hear. Zatanna’s still lingering when they get outside leaning against the post by the stairs waiting for her team.

Ragman slips by her and yet another silent conversation is had.

“Next time you think about recruiting me for a super team, think better of it,” he says to her taking a drag of his cigarette. “You know I’m just a bastard.”

Zatanna’s shoulders go rigid before she turns to face him.

“You were never just a bastard,” Zatanna says a look on her face like she knows him, like she cares for him. She doesn’t know John from Adam and she surely doesn’t care for him, not even someone as kind as her has it in her to feel for a rude and darkened sort like him “Take care of yourself, Constantine.”

She lifts her hand like she’s going to touch him but twitches her fingers and runs them through her hair at the last minute instead.

Odd.

He looks at her and he can’t quite place why she’s looking at him like that. Like she knows him, like they’re more than barely acquaintances, like he’s missing something. And there’s just nothing he can figure out to make it make sense.

She’s beautiful and sharp with a tongue that’s given him a good lashing more than once that even he couldn’t refute and more skilled than any magician he’s ever met. She probably knows the darkness he touches better than he does, but she doesn’t fuck with it, she’s smart like that. Why he’s never made a real go for her attention outside of a few flirty comments she’s sneered at he has no clue. Any chance of that is long gone though, she hates him just as much as any other cape does, as much as most magicians and general people who he inevitably lets down or betrays do, his history with her father alone has done him no favors. She thinks his methods are loathsome, that he’s selfish and unreliable, she’s just a tad nicer about it than most is all.

Boston floats up beside her looking sad, following closely when she walks away from John.

Her steps falter just a bit when she reaches the grass. Andrew the too handsome and too pretentious for his own good vampire takes her hand when she reaches him where he’s been waiting for her and any thoughts that John just had slide away. Yeah whatever that moment was she’ll be just fine.

***

There’s not a person in this world she can think of she’d rather see after it happens than Chas. Chas who will be heartbroken too, Chas who will rage about knowing, that he’ll try and talk about her, about John’s memories every time he sees him and all John will hear is blankness. Chas who’s quite possibly the best person she knows, who’s heart is too big for this world, who will know just what to say and what lies she needs to hear to get through the first night.

She didn’t cry when Andrew took her hand or when Boston tried to hug her even though he has no corporeal form, her chin wobbled and eyes blinked rapidly thinking about it but no tears fell she just faltered in her steps ever so slightly. With Chas though it’s like she can’t stop herself.

When he lifts her feet up off the ground hugging her tight she actually bursts into tears right there in a bar like an embarrassing mess. Chas just holds her tighter, buys her a drink and hugs her again when she explains what’s happened, when she tells him about how John looked right through her in that last moment standing on the porch of the House of Mystery.

“You could start over?” Chas says once she’s told him everything his words more confident in the possibility than the look on his kind face. “Fresh start for the two of you.”

Zatanna smiles sadly at him placing her hand atop his on the bar.

“It’s a pretty thought, but it wouldn’t be fair,” she says squeezing his fingers. She doesn’t mention that John’s memories of their encounters that do still exist are so different now, twisted into something bearing that of the relationship he was Swamp Thing more than what they ever had. She doesn’t need to reiterate; Chas is just telling her the pretty lies she knew she could count on him to give her for a moment of reprieve. “I have over a decade of memory floating in my head, I’d just be waiting for him to catch up the whole time, it wouldn’t feel right.”

Chas sighs sadly into his drink turning his hand over and giving her fingers a proper comforting squeeze before she slips her hand away.

“You know the worst part?” she sighs tossing back the last of another drink. She turns her head looking at Chas, who’s still just looking at her like he wants to fix everything for her but can’t. “I can live without him.”

She’s done it before; she can do it again. That’s not the problem. The problem is even when he was gone, even when they were apart, no matter how they left things she still knew he was out there and one day he’d come back around. This time he won’t. All those years of spinning around on their crazy merry go round of love, hate, magic and everything in between and this is where it ends. Not with a deafening bang, not with a death or an apocalyptic sacrifice like she always assumed it would, but with her own quiet grieving and his own personal destruction.

“I just shouldn’t have to,” she finishes sliding her empty glass forward and pushing back from the bar. She holds out a hand to Chas, “Dance with me?”

Chas looks at her like she’s lost her mind.

“I need to completely clear my mind and forget this shitty day for five minutes,” she says sad laughing in her head at irony of wanting to forget for a moment. “And as god awful of a dancer as you are Chas Chandler I’m certain there won’t be another thing in the world to help me do that.”

Chas smiles at her sliding off his hat and tossing it on the bar before taking her hand.

“Well, if it’ll help,” he says and gets right down to his terrible dancing with absolutely no rhythm or beat to be found. Zatanna laughs and for five glorious minutes she does forget.

“Thanks for that,” she says when the fast-paced beat has ended something slow replacing it. Chas takes her right hand in a soft hold wrapping his other arm around her in a comforting hug swaying them back and forth.

“There are three women in this world I’ll happily publicly embarrass myself for, Renee, Geraldine and you Miss Zatara,” he says warmly. Zatanna chuckles her throat catching just a little bit.

She leans forward to ignore it for now resting her head on Chas’ shoulder, his warmth and the softness of his plaid shirt the most comforting thing in the world in that moment.

“I mean it,” he says as they continue to sway. “No matter what happens, no matter the hour or the day I’m here for you, my two main ladies love having you around, say the word and our door is always open and if his sorry ass is around I’ll kick him out so you don’t have to hurt, I promise.”

Zatanna doesn’t say thank you she doesn’t need to; he knows how endlessly grateful she is for having him in her life. She just keeps swaying with him trying to forget herself for a little while.

***

It’s the stupid things that get to her like the scent of his favorite brand of cigarettes in the air or the sight of a stupid fucking trench coat. Silly inconsequential things sparking memories that only she holds now.

She leaves the strip of photos from when they were twenty and wild tacked up in the kitchen until she just can’t really look at them anymore. The poster on the wall that John had made for her a mere month ago, the first real birthday present he’d ever given her lasts a little longer until one night she finds herself staring at it for far too long.

“Who needs husband and wife labels when you have The Mistress and Magus of Magic,” he’d said with a smug grin hanging the stylized poster much like the one’s for her shows, but featuring him with a garish smirk on his face as well on the wall. It’d been a simple night, no one had tried to kill them in weeks, the world hadn’t even tried to end in months. They’d felt foolishly safe and in love like they did when they were young.

She’d been stupid to think it could stay that way. That they could hold onto that.

She mourns him like he’s dead, because he might as well be to her.

She works nonstop. Mostly alone because she can’t bear the sad, pitying looks everyone gives her. Dinah is the only she can stand to be around especially for the first few months, she just gives her something to punch and doesn’t say a word. It’s only ever ruined by Ollie with his damn expressive eyes and those bear hugs she’ll never tell him are actually kind of comforting.

She’s fine. She’s angry. She’s heartbroken. But she’s fine, working makes her feel better. Keeps her focused on a task, on helping people and when she’s onstage no one in the audience knows a thing. She can be mysterious, charming, happy and vibrant and they don’t have to know it’s all a show.

Amanda Waller of all people calls her and not so subtly asks if she’d like to come down to the A.R.G.U.S. holding cell where Nick is kept buried deep underground, magic bound and confined to a holding cell no bigger than Zatanna’s apartment’s bathroom and have the camera’s turned off. If you catch her drift. For a harrowing what would be out of character second she considers it, she’s only human and all of this is on him. So much pain and loss is on him, but she thinks better of it a second later. He doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of getting to see her face, of knowing that in the end he got what he wanted.

She could kill him, but she also can’t.

She tunes it out when people talk about John. She doesn’t need to know about the latest curse he’s accidentally set on himself or the near death scrapes he’s barely survived. She sure as hell doesn’t need to know about the drinking, the risk taking or any of the fucked up romantic encounters he’s no doubt embarked upon. He’s self-destructing, in good old fashion Constantine fashion and she can’t do a thing about it. Stewing in the details won’t help matters for either of them.

It’s the cruelest of curses, because they both suffer. John self-destructs without her and she lives on with the pain of a million shared memories that are half empty now. There are no winners here, no relief, just like Nick wanted.

***

For the life of him he can’t sort the look in Zatanna’s eyes as she watches him from across the room. Her arms are crossed, like she’s angry, but in her eyes there’s something that keeps flaring over his way that he can’t sort at all.

Maybe it’s just her general dislike of him showing through in new ways. She doesn’t want him here that much is clear. It’s fine, he doesn’t want to be here either, Batman had practically kidnapped him forcing him to help the capes with their latest magical tragedy.

There’s history, the spirit of Zatanna’s father involved in this whole debacle which is clearly putting her on edge.

“The nicest that man ever was to me was when I was about a hundred yards away at his funeral, so I don’t see how I can help in this situation, pet,” he’d said to her blunt and honest. She’d walked away without a word, stormed right out of the room and for a flinching second he felt a little bit bad. Just cause she doesn’t like him doesn’t mean he has to be so crass.

She glances at him one more time eyes slipping away quickly when he catches her before she walks over his way.

“I need you,” she says and then bites her tongue like she didn’t mean to say that.

John decides to ignore her dislike and goes for flirtatious just to bug her. “My three favorite words to hear from a pretty lady,” he says with a wink. She doesn’t react how he expects, not with disgust or disdain. She just pauses that same unreadable look in her eyes before she looks away and drags him out of the room.

She guides him into a large hall, not meeting his eyes sealing the door shut.

“Make a perimeter and don’t listen,” she says pressing her hand to the ground whispering a few words. Her magic crawls across the floor drawing a shining silver and purple pentagram across the pristine floor.

“What?”

She sighs, frustrated like he should know exactly what she means like they do this on the regular. They barely see each other, she’s mostly avoided him except for when the apocalypse decides to roll around again every once and a while.

“Make a protective perimeter, soundproof it, hold it up while I talk to my dead dad and then you’re free to go. I can handle everything else from there on my own,” she says taking her space in the center of the pentagram not meeting his eyes. “Oh, and give me the deadite gem too.”

Now how the hell does she know he has that?

“I just do,” she says like she’s reading his mind casting a sharp glance. He just holds his hands up in surrender, backing up and doing as he’s told.

She’s in the protective center for twenty minutes or so and when she steps out there’s the shadow of tears around her eyes. If he were a better man and if she thought better of him he might try and comfort her, but neither of those things are the case so instead he just pulls the deadite gem from his pocket and dangles it in front of her eyes.

She grabs it pulling it from his hand so hard the chord damn near breaks.

“My work here is finished,” he says brushing his hands together dusting them clean of this whole forced helping situation. “See ya ‘round, Zatara.” He turns on his heel making his way to the door, fully intent on avoiding all the capes in the other room.

“Thank you, John,” Zatanna says quietly from behind him. He looks back over his shoulder, shaken ever so slightly by the fact she’s using his first name a thing she never does, just in time to catch her eye that same unreadable look etched all across her face.

Whatever happens next Zatanna handles just like she said she would, the world keeps spinning, the birds keep chirping and all that other sappy bullshit, but the whole day he can’t stop thinking about that look in her eyes that seemed to only be directed at him.

***

Zatanna decides after that day, she can’t do it anymore. Maybe it’s the combination of the fight and seeing her dead father again making the whole thing more exposed and raw, but it doesn’t change how she feels. It’s one thing for him to look at her like an acquaintance at best, to flirt with her like he does everyone else. It’s another thing for him to not even so much as reach out a hand in comfort after seeing her clearly upset.

She can’t see him, that has to be the last time.

***

John would like to say he doesn’t know how he ended up here, but the truth is he knows exactly how he did. Never, ever tell a crossroads demon you don’t like his shoes. He’s spinning, twirling through dimensions he’s fairly certain when suddenly it pulls at him, a sharp tug that sends him careening back on his ass landing into soft grass, his head bashing into a wooden fence.

He blearily lifts his head rubbing at the back of it and pushing himself to sit upright. He squints at the bright sunlight taking in his mundane surroundings, the distinct laughter of children not far away.

Well this definitely isn’t Gotham anymore and it definitely isn’t his world. Darkness and clouds follow John Constantine wherever he goes, poetically depressing as that may sound. He closes his eyes hard the sun burning them.

“Are you okay?” a voice says the sound of it awfully familiar, almost just like his, but without the scratching of many years’ worth of cigarettes.

He blinks open his eyes once, twice just to make sure he’s seeing the scene before him right. It’s him, in khaki shorts. The other him holds out a hand, John brushes it off and stands on his own.

“All alone this time?” another voice says with a small chuckle. It’s Zatanna, or a Zatanna, this one clad all in pastels and smiles for him, unlike the sexy stage magician style and blatant dislike he gets from the one in his world. “That’s rare.”

John puzzles at that. Alone is kind of his thing, definitely not rare.

“I’m always alone, pet,” he says dusting the grass off of his jacket.

“Sure you are,” khaki him says sarcastically. “Where’s Zatanna?” he asks, like that’s a normal thing to ask, like John’s joking around with him. Like for some reason Zatanna would be here with him.

“Why would Zatanna be with me?”

“Probably because you’d be dead ten times over if it wasn’t for her,” pastel Zatanna says with a shrug slipping her arm through khaki John’s easy and familiar. Something twinges in John’s chest for a moment at the scene.

“Look you two must have me confused with some other Constantine, Zatanna Zatara doesn’t care to save my life, she never has,” he says eyeing them both cautiously. He doesn’t trust any version of him that has that many pockets.

“No, you’re him, I can see it all around you,” pastel Zatanna says slowly stepping away from her version of him. She reaches out a hand touching his lightly. It feels weirdly familiar, like a shadow passing over him from another life. “Something was taken from you,” she says eyeing him critically.

John scoffs pulling his hand away. “I’d know if something was taken from me,” he argues. The look in her eyes goes sad, the other him resting a hand low on her back. That shadow of memory, but not really memory passes over him again.

“Not if someone didn’t want you to,” the other him says. Pastel Zatanna steps close again, not reaching out to touch this time.

She holds out a hand cautious and kind. “Can I show you a memory of mine?”

John eyes her warily, but for some reason he can’t explain he puts his hand in hers without question. It’s like a déjà vu of trust and comfort that he has no idea the reasoning for.

Memories flash before his eyes, memories of him that he doesn’t remember at all. He knows it’s him, this isn’t some trick, it’s the same hair, the same jacket with a tear at the collar he hasn’t bothered to fix yet, the same set of earrings and that little familiar scar that cuts just above his left eyebrow.

What doesn’t make sense is the smile on Zatanna’s face when she looks at him, the press of her lips to his cheek or the way she brushes her fingers through his hair as he leans over a table his head bent over reading from some large tome.

He pulls back from pastel Zatanna’s touch like he’s been burned when he sees himself casually press a kiss to his worlds Zatanna’s temple just slipping past her like he’s done it a million times overcome with emotion.

“What the-” he pauses looking at the Zatanna before him. “Why do I feel, whatever that was. How could I not remember feeling that?”

How could he not remember Zatanna looking at him like that, how could he not have any recollection whatsoever of the comfort and safety he felt just looking at that memory? How is the warmth in those deep blue eyes of hers or the fondness, the devotion in his not click a single memory for him?

“I’m not sure,” she says softly. “But I think we can help you figure it out, maybe get it back if you’d like?”

He thinks for a moment rubbing a hand tiredly across his face before lighting a cigarette taking one deep inhale. That looks in Zatanna’s eyes the last time he saw her, the slip of his first name, that night at the House of Mystery when for a moment it was like she was going to reach out and touch him, maybe it wasn’t a new level of disdain or some moment of strange unthinking maybe it was something else.

So when he looks back up at pastel Zatanna and khaki Constantine he can only say yes.

***

Her world didn’t revolve around John, her whole life didn’t crumble to pieces when she lost the man she loved, she has friends, a purpose, a life that exists entirely outside of him but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. She’ll be okay for days, borderline happy go lucky and then something will hit her and that grief, because grief is what it has to be since he’s gone to her forever now, will fester back in.

Grief is a cruel thing; she knows it all too well. Her mother, her father, too many friends and now the man who ended up being that stupid, silly concept of the one.

When she goes whole weeks moving forward, being social and not getting angry anymore when someone looks at her a little sadly and then gets knocked on her ass by something as innocuous as a man with that same gruff regional accent she decides grief can kiss her magical ass.

***

It takes months, but somehow they figure it out and when the memories all come rushing back in coursing through every inch of John it feels like a limb he hadn’t realized he’d lost has been put back in place, like a piece of his heart he didn’t realize he’d given away was calling back out to him.

He sees quiet nights and huge fights. Long weekends and endless mazes, he sees her cry and he sees her laugh, he sees the way she looks in nothing but moonlight. He remembers the feelings, the sensations of her kiss, the emotion of knowing she’s the one thing in the world he can count on.

That brief rush of feeling he got from pastel Zatanna’s view of them takes over and for a blinding moment becomes all that he can feel.

It floors him, literally and figuratively the rush of a decades plus of memories crushing at his skull giving him relief and leaving him overwhelmed all at the same time. It takes a while for it to settle, the other world him by his side the whole time, but once it does. He feels right. He no longer feels fractured in a way that he’d spent the past year chalking up to just being a bastard who’d always been missing something.

It was her that he was missing. It’s always been her.

He has to see her. He has to pray on everything that he can have her again.

***

Zatanna’s phone dings again, another missed call notification asking for her attention as she flips through the pages of the large tome resting across her knees. She leans back digging it out of her pocket and tossing it onto the deep red velvet couch face down.

It rings again. She silences it, ding goes the notification. The phone vibrates a few times in quick succession and she sighs tossing the book to the side not bothering with keeping her place and grabs for her phone, bringing the screen to life.

Ten unread texts, three missed calls. All John Constantine. Truthfully there was a part of her that had started to wonder if he was dead, no one’s heard a peep for two months, not a trace of him to be found. Part of her knew he was out there somewhere causing trouble even if their connection is a one-sided pale comparison to what it used to be.

She swipes them all away. She doesn’t know why he keeps calling, never leaving a message. There are a thousand other magicians out there he could call for help with whatever it is she’s sure he’s twisted himself up in. Sure, they’re not as good as her, but he could smooth talk them or bribe them all for help in the time it’s taken him to dial her number repeatedly.

“You should pick that up,” a voice looms from above her. She doesn’t jump, doesn’t give Boston the satisfaction of a little jump scare, she just unfolds her legs and gets up from the couch grabbing her jacket. She’s dressed for a post-show party that she didn’t feel like attending in the end, she might as well go make the most of it.

“I’m good,” she says slipping on the jacket.

“He probably just needs your help,” Boston reasons trailing along behind her. She’s heard this before, gently from both Chas and Boston. But she doesn’t have it in her, she’s seen him twice since he lost his memories and both times were devastating.

“I can’t be around him Boston, I can’t help him cause seeing him kills me,” she says it’s been a year and she’s finally starting to feel some sense of peace, of moving forward. But seeing him, having to face him, to listen to him disregard them as nothing but casual acquaintances or halfhearted enemies will ruin that. The grieving never just fully stops, but she knows it can quiet, can become sadness twinged with happiness when the memories hit and seeing him will prevent her from ever getting there.

“There are little things he does that remind me of these moments that were just us and they’re all just gone for him. And those aren’t even the worst ones because that’s my own private hell, the worst ones are the ones he still remembers, but it’s just not the same. Like how I remember how he held my hand as they lowered my father’s body into the ground and all he can recall is hiding fifty yards away under a tree while it happened. Or how I’ll never forget him catching me when I used all my strength to keep that portal shut after Trigon tried to kill Raven and he thinks it was Bruce,” she says, barely pausing barely taking a breath as she slips away from Boston and heads for the door. She just needs to get it all out. For it to be done.

Boston just watches her giving her the time she needs to spill it all out, waiting until he thinks she’s done to speak.

“But-” he starts and she cuts him off her grip tightening on the door pulling it open wide with frustration.

“Have you ever had the person you love most in the world look at you with just nothing in their eyes? Cause I have and it’s devastating,” she says pounding her fist into the doorframe just enough to feel a sting.

Boston flinches just a bit not at the sound, but at the words and Zatanna sighs, he does know, he knows better than anyone. She knows that. He’s hopped into the bodies of other men and looked people he loves in the eyes and they think him nothing but a stranger.

“Sorry,” she says running a hand through her hair. “I know you get it.”

Boston shrugs reaching out a comforting hand that hovers just above her shoulder. “It’s okay, I do.”

“Which is why you know I can’t pick up that phone,” she says sadly slipping out the door leaving Boston behind.

“Maybe next time,” she hears him say quietly like he knows something she doesn’t. She ignores it though; she just needs a damn drink.

***

She thinks about going to Oblivion, but there’s still too many memories there, she very nearly goes to Midnite’s club. He’d been oddly comforting during the whole time loop mess, but she’s not in the mood for any company, even the quiet, strange support of someone she’s supposed to be enemies with.

So this little rundown place in San Francisco that was the first bar she ever snuck into when she was just seventeen is where she ended up halfheartedly nursing a drink while some kids in the corner who definitely aren’t old enough to be in here keep playing Olivia Rodrigo songs on the jukebox.

She blissfully zones out into her glass ignoring the comings and goings of people around her when suddenly she feels it. That familiar magic shifting through the air.

She hates to sound like a cliché, but of all the gin joints in all the world how the fuck did he end up in this one?

She turns her head and there he is at the door eyes scanning across the room. He must have done a tracking spell; she really needs to update her own personal warding.

She can’t take this so she tosses back her drink and slips out of the bar, trying desperately to make him not see her. He does though his eyes tracking her as she goes. He follows her out the door shouting after her, but she keeps moving. She can’t do this. Not today, not ever.

***

John almost forgets to chase after her as she hastily slips through the crowd and out of the bar. She’s stunning, he can’t believe he ever forgot just how gorgeous she is.

She’s dressed to the nines, not that she usually isn’t. But she’s overdressed for the basic dive bar she’s found herself in, the leather jacket is a bit too shiny and the spikes on the shoulders perfectly pointed, her fishnets don’t have a single tear in them, a rarity he now remembers, the shorts she wears are purposely frayed and those chunky heels she favors that easily put her right to his own height aren’t even the slightest bit scuffed.

It’s the corset though that really makes her stand out, that tells John she didn’t plan on coming here that this is just where she ended up. It’s black, perfectly tailored to her curves jewel encrusted on the front making a skeletal structure that catches in every light she brushes past.

She’s stunning, she makes a skeleton corset look like classy evening wear her skin looking still just a soft as it always was, the tattoo they share, his only recently returned to him, visible thanks to the low cut of her corset.

John damns every single moment that led to him forgetting her, to forgetting what they had, to forgetting how she can make a whole room turn their heads.

He shakes from his stupor chasing after her, calling out while the moonlight catches in the jewels across her chest.

***

“Find somebody else to help you Constantine, there’s gotta be at least one other person who speaks Latin that doesn’t totally hate you,” Zatanna tosses over her shoulder gritting her teeth when John nearly catches up with her.

He shouts her name one more time asking her to wait, but she can’t. She raises a hand drawing up a portal, putting as much distance between them as she can.

“I never miss your birthday,” he says not quite close enough to catch her, but close enough she knows she hears him right, one foot in the portal the other out. “I show up like clockwork every year with the same bouquet of flowers no matter if you’re angry at me or in love with me.”

Zatanna takes the one foot out of the portal the dark swirling hole shivering when she does. She doesn’t turn around though; she doesn’t dare to hope just yet.

“You hate olives, but you’re too nice to ever complain when they leave them on that Greek pizza that you love from that place in New York,” he goes on and she stutters out a heavy breath turning ever so slightly just enough to where she can see him. “This pub,” he says gesturing back to the bar. “Is the first one you ever snuck into. I don’t remember the friends name who you snuck in with, but I remember you told me she reminded you of me: blonde, just a little stupid, a whole lot impulsive and always guaranteed to show you a good time.”

She fully turns now facing him, the portal shutting firmly behind her.

“You love cheesy horror movies, you think Godzilla is cooler than King Kong and you’re wrong,” he says with a chuckle stepping a little closer. Zatanna can’t help but let a small smile creep onto her lips. “Me and you, we’ve been through a lot of shit together, I’ve broken your heart, you’ve broken mine, but there’s one particular moment that feels pretty bloody important. I held your hand through your father’s entire funeral, I wasn’t smoking under a tree yards away, I was with you. I was there the whole time even though you were mad as hell at me that day.”

Zatanna barely bites back a sob taking a step closer. She fidgets with a line of hanging jewels at the bottom of her corset right along the faux hip bones, oddly nervous.

“John?” she says, she needs to know this is really him. He nods his head once. “How?” she asks her voice cracking just a bit her hands falling to her side.

“I told a crossroads demon his shoes looked like a nan’s shitty bonnet and he crashed my sorry ass into another earth where a very disturbing version of me that wore khaki pants and a pretty girl in pastels couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t there with you,” John explains he takes another tentative step forward, the space between them becoming almost non-existent.

“Pastel you showed me this memory she had of us, and Zee it shook me to my fuckin’ core, how the hell could I forget all this feeling, this emotion that was just pouring out. And then I thought about that thing where the League pulled me into their bullshit and the way you looked at me, I couldn’t figure out if you hated me more than the day before or if there was something else and seeing that memory had me guessin’ it was the latter. So when they offered to help I couldn’t find a reason to say no,” he continues on. Zatanna nods in understanding her eyes not straying from his, refusing to look away in case the moment breaks.

“But the curse, there was no getting around it,” Zatanna says still in disbelief. Memory curses like the one Nick left behind are permanent, no ifs, ands or maybes about them. No one could ever speak of the things he’d forgotten to him let alone show him, it’s impossible or it was supposed to be. Leave it to John Constantine to accidentally defy a certainty.

John just shrugs. “Different earth, different rules I guess,” he says tentatively reaching out hand. He twirls the end of some of her dark hair around a finger, releasing it softly. “It took a lot of work, months and then all thanks to the inquisitive nosiness of a seven year old who I think any version of me would be grateful takes after you we found the missing piece.”

Zatanna reaches out a hand resting it on his chest, just above his heart feeling the familiar thump of it beat under her fingertips. John’s breath hitches from the slight press of her fingers.

“It’s a hell of headache getting all that memory back in in an instant, but it was worth it,” he smiles finally daring to reach out to touch her his hands finding the same curves they’ve always gripped onto on her waist.

“You remember everything? Permanently?” she says needing to be sure. She’ll fill in the gaps if she needs to, but she needs to know this isn’t some fluke, some temporary moment that will slip through her grasp and send her tumbling back into grief.

John nods confidently his thumbs moving comforting circles into her corset covered hips. “They’ll have to bash my bloody brains in to forget you again,” he says leaning down pressing his forehead to hers. “And then I’ll still fight them like hell.”

Zatanna breathes out a sigh of relief pressing her eyes shut finally, trusting that he’ll still be there when she opens them back up.

“I went back to the House of Mystery first and our room it’s just like it was before again, like not a day had passed. All the things that disappeared they’re back, even those awful photobooth pictures where I look like an absolute tosser,” he says grumbling.

Zatanna chuckles pressing close opening her eyes for just a moment to take in his expression. “You were nineteen and weirdly adorable with that spiky hair.”

John squints at her a look that tells her he doesn’t agree, that he was in no way adorable, he was just a tosser.

“I missed you,” she whispers into the space between them the air thick with emotion. “Even your bullshit.” She adds on just to make the intensity a little lighter, God they deserve lighter after everything.

John smirks that smirk that he always sent her way not the one everyone else gets, confident and cocky, the soft one, the one that always said I love you when he rarely said it out loud.

“I missed you too I think,” he says his smirk softening. He lifts up one of his hands from her hips slipping his fingers gently to curve the side of her neck tipping her head back so their eyes meet again. His thumb falls gliding along her exposed collarbones. “Even if I didn’t realize what I was missing.”

He leans in then slotting his lips to hers that perfectly matched slide of passion and playfulness that they’ve always had falling back into place like not a day has passed. She takes it all gratefully, the stubble that’s never totally soft, that damn smoky breath that shouldn’t taste pleasant, but that she’s grown so accustomed to, a taste she’s missed so much that it tastes like sugar in this moment instead.

It takes a while before they pull back John’s face falling into the curve of her neck when they do.

“Well I’ve definitely missed that,” he says pressing a few light kisses to her neck. Zatanna tugs at his hair easing his head up so they’re face to face again when a realization hits her.

“You told Boston first didn’t you?” she says just a little bit offended about the fact.

“You wouldn’t answer your damn phone and I knew Chas couldn’t be subtle about it,” John says one hand fiddling with the lapel of her jacket. Zatanna hums in agreement.

“So you had to track me when he couldn’t talk me into picking up?”

John shakes his head. “Your personal wards are still too damn good for me to crack, Boston followed you, then gave me a shout.”

Zatanna huffs annoyed with herself for not noticing she was being followed. Yeah the end result is a happy thing, but she’ll definitely be talking to Boston about it later.

“You should call Chas,” she says grabbing his hand and twining their fingers together stopping his fiddling.

John nods. “Tomorrow or maybe a few days or weeks after that,” he says pressing a kiss to her brow. “We can spread word about how I’m so stubborn I beat an unbeatable curse,” he pauses when Zatanna laughs, a real laugh that feels all too rare for her these days. She hopes they won’t be now. “But for tonight, I just wanna make sure you’re okay, or that you will be. You got the raw end of this deal my love, you had to live with it, I just had to fuck myself up three ways from Sunday not knowing any better. So, if you need to scream and curse me for forgetting or just have me hold you all night that’s what we’ll do.”

“No screaming, the holding would be nice though,” she says with a smile. “This year kinda sucked if you wanna hear about it?”

“Tell me everything and I’ll tell you about how I ended up hanging upside down from the ceiling in a room of perpetual fire with a half slit throat and a tad bit of psychedelics in my system in July,” John says throwing his arm over her shoulders. He brings his other hand up conjuring up a portal with some arcane Latin.

“Jesus Christ,” Zatanna says no matter how many years pass there will still be some situations he gets himself into that will horrify her.

“Funnily enough, he may have been involved,” John says in thought pulling her closer into his side.

Zatanna outright guffaws at that pressing into his side her arm wrapping around his waist.

“You’re a fucking disaster, John,” she says her laughter quieting.

“I am, that I am,” he says as they take their first step into the portal. He looks down at her before they’re fully through with a soft smile. “But you love me anyways, I remember that now.”

“Yeah,” she says with a shrug as they pass through the portal completely their feet landing softly onto the plush carpet of her apartment. “For some reason I can’t begin to explain I do.”

But she knows why. And somehow, because only he could defy the rules of magic like this, he remembers why now too.

#my fic #johnzee #john constantine #zatanna zatara #magicblazersource

17 notes · View notes

holly-fixation · 2 years

Text

Ink Clouds: Chapter 5

Summary so far: Cloud is sent back in time by the calamity, who permanently damaged his brain. He is now half squid, and constantly spewing ink that carries Geostigma. Angeal's infection began showing symptoms. Since the incident with Sephiroth, R&D are nearly at a cure. But they need more tests. They asked for both Sephiroth and Angeal, but only got Angeal. Zack is pissed about this change in mentors. Meanwhile, Cloud finishes obeying the calamity, but for some reason is still being punished for it. He has to find who the order was for: "Show them what you know."

Based on the prompt by @im-totally-not-an-alien

Please enjoy!

Chapter 5: Offering

"Again," Zack huffed through desperate breaths as he lifted his sword once more against his new mentor.

Sephiroth just looked at him, the silent statement not needing to be vocalized. You've had more than enough.

"Again!" He barked, wiping his sweat and moving back into his stance once more. He wanted to teach Sephiroth a lesson after practically sending Angeal to medical alone instead of dealing with his stupid scientist problem.

The now silver mentor did not argue, gliding his left leg back as he crossed his chest with his right hand and gripped the hilt of Masamune with his left at shoulder level.

He put up a fight, but it didn't last long.

With one last quick block, Sephiroth tripped his apprentice over his calf and knocked them to the ground.

Zach groaned, re-tightening his grip on his sword.

"Our time is up," Sephiroth stated without looking to him.

He glanced up to the clock: 08:37. They were training (fighting) in this normal, non simulated training room, with nothing but gray walls and a few worn down mats. These normal rooms sucked, but the rest of the Seconds got the simulation rooms today.

The silver general walked over to Zack and stretched out a hand.

Zack glared. Then he sighed and took the hand offered to him as he rose to his feet. He sheathed his sword to his back and turned to the door without a word.

"Come to Medical. Visiting hours start soon," Sephiroth suggested, although it sounded more like a plea compared to his normal emotionless tone.

"Already on my way," He spoke with slight spite, but he was so exhausted he didn't have the energy or care to slam the door on the way out.

Sephiroth sighed and followed in silence, passing the next group of SOLDIERS that ran in quickly. The first half an hour in the training room with Zack was a screaming contest. Well, at least Zack was yelling. No logical explanation Sephiroth came up with was sufficient to Zack's emotional overdrive. Two and a half hours of training later, here they are, with Zack no longer swinging at the Silver General at each glance in his direction.

"This doesn't make up for it," Zack finally mumbled when they got to the elevator.

"...I know," He responded before pressing the button.

After a short and silent ride, they walked toward the medical section of the floor.

The two SOLDIERS ended up in the lobby and quickly took seats by the entrance. 08:53, the nurses never let anyone in before 09:00.

"You two," the lady at the front desk called when she looked up, directly at them both. "You can't bring swords here. Drop them off somewhere outside, and get them out."

"But-"

"I don't care if you are literally THE First Class SOLDIER. Get them out of here before I call security."

Zack opened his mouth but Sephiroth grabbed his arm and shook his head. "We apologize." He turned to Zack. "Let's go."

Zack huffed, and they both left without any back talk. They walked back down the hall to the same elevators. When Zack pressed the button, an alarm blared.

"It wasn't me!"

"Security breach from the 68th floor laboratory," an automated female voice informed over the loudspeaker. "Specimen last seen entering the main employee elevator on floor 63. Remain away from the elevators until further announcement."

Though the office employees around them rushed for the inner rooms, Sephiroth and Zack both grabbed their swords and took ten steps back from the doors.

"Do not make physical contact with the specimen. Repeat: do not make any physical contact with the specimen."

To anyone else, that repeated phrase would be an obvious, useless order. To SOLDIER members and security, it meant the escaping creature should not be harmed.

"Well, that's a problem," Zack commented.

Sephiroth turned his head to the approaching footsteps from behind. "Stay back."

The Shinra guards obeyed the order but took aim at the glass elevator doors with their rifles. They had electric bullets that could stun. Hopefully those bullets were in the barrel.

"Fire only on my command," Sephiroth ordered. He had no reason to repeat, they had to listen. Zack glanced at him and nodded before returning his gaze.

The elevator doors dinged before they opened.

Zack quickly yelled, "Hold your fire!" when the blonde, half human-like squid crawled towards them carefully, struggling like it was in pain. Its breathing was labored and its body clenched and tensed periodically.

"But, sir-!"

"It's the stigma creature! Do Not Fire!" He turned back in frustration. Crap. That was probably confidential information.

The creature didn't attack. It didn't rush Sephiroth this time. It just crawled towards them slowly, silently, painfully.

Was it really in pain? It had no wounds besides the mako green at its heart, Sephiroth analyzed. Last time it broke out to…climb him? Why? Silver alone wasn't enough.

"Hey Cloud," Zack spoke with caution as he carefully approached as Sephiroth stayed put. "What are you doing here?"

"Sephiroth…"

Oh It was absolutely in pain, its voice hoarse and winded. How did it get this far if it was this weak?

"Come…" it pleaded as it crawled, its tentacles barely moving as it dragged across the floor.

Zack kneeled next to it before Sephiroth spoke.

"Cloud."

The creature tensed, and wrenched his neck to completely face the silver general, automatically.

"Go back to the tank."

It nodded and winced, then spoke again. "Come…"

Zack looked at Sephiroth. Last time it listened without another word. Now it acknowledged but did nothing? Breathe. Cloud agreed to go back in the tank. Zack offered his gloved hand to Cloud, and it grabbed the offering before shakily pushing half its body up.

"Sephiroth!" It whined desperately before losing its grip, and Zack immediately reached across Cloud's chest to hold his shoulders. He kept it up and steady, which almost seemed to soothe some of its never ending pain. What was wrong with it?

Sephiroth approached and crouched one knee down before looking to the creature's eyes with a hand stretched. "I'll go back to the tank with you. Okay?"

Cloud nodded quickly and grabbed the hand with one of his and the other grabbed his forearm and then-

Dammit not again.

Last time, it climbed around his back and stayed behind him as tentacles wrapped around his limbs. This time, he was face to face with the blonde, with three inches between them tops. It's arms were wrapped around his neck for balance and only two tentacles wrapped around each arm then to each other in a knot behind his back. The remaining four tentacles stayed dangling and dragging the ground, occasionally twitching.

Confused chatter hit all of their ears, and Zack turned back to the security guards.

"We got this. Go back to your posts and call in that the specimen is captured."

Before they protested, Sephiroth glared at them, the creature moving its head to stay in his eyesight. They silenced and obeyed after that.

"Do you want me to lead the way or do you think you've got this?" Zack asked, half joking half genuine.

Sephiroth gestured to the elevator with his arm. "Lead the way." His now apprentice followed his order, then he followed behind.

This creature was close. It pulled against Sephiroth to stay attached and balanced, but this was worse than dangling from his back, even without all the tentacles. Cloud stared directly at his eyes, into his soul the entire way up without saying another word. It still winced softly in whatever phantom pain was plaguing it, but it did not look away. Sephiroth tried turning away, at least blocking it with his bangs, but the creature moved its head to follow. He couldn't get away, not when it was directly in front of and on him.

His eyes. His cat-like, sky blue eyes. Cloud had mako-blue eyes, but within the pain they showed confusion. Had it ever seen cat-eyes before?

The three finally left the elevator on the 68th floor. Zack walked ahead and started scanning his absolutely-not-authorized key card. Once. Twice. Thrice. Four times. The cancellation buzzer was surely making itself useful today.

"Zack, use my-," Sephiroth began before a loudspeaker above the door clicked on.

"What do you want? You don't have auth-"

"We have the stigma creature," Zack cut them off before waving at the camera and pointing to Sephiroth and Cloud. "Let us in please?"

They clicked off, and then the door opened.

"Thank you," Zack expressed without mockery before the three headed inside and worked their way through.

Sephiroth attempted to loosen the creature off of his shoulders, but the creature groaned in agony before clinging and tightening its entire body around Sephiroth.

"Please…" it begged. "Please no… Come..."

He relinquished his attempts and returned his arms to his sides. "I'm on my way."

Zack held open the doors to Cloud's tank room and watched ahead as Professor Hojo and a few others headed out a separate door. Holy crap this place was a mess. Chunks of armored shock troopers, normal shock troopers, and Zack didn't even know what almost completely covered the floor. "Coast is clear. Try to watch your step."

Sephiroth walked past and stood in front of the tank, but Cloud's head was blocking most of it. "Cloud, go into the tank."

"Come."

"I am not going with you. Get in the tank."

Cloud let go of Sephiroth and slithered to the bottom of the glass. "Look! Please!"

Sephiroth obeyed and finally saw the drawing. A woman with wings in a tank like this creature's, and what was absolutely himself reaching for the glass. Why did he have a wing? Why would he only have one? "What is it?"

Cloud circled the entire carving, "Reunion." Then circled to the hair and single wing. "Sephiroth." Then the phrase below which seemed to have quotation marks at the ends. "Mother." Then finally the phrase etched onto the head plate of the woman, and Cloud seemed to hesitate explaining before grabbing its head. It pointed to the plate again.

"Jenova."

Zack raised an eyebrow in confusion.

Sephiroth's heart stopped.

It can't know that name. It can't be that name.

The two six-letter words etched into the carving that only shared two letters:

M{O}TH{E}R \\ // J-{E}-N-{O}-V-A

Thanks for reading!

Ink Clouds Master List

#JENOVA #final fantasy vii #ff7 #cloud strife #sephiroth #zack fair #so i've been trying to keep these at 1500 words each for my own sanity #and this is the first time I don't change perspective or scene with *** so its a rush from beginning to end #nothing good ever lasts for our boy zack #did you notice this is the first time someone says/thinks since chapter 1?#i worked way too hard on that #please enjoy the story!!! hope you're having a good time!!#ink clouds

13 notes · View notes

elizabeethan · 3 years

Text

Watch the Sunlight Fade: 13 / 17

Emma Swan finds out that her boyfriend has been hiding something from her: he’s in a gang and trying to get out. Reluctantly, she decides to support him, sticking it out with him until they have enough money to flee to Florida. All she has to do is wait and ignore that feeling in her gut that something is seriously wrong. With the help of a kind and handsome stranger, she just might make it out alive.

Or, alternate summary: I’m horrible at summaries, please just read it.

Something of a cross between a What Still Remains AU and a Sons of Anarchy AU.

A/N: Heyooo time for more smut! And more answers. And more cliffhangers.

Rated M

Get added to my tag list

Read the Rest

Read my Other Stuff

Read on Ao3

~~~~

The destruction in the apartment is clear the moment she walks in, feeling Killian’s watchful eye leave her as she shuts the door. There’s broken glasses and plates on the floor, Neal having cleared off the counter in what she assumes is his anger. She can’t think of another reason for him to be so destructive, picture frames smashed in the living room and fluffy pillow feathers flying through the air, but she certainly allows her mind to wander.

What if he knows? They’ve been careful, but what if someone besides Rufio had seen them?

“Neal?” She asks tentatively, clutching the strap of her purse tightly.

She hears another crash from his bedroom in response to her voice and cringes. The door opens forcefully, slamming shut behind him as he storms into the living room to meet her.

“Where the fuck were you?” he asks threateningly.

“I was at the store,” she answers, her voice small and weak, although she thinks it unwise to make a show of strength. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” he spits. He fumes in anger again and picks up a vase that she had filled with flowers she bought herself, hurling it at the wall to her right and sending water and glass towards her. “Rufio is fucking dead , that’s what’s wrong!”

She pales immediately, realizing that he must know of their involvement in his death. There’s not much for her to say, unable to defend herself as she and Killian both know that their actions were wrong. She only wonders now if he also knows of the affair they’ve started. “Neal…” she croaks out in terror, unsure how to continue.

But to her surprise, he falls to his knees, his hands catching his head as he lets out a sob. “Who would do this?” he cries, sending her mind racing. “Who would kill my friend?”

She shifts, the sudden realization striking that he isn’t angry at her, he simply finds it appropriate to take his anger out on her. She has to adjust now, unable to hold onto the fear of him discovering her dangerous secret and required to shift into her role as doting girlfriend. She has to keep up appearances, as much as it pains her to do so.

“Babe,” she says softly, “I’m so sorry.”

Once she’s close enough to him, he grabs at her hand, pulling her roughly into his arms and squeezing her too tight. His actions are forceful, but not at all surprising. He holds onto her, sobbing into her hair and making her cringe as he cries for his loss. He says things like, how could someone do this to me, and it makes her realize that he isn’t sad about his friend’s death. He’s sad that someone has hurt him. He thinks this is personal.

While he cries, she looks around the apartment and wants to cry herself. He’s broken so many things, and even though almost none of it was hers, she still feels sadness in the wake of the destruction she sits in. When she looks to the bookshelf frightfully, she realizes she doesn’t see the one and only object that she covets as hers and lets a tear escape.

He’s angry. But he didn’t have to take his anger out on the one thing that he knows means something to her.

~~~~

“The Kings of Elsinore will pay for what they’ve done to us,” Peter says commandingly, his fist slamming against the table before him and making Emma startle. Many of the men around the table nod, grunting in agreement, including Killian.

He’s careful not to stare at her too much, although it’s difficult. Aside from his love for her and his disbelief at her beauty, it’s hard not to stare in an attempt to ensure that she’s alright. They haven’t been able to talk since she left this morning, but he doesn’t see any evidence that she’s been harmed. He knows that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been, though.

“The murder of Rufio was a heartless and psychotic act with the intention of hitting us where it hurts. Rufio was heir to one of our club’s founding members, and his death will not go unpunished.”

Killian shudders in his seat, the action making Rob turn to look at him and cock his head. He’s sure Peter means it, and he’s sure Killian’s punishment will be worse than anything he doles out to the Kings if he finds out.

He can’t find out, though. Because if he does, he could find out why it happened, and he can’t risk Emma’s safety like that.

“We’re going to hit back, which is why Miss Swan is here today,” he continues. His words draw Emma’s attention up from her hands as her big eyes stare at Peter. “It has become imperative that you identify something we can use against the Kings. Any help you need, you’ll have. Hook,” he calls, shifting his focus.

“Aye?”

“Continue to assist Miss Swan in her search. Remove the security features if you have to.”

“If it’s alright,” Robin starts, causing Killian’s eyes to grow twice their size, “I’d like to help as well. I believe my tracking skills may be useful in helping Miss Swan decide where to look.”

“Fine,” Peter agrees, waving him off. “As for the rest of you, prepare for a battle. If it’s a fight they want, then a fight they shall have.”

~~~~

She drops into the too-firm chair and it squeaks under her weight, a groan escaping her lips as she jimmies the mouse of her computer. He can’t help the small smile that pulls at one corner of his mouth, her dramatic entrance bringing him joy despite the stress they're all under.

No one says anything at first; it’s awkward with Rob being here despite him being one of Killian’s closest friends. Even though he trusts him with his life, he isn’t sure he’s ready to hear the truth of their relationship after how many times he insisted that Killian avoid this.

Once her computer boots up, she straightens and he takes a seat in his usual spot, gesturing to another folding chair across the room in an invitation for Rob to sit. “Want me to remove the securities, love?”

“No, I don’t want you to remove the securities ,” she responds in a mocking tone, mimicking his accent as she rolls her eyes. “I’m not a damn child; I know how to take off parental controls.”

Killian raises his brows, looking at her in surprise, and asks, “then why haven’t you?”

“Because I’m also not an idiot,” she responds, glaring at him before turning back to the aged screen. “I’m not stupid enough to try and go against Peter’s rules.”

He gives her a small smile, one that he can’t seem to give to anyone else, and can't seem to help giving her, and nods. “That’s right,” he agrees softly, his voice just barely above a whisper. He almost forgets his place, wanting nothing more than to lean forward and plant a kiss on her beautiful-- if not thoroughly chewed up-- lips. It’s obvious enough that something’s irritated her, and he wants to get to the bottom of it and console her so that the light comes back into her eyes. He’s greedy like that, he supposes.

“I bloody knew it,” he hears, Rob’s grumbling voice yanking him violently from his thoughts and his desires.

Killian turns quickly, as does Emma, both of them staring at Robin in surprise, as if they forgot about their audience.

“You’re fucking her,” he accuses, nodding and tightening his jaw. “Killian, mate, how many times have we talked about this--”

“Rob,” he starts hurriedly as he stands, his hands held out in a plea. Without words, only his eyes communicating to his friend, he begs for forgiveness and discretion and kindness. “Mate…”

He can’t even look at Emma yet because he knows that the look on her face will break him. He knows that she must be gnawing at her lip, her brows high on her forehead and her eyes desperate and terrified. “I’m not going to say anything,” Rob finally says, his eyes meeting Emma’s rather than Killians, confirming his hunch. “You two have royally fucked up, but your secret’s safe with me.”

He hears her sigh and worries that she could be crying, so he turns to her. He’s met with her dropping her head into her hands in relief, and he hurries to squat in front of her, taking her hands in his. “It’s alright,” he whispers, running his thumbs over her knuckles. Her dim, glassy eyes meet his and she shakes her head.

“We can’t-- he knew after two minutes. We have to go,” she murmurs softly, but he sees something shift in her. She sits up slightly straighter and gazes into his eyes seriously. “Can we trust him?”

“Yes,” he confirms while he squeezes her hands. He knows they can, but he turns back to look at Rob anyway.

“You can trust me, lass,” he vows, understanding as Killian begs him to. “I swear I won’t say a thing, but you’re playing a dangerous game. What’s the plan here?”

“We’re leaving,” Killian answers simply. “As soon as possible. We would have tonight, but Neal came back early.”

“He didn’t come back early, you dolt. They never left.”

He pales, his face falling, and he feels Emma's squeezing his hand. She must be thinking exactly what he is. They had both assumed that Peter and Neal somehow heard about Rufio and had returned, but the fact that they hadn’t even left is somehow more concerning.

“How… how did they find out?”

Rob snorts, shaking his head. “Right, you were too busy to-- hang on. Killian… tell me you didn’t--”

“Rob--”

“You didn’t. ” His face falls pale as well, the look he gives his friend chilling. Killian can feel the disappointment and terror radiating off of his oldest friend easily, and it does nothing to quell his nerves. “Killian, tell me right now that you didn’t kill him.”

“I had to,” he whispers, shaking his head in self hatred. “He attacked her. Said he would-- he said--”

“ Fuck, he caught you, didn’t he?”

“Robin,” Emma interrupts, trying to stop the two of them from going at it and speaking too loudly. They’re bound to tip someone off if they keep this up. “What Killian did… He knows it was wrong, but there wasn’t much of a choice. Rufio attacked me. He was protecting me, and now… I have to protect him. We have to get out of here, because if they find out that Killian shot Rufio, he’ll be worse off than your friend, Liam.”

Rob is quiet for a moment, allowing Killian to absorb her words. She’s right, of course. They’ll deliver him a fate much worse than that of his brother if they find out.

“Too right, love,” Rob agrees finally, nodding and running his hands over his face. “I’ll help you however I can, so long as the two of you take me as well.”

“Of course, brother. I’d hoped to grab Tink and Elsa as well.”

He and Emma hadn’t spoken of his previous dalliances, and he only hopes that his intention to bring Tink along with them doesn’t offend her. It’s not as if he plans on staying with her long, but she deserves to get out just as much as they do.

“Only because of Liam, and Tink is--”

“It’s okay,” she cuts him off with a smile, her hand squeezing his. “Of course we’ll bring them.”

He can hardly take the amount of love he has for her, her unequivocal understanding of every piece of him hard to wrap his mind around. He gives her a genuine smile, and her gaze meets his, giving him the beaming sunlight in her eyes of which he’ll never tire.

~~~~

The service they hold at the Rabbit Hole is only slightly deranged. The message is clear enough: Rufio’s loss of life is seen as a personal attack against the club. His death is not sad because his life ended, it’s sad because the club is suffering.

It’s nauseating.

The only thing that keeps her head on straight is Killian, the gentle looks he shoots her from across the bar where he sits with Rob shooting warmth through her heart and to the pit of her stomach. His presence is so soothing, so grounding. It makes her feel steady and strong to be with him, to even be near him.

Each time she catches him glancing at her out of the corner of her eye, she feels her heart rate picking up. He drives her mad, she’s discovered. They’ve only just begun their relationship with one another, but it feels stronger than any she’s ever been in if only based on the physical connection they have with one another. She’s never felt this way about anyone before. She’s been with men before, men before Neal, but it was always transactional and cold. It was fine, but it wasn’t great. With Killian, it’s mind numbing.

He reads her effortlessly and flawlessly. He knows exactly what she needs when she needs it. He’s known exactly how to bring her over the edge each time, and she can only foresee their sex life getting better as they grow closer and closer. She can’t wait to grow closer to him.

The overwhelming feelings of disgust and discomfort are washed away easily each time he stares at her and are replaced by a feeling of undeniable need. The pressure builds where she needs him the most, arousal washing over her and through her until she can barely stand it, and the feeling of Neal’s hand landing on her shoulder makes her jump. “Want a drink, babe?” he asks, as if completely forgetting the conversation they had last night. He hasn’t even bothered to ask her of the results of her tests yet.

“I’m actually gonna just run to the bathroom,” she says with a smile. “Not feeling great, I’ll be back.”

She doesn’t give him a chance to respond before she stands and heads towards the bathroom, relying on the dank darkness and the slowly dripping faucet to distract from the overwhelming moodiness of the bar and her overwhelming arousal at the thought of Killian’s hands on her.

She focuses on her breathing for a moment, hoping to slow things down around her and calm her racing pulse. The sense of peace is short lived; the door opens slowly, making her heart rate pick up. But when she sees him, she relaxes easily, a smile creeping onto her face. “You need to be careful,” she insists quietly, although she can’t help but giggle as he locks the door and pounces on her.

He lifts her onto the counter and his lips are on hers instantly, his hands gripping her ass and pulling her towards him. Her legs wrap around his and her arms grab for his shoulders, her nails digging into the rough fabric of his button down shirt.

With his mouth trailing hot kisses along her flesh, his teeth scraping against her neck, he finds his way to her collarbone and murmurs, “I couldn’t stand being away from you a moment longer.”

She gasps in surprise at his words, a wave of arousal rushing through her and landing in her core, twisting her and encouraging her to tighten her legs around him in search of friction and pressure. “Fuck,” she whispers as his hands and lips move the cup of her bra to the side.

“Do you want this?” he asks, seeking consent before latching his lips to her hardened nipple. She nods fiercely. “ Gods , how I crave you.”

“Killian,” she breathes, “touch me.”

His mouth devours hers again, his hand sliding down the front of her and finding the waist of her jeans. He tugs, drawing her closer to him and, without breaking their lips apart, snaps her button undone and slides her zipper down quickly.

“Are you wet already, Emma?” he asks roughly, his fingers sliding over the cotton that’s already nearly soaked through. He growls. “You are; that’s a good girl.”

“Yours,” she mumbles, her arousal taking over and her mind barely able to keep up with what her mouth says.

“Aye, mine,” he agrees, nipping at her bottom lip. He pushes her garment aside and slips his fingers through her folds, groaning when he finds her sodden for him. “So responsive,” he praises. “So perfect for me.”

With a moan as his mouth presses to the sensitive skin under her earlobe, she nods again, wanting to reinforce to him that she’s his . Only his. Simply, she tells him, “I love you.”

His fingers glide over her clit, pinching quickly and dragging a whimper from her throat. “I love you so much I can scarcely breathe,” he whispers. “I can’t stand to be away from you.”

“Then don’t make me wait,” she begs in a whisper herself.

He moves his hand away from where she craves him and quickly moves his own jeans, and Emma wriggles until her pants are falling around her knees. “We’ll leave tomorrow,” he vows, smoothing his weeping cock along her clit as she wrestles with the condom wrapper. When she finally has it open, she places it over his tip and slides her fist down to the base.

“Where will we go?”

She gasps when one finger slips into her followed closely by a second, curling against her expertly and sending her searching for his mouth with hers. He swallows her cries when his thumb gently presses against her clit.

“Your heart’s desire, Swan,” he says, lining his cock up to her waiting entrance. “I promise, that’s all I want you to have.”

Their foreheads press together, their noses too, and she bites her lip as he pushes inside. She clings to him, her fingers gripping the back of his shoulders, her heels digging into his backside, her core squeezing around his cock. After a few perfectly timed, perfectly angled thrusts, she whispers, “I just want you.”

He holds her so close to him as one hand grabs onto her ass and the other holds her jaw and neck. His thrusts are quick, but deep and effective, striking her exactly where she needs him. He groans when she clenches around his cock again.

His hand slips around from her back so that his fingers can dance over her clit with each thrust. Emma moves her hands up to the back of his neck, gripping his hair and begging him for more in each moan against his mouth. It’s not long before he has her a writhing mess in his arms, pleading for release.

“Come on, angel,” he encourages gently but firmly as he gives her another flawless thrust. “Nice and tight for me, aren’t you? I know you’re ready, love. Come for me.”

His voice is tenacious, but still so tender, so caring in the way that he loves her. She’s never felt so loved and safe while being spoken to in such a dominating tone, and she loves it. She loves the freedom that comes with being commanded and feeling safe at the same time. She never knew the two could coexist.

At his behest, she clenches once more and cries out his name, his mouth muffling the sound as he spills into her. They hold each other firmly, panting as they ride out their highs together, although they’ll never be sated. They’ll never have enough of each other, always craving more.

“Bloody hell, I love you,” he says when they catch their breath.

She hums happily, if only because she’s still panting too hard to speak. She kisses his neck, her lips lingering on his soft, sweat coated skin. “I love you,” she whispers. Then, because telling him once will never be enough, she moves so that her tongue traces his earlobe and repeats, “I love you.”

He moves her hair out of her face when she pulls away slightly, then presses a kiss to her cheek. “I’m sorry to come in here so… rudely,” he laughs. “But I--”

“I’m glad you did,” she smiles. She winces slightly as he pulls out, stepping away to dispose of the condom and exposing his bare ass to her, tempting her to pull him back to her. “Are we really gonna be able to go tomorrow?”

“Aye,” he smiles and returns to her to kiss her once more. “I just need to tell Tink and Elsa. We’re to meet by the docks; Robin knows already.”

“You have a plan?”

“Somewhere quiet,” he answers, “hidden away, unsuspecting… but it must be by the beach, aye?”

“Aye,” she giggles and he straightens her shirt with a smile. “And?”

“Nantucket.”

“Nantucket?”

“Mmm,” he hums as he helps her off of the counter so that she can fix her pants. “Quiet, secluded island, enough tourists to help us blend in. Plus, infamously beautiful beaches for an infamously beautiful woman.”

She wraps her arms around his neck, pushing onto her toes and kissing him. “Sounds perfect.”

“Emma…” he starts, and she can sense the shift between them. He’s thinking, his self-anger and self-hatred sneaking through the joy he felt moments ago. “If it weren’t for what I did--”

“Please,” she whispers. “You know that I love you. The fact that you killed Rufio doesn’t change that. I know you regret it, but if you need forgiveness, you have it.”

He leans against her heavily, forehead to hers again, and nods. “I do regret it. But I know it had to be done.”

“Exactly. And where will I meet you?”

“I’ll find you, my love. The less you know, the safer you’ll be with Neal. Robin knows the plan, though.” She nods against him now. “You’ll be alright,” he whispers, and she almost wonders who he’s promising.

“I know; I trust you.”

~~~~

A knock sounds against a heavy door. It’s pushed open slowly, and behind it stands a young and conflicted soul, trying to make the best decision for her family. The things she overheard as she stood outside of the women’s restroom serve to threaten the family she has found, and she cannot let that stand.

“Enter,” commands a strong and powerful voice, the man looking up from his ledgers and giving the woman a pensive look. “Elsa, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Peter,” she answers, moving towards the chair across from him. “I’m afraid I have some… troubling news.”

The man hums, leaning forward and pressing his arms to the desk. “And what is that, my dear?”

The woman takes a deep breath, sadly shaking her head at the truth she’s uncovered. She didn’t think her friend Killian capable of such a thing, but discovering that he’s murdered a member of the club has stunned her. “It’s Rufio,” she says wistfully. “I found out who killed him.”

“That’s very interesting indeed,” the man agrees. “Are you implying that it wasn’t a member of the Kings of Elsinore who murdered a member of our family?”

“Yes,” she nods with a deep sigh. “But it pains me to put the truth to words.”

“Elsa,” he starts again, leaning back in his chair authoritatively. “If you know something, you must tell me. How can we protect you if you don’t protect us in return?”

“Of course. After what happened to Liam, of course I want to protect the club.”

The man nods in sad agreement. “Yes, his death was a tragedy, but the club has been keeping you safe ever since.”

“Exactly.”

“Go on, then,” he gestures towards her. “Whatever you’ve discovered, you must remember that the club’s interests as a whole must come above those of one.”

The woman nods once more and takes a deep breath in, feeling the cool air hit her lungs. “It was Killian,” she whispers. “Killian killed Rufio.”

~~~~

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay @xsajx @itsfridaysomewhere @alexa-fangirl-forever @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @rapunzelsghosts @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice @batana54 @sailtoafarawayland @deckerstarblanche @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @hookedmom @pirateprincessofpizza

#Watch the Sunlight Fade #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #sunlight ff #captain swan au #modern au #captain swan smut #cs smut #captain swan angst #cs angst #captain swan fluff #cs fluff #ouat fanfic #ouat ff #once upon a time #once upon a time fanfic #captain swan

51 notes · View notes

jemelle · 3 years

Text

codes to a heart

derek morgan x penelope garcia

rated t // 2.2k words // one-shot

summary: Things to avoid when creating a phone password: 1. A common set of numbers. 2. Personal information that’s easily searchable. 3. The birthday of the co-worker you’ve been in love with for almost as long as you’ve known him.

(Penelope has never been one to follow advice.)

a/n: i do not pretend to remember anything about early 2010s technology, nor did i bother to research it. unbeta’d- comments and concrit welcome!

my masterlist

read this story on ao3!

Penelope’s phone password is Derek’s birthday. She knows that it’s unsafe, is more than happy to lecture the other agents on proper cybersecurity (iLoveHenry is very cute, JJ, but it’s not exactly secure), but she just can’t seem to force herself to change it. Every time she goes to unlock her phone, she smiles, the four numbers a constant reminder of everything that Derek is to her.

The first time Derek asks what her password is, she panics. She’d been the one to hand him the phone, wanting to show him a picture of a cute dog she’d seen on her way to work that morning. But too much time must have passed since she last tapped the screen, because the next thing she knows he’s waving the black screen in front of her.

“What’s the code?” he asks, and Penelope freezes, wondering if he’ll recognize it as soon as he hears the numbers, if he’ll understand why.

“Give it to me,” she says, holding out her hand. In response, Derek holds it above his head, out of her reach. If she didn’t love him so much, Penelope might almost be mad.

“What are you worried about, babygirl?” His tone is teasing, and Penelope doesn’t want to imagine what his reaction might be if he really knew. “Afraid I’ll find something… incriminating?”

“Just give it to me, please?” Penelope watches smugly as her puppy dog face wins him over, just as it does every time. She punches in the code, then hands it back to him, panic receding as Derek begins to coo over the photo.

The two of them are on their way to Rossi’s, and they’re running late. Penelope’s driving, because Derek’s car may have broken down, but she’s damned if she’ll let anyone else drive Esther.

“Tell Rossi we’ll be there in ten minutes,” she says, not taking her eyes off the road. The others have teased her for being such a cautious driver, but she can’t help it, not when she sees danger around every corner.

“Okay,” he responds.

Penelope continues driving. Beside her, she can hear Derek rummaging around, sounding increasingly irritated. When they pull up to a red light, she turns to him. Derek’s searching the footwell, but he looks up immediately, as if he can feel her gaze.

“I must have left my phone at home,” he says. Derek had called her half an hour ago, asking if she could take him to the party. Penelope had jumped at the opportunity, even though it meant going out of her way.

“You can use mine. It’s in my bag.” Her purse is in the backseat, slightly out of reach. Derek twists around to reach it, forearm grazing hers. At his touch, Penelope’s insides seem to grow tiny, fluttering wings. She shushes them firmly.

The light turns green and she presses down on the gas, sending the car into motion once more. A moment later, Derek finally finds her phone. He grabs it triumphantly before sitting back in his seat.

Penelope is a stickler for the speed limit, which is possibly the only thing that saves the both of them when Derek says: “What’s your code?”

She jolts, hitting the accelerator a little too hard. Terror rises in her throat as the resulting force presses them against their seats. Penelope makes herself ease onto the brake and take deep breaths until she can feel her heart settling.

“You okay?” Derek asks when they’ve returned to the previous speed. Penelope nods mutely.

Her heart starts up again as she remembers what he needs. She could wait for another red light, but they’re in the suburbs now, so stoplights are few and far between. She could pull over, but that seems like a gross overreaction. Penelope is a fully-grown woman. She refuses to be humbled by a crush, even if it is a crush on the best man she’s ever known.

Penelope gives him the passcode a single digit at a time. She’s almost sure he’ll know by the end, every moment taking her close to the point of no return. As she says the last number, Penelope braces for impact, not knowing what awaits her on the other side.

In the end, Derek says nothing, and she’s too scared to ask if he missed it or if he’s just trying to let her down easy.

Spencer, on the other hand, definitely takes notice. They’re in the bullpen, Spencer sitting on his desk while Penelope spins absentmindedly in his chair. He watches over his shoulder as she unlocks her phone, eyes narrowing in thought. She’s just tapped the final number when he opens his mouth:

“Isn’t that Mor–” Penelope claps a hand over his mouth to keep him from revealing her secret to the entire bullpen. Damn his stupidly perceptive brain.

He’s still speaking, words muffled by her hand. Before Emily, JJ, or, god forbid, Derek can notice, Penelope takes her hand away, shooting him a warning glare. Wisely, he shuts up, at least until they’re both alone.

When the whole team breaks for lunch, Penelope drags Spencer into the nearest storage closet, ignoring his protestations.

“I love you dearly,” she whispers. “But if you say anything about this…”

It’s not really a threat so much as it is a plea. If Spencer says anything, she’ll lose whatever dignity she still has. Penelope isn’t stupid: she’s heard what the office gossip mill has to to say about her and Derek. She’s pretty sure there’s even a pool on if and when they’ll get together.

If this gets out, people with much less intelligence than Spencer will be able to figure out this attraction is unrequited. Her friendship with Derek, once sweet, will become pathetic. She doesn’t even allow herself to think about what Derek would say.

Spencer holds his hands up in surrender. “Your secret is safe with me.”

The fact that she didn’t even have to explain why it matters to her is one of the many, many reasons she adores Spencer Reid. As long as she cares, he cares.

On his way out of the closet, Spencer turns back to her. “He loves you, you know that?”

Of course she does. But, despite the strength of Derek’s love, he doesn’t love her the way she does, deeply and recklessly and without regard for the safety of her soul’s inner reaches.

It’s Penelope’s birthday, and the team has thrown her a party in the conference room. As the birthday girl, she isn’t supposed to lift a single finger, so Penelope sits in the chair of honor while the others cater to her every whim.

Earlier, JJ had slid a plastic tiara into her hair, telling Penelope she was queen for the day. Penelope couldn’t resist beaming at that, an extra bounce enfusing her step. She thinks she might make wearing one a regular habit.

Penelope’s chair, positioned as centrally as it can be, given the circular table, is decorated with a multitude of sparkly ribbons. Spencer is sitting to one side of her, but today Penelope only has eyes for Derek, who sits on her other side.

It’s magnetic, the way he moves. As she watches, Derek laughs at something Emily says, eyes crinkling and head tilting up to expose the long column of his neck. At this rate, Penelope is going to drop dead before it’s time to eat cake.

She makes it to the cake phase of the party, though not without a great deal of effort. Derek, for his part, is determined to make it as difficult as possible. As JJ brings the cake out, he rests his hand on her arm. It’s the kind of casual touch they do all the time, but today it feels like a brush of fire.

The team sings to her, voices clashing as they try to harmonize in six different keys. When they’re done, she blows out her candle, making the same wish she always does. Let the people I love stay safe.

She looks at Derek when she’s finished, and there’s something in his gaze that makes her unable to look away. His eyes are full of love, the kind she wants to last forever. When he turns away to say something to Hotch, she makes a second, selfish wish. Let him love me the way I do.

The party has mostly finished by now. Emily’s begrudgingly peeling streamers down from the ceiling, having been informed by Hotch that they constitute a serious fire hazard. Derek and Penelope are standing in the corner, reluctant to return to work.

Emily exits the room, and Penelope knows they should too. The crimes don’t stop when they take a break, no matter how much she wishes they did. Penelope adjusts her tiara, steeling herself to go back to invading the lives of perfect strangers.

Derek walks her back to her office, arm around her shoulders. She leans into him, his presence an always-welcome comfort. When they reach her office, he lets go of her. She pushes open the door, turning back to look at him.

“You should probably go,” she says, and he nods. Standing there before her, he looks so earnest, so gorgeous, like everything she’s ever wanted. In her mind’s eye, she sees a million futures with him, a million timelines where he loves her back. And it’s her birthday and she’s tired of wanting, so Penelope lets herself think for a moment that those futures might be possible.

She opens her mouth to say goodbye and that glimmer of hope intervenes.

What she means to say is I love you, the same words she’s uttered a million times to him. What comes out instead is: “I’m in love with you.”

Holy mother of all Freudian slips. She tries desperately to figure out what to say, but her mind goes blank. Her first instinct is to take it back, but her throat burns at the thought of having to pretend she doesn’t really love him.

A small part of her is relieved that it’s out in the open, but the rest of her wants to lock herself in her office for several days. Why did she have to go and fall in love with him in the first place? Why wasn’t she satisfied with what they had?

She swallows dryly, but doesn't say anything, watching Derek for his reaction. He’s staring at her, expression inscrutable. Penelope flushes, counting down the seconds until she’ll have to execute plan barricade-self-in-office. There’s only five seconds left on the clock when Derek makes his move.

“Penelope, I want to show you something.” Derek holds out his phone and she takes it, confused. Is he going to pretend that nothing happened? That’s somehow worse than anything he could say.

She turns on his phone, only to be met by the lock screen.

“What’s your password?” she asks, because she should probably say something at some point. She doesn’t quite register what she’s said until he responds.

“What do you think it is?” he says, infinitely gentle.

Oh. Penelope slowly types in her own birthday, not quite daring to believe that might be what he means. Sure enough, his phone unlocks, opening to reveal his background, a terrible selfie they had taken together.

With some difficulty, Penelope manages to compose herself. She swallows hard. “What… what was it you wanted to show me?”

He takes the phone back from her, holding it in front of her face. “This, Penelope. Don’t pretend you don’t know what it means.”

Penelope lets out an entirely undignified squeak. Here it is, the thing she’s always wanted. Proof that Derek loves her back romantically. Every plan she had for this moment, every grand gesture, flees her head completely, heading for the next galaxy over at warp speed. She reacts instinctively, stepping closer to him until only a few inches separate them. The point of no return is receding rapidly in the distance.

Derek puts his hand under her chin, tilting her face up. Penelope thinks there might be tears in her eyes, tries to blink them away before he can see them.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and she restrains herself from screaming ‘YES’ at the top of her lungs.

She whispers her agreement instead, almost reverently.

He kisses her, lightly, and Penelope swears she can feel actual stars forming in her eyes. It’s everything she’s ever dreamed of, only her dreams could never measure up to reality, the way Derek pulls back slightly, running his thumb along her bottom lip before kissing her again.

This time, they break away only when air becomes a necessity. Penelope rests her head on his chest, delighting in the knowledge that if there are more more journeys to make, more challenges to conquer, she won’t be alone. Truth be told, she’s never been alone as long as she had him.

Above her, Derek lets out a startled, “Hey!”

Penelope looks up, following his gaze to where Emily is standing, holding up her own phone, streamers dangling from her other hand. When she notices them watching her, Emily gives them a wave.

“Sorry!” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “I need proof for the pool.”

Usually, Penelope would march over and make Emily delete those photos, but today, she couldn’t care less. Instead, she leans up to Derek, grin so broad it could split her face in two, and pulls him in for another kiss.

taglist: @elleroodles, @lizziechase, @blakes-dictionxry

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #derek morgan #penelope garcia #morcia #*mine #*fic

137 notes · View notes

skiller0dani · 3 years

Text

Moonlight | Draco Malfoy

MASTERLIST Harry Potter Masterlist

angst requested requests info

Part 9/10 (Part 1)(Part 2)(Part 3)(Part 4)(Part 5)(Part 6)(Part 7)(Part 8)(Part 10) song

almost finished!! this weekend I’ll post the LAST part to my ‘Obliviate’ Series!

Ron tried to not get involved in your relationship with Draco, if anything he actively avoided the topic altogether. But even he had to admit that the disastrous breakup was hard to ignore, even for him. He hated seeing you so sad, and he hates to admit it but seeing Draco so upset was tugging at his heartstrings- and he didn’t even like Draco all that much. You he cared deeply for, and seeing you in this state was difficult for him, but most of all for Harry. You barely ate, barely spoke, and your grades had begun to slip considerably.

Draco was your everything, and his betrayal was more brutal than anything else you could envision. You still couldn’t wrap your head around it, you wouldn’t let yourself accept that Draco did this- all of this- of his own free will. With all his memories in tact, while still claiming that he loves you. You hate the fact that you care, but there still has to be more to it. You were determined to get to the bottom of this, you needed to know why.

It had been weeks since you’ve spoken to Draco, you couldn’t even bring yourself to look him in the eye during meals. You always felt his eyes on you at least once, and you tried desperately to remain composed, to not let a tear escape. The worst part was that you expected Draco to fight for you, to beg you to speak to him, to do anything. But he didn’t do anything, he was letting you go and he wasn’t fighting for you. How could he say he loves you but then let you go? You know Draco well enough to know when he isn’t telling you the truth, and Draco has lied to you more this year then he ever has before. You were desperate to know why. It couldn’t just be about the Dark Mark, because Draco is afraid. He’s scared of Voldemort sure, but he’s acting as though you’re always in imminent danger. As though being near him could kill you at any given moment, you don’t understand. You need to understand.

“Just let it go.” Hermione mumbled a few nights later as you sat with her studying for Arithmancy. Your head was rested in your hand as you flipped through the book laid out in front of you, a book you got from the restricted section- with Dumbledore’s written permission of course. It contained everything wizards knew about the Dark Mark, and the dark magic it possessed. The process it takes to receive a Dark Mark is horribly painful, your heart squeezes painfully every time you remember Draco had to go through that pain.

“I can’t, you know that.” Your voice sounds harsher than you’d intended but for the last few days Hermione has been relentlessly trying to get you to give up. Even though Draco has hurt you worse than anyone ever has, you’ll never stop fighting to learn the truth.

“This is going to get you killed, don’t you understand that?” She snaps back, dropping her quill as she glares at you from across the table.

“I don’t care!”

“Draco isn’t worth this Y/N!” You slam your book shut and shove away from the table.

“He is to me.” With that you march right out of the common room, your heart pounding wildly as you go.

Draco tugs nervously on the collar of his shirt for the hundredth time today as he sits outside Snape’s office. Another full moon is rising tonight, and if Draco doesn’t get the Wolfsbane potion from Snape, he’s going to turn himself in to Dumbledore. He can’t risk what happened last time, to happen again. Draco can’t hurt anyone else. The corridor is silent, so silent you could hear a pin drop as Draco nervously tapped his foot against the stone floor. With the potion, Draco will unfortunately still turn, but the potion will grant him the ability to remember who he is. The anxiety turning in his gut makes him feel as though he’s going to faint, the horrible memory of tearing you apart and nearly killing you gives him nightmares. He can’t hurt anyone ever again- especially you.

The door creaks open and much to Draco’s relief, a small bottle is held in Snape’s palm. Draco takes it wordlessly and stalks down the corridor, there’s still a few hours until evening. Once Draco exits the castle, his owl drops a letter into his palm before flying off for the Owlery. Against his better judgement, Draco has written a letter to Professor Lupin. The only other Werewolf that Draco knows of that actively avoids trying to eat people. He tears the letter open, reading the words over hastily.

Draco,

The second transformation isn’t nearly as traumatic as the first, but it’s always painful. Agony unlike anything else you’ll ever know, and the potion doesn’t stop the transformation. That’s important Draco, nothing can stop you from changing. But the potion allows you to remember who you are and the people you love, and so it gives you the ability to curl up somewhere and wait until morning. While you’ll physically change into the animal, you won’t become the animal- you’ll still be you. During my first transformations I ended up injuring my parents, this is who you are and every Werewolf has hurt somebody. Every single one of them. I’ll be here to help and guide you, and don’t worry- your secret is safe with me.

-Remus Lupin

It’s almost embarrassing for Draco to admit that the letter provided him some comfort. Draco clutched the letter tightly to his chest, his palms trembling as the time read 5:30 pm. He needs you to stay as far from him as humanly possible, but unfortunately that’s not in your plans for today.

“Draco?” He hears your small voice from behind him and his entire body goes rigid. No! You need to leave, now. Draco turns with a gulp, his eyes briefly meeting yours. You open your mouth to speak but Draco cuts you off- “you need to go Y/N.”

His tone is firm but you see the fear in his eyes, the trembling in his palms, the sweat trickling down the side of his face. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.” You cross your arms, your eyes trying to meet his but he keeps avoiding your gaze. Draco runs a shaky hand through his hair, the potion secured safely in his palm. “I’m not kidding, go. Leave.” His voice is harsh as he snaps at you, and you flinch away from the intensity in his tone. He turns to walk away but you grab his wrist, yanking back to look at you.

“If you really loved me you wouldn’t be running away!” You gasp, tears welling in your eyes. Draco turns to you, his eyebrows pinching together as he looks down at you sadly.

“It’s because I love you that I’m running away. Trust me, you don’t want to be anywhere near me right now.” His voice is trembling as a haunted look crosses over his face as the sun begins it’s descent from the sky. Draco’s eyes snap up, noticing the courtyard darkening. “What are you-” Draco yanks away from you before you can finish, his eyes sending you silent pleas to just let him go. He darts into the castle, his stride quick but you quickly begin to scramble after him. Draco unstoppers the potion bottle and drinks it, feeling his hands and feet beginning to tingle. He’s going to change within an hour at least, and when he glances behind him he sees you trailing after him.

“Draco!” You call, you’ve never seen him like this before. He looks positively petrified and you won’t let him go until you understand why. He doesn’t stop or slow, if anything he begins to walk quicker. You jog to catch up with him and you grab him by the shoulders, “what the hell is going on!” You nearly yell, tears falling down your cheeks as you take him in. The sight before you nearly makes you gasp. He looks sickly, his eyes sunken in and heavy bags underneath them. His skin is pale, more so than usual, and clammy. His entire body is trembling so hard it’s practically buzzing, and you swear you can see his heart pounding in his chest.

Fear ripples through Draco’s body as the sun begins to dip below the horizon, he places his own hands on your shoulders with a look of raw desperation in his eyes. “Y/N, you have to go right now. Go and don’t come looking for me-” His eyes dart to the window, the moon is beginning to rise. Panic envelops Draco as he feels the first bone beginning to crack. You hear the sickening crunch of his bones changing and you release him, horror on your face as Draco’s face twists in pain. “Go!” Draco yells, turning and nearly sprinting down the hallway, towards the exit to the castle. He thought he had more time- he was wrong.

For reasons even you don’t understand, your feet carry on after Draco. You hear more of his bones cracking as he stumbles to the ground just as he crosses the rickety bridge. “D-Dray what’s happening?” You cry, panic curling it’s icy fingers around your throat as you watch him with wide eyes. Draco releases a wail of agony that sends you across the grass and to his side just at the edge of the forbidden forest. “Please, go.” He begs again, and when Draco looks back at you- you jolt away from him with tears in your eyes. His eyes are glowing an ethereal pale blue. “Draco,” Your voice is a quiet, haunted whisper. You feel frozen, planted into the ground where you stand, watching as Draco cries out again just as the moon peeks out from the clouds.

The moon rays hit Draco and as soon as they do he’s screaming again, except this time his body changes. You watch with horrified eyes as Draco’s entire body takes the shape of a giant white werewolf. You feel drilled into place, panic clutching at your heart and tears trickling down your cheeks as you stare into his eyes. You recognize this wolf, it’s the same one that attacked you. Draco attacked you. You wait as the white wolf remains hunched on the ground, and when he lifts his head and looks into your eyes your brows furrow. You can still see Draco in the eyes of the wolf, it’s not a mindless beast this time, it’s Draco.

“Draco I know you’re still in there...” There are a million thoughts swirling around your head so fast you feel nearly dizzy. Draco lifts his head to watch you, and you reach a hand out for him but as you do he turns and bounds off into the forbidden forest. Your chest heaves as you collapse to the ground, your legs no longer having the strength to support you. Everything comes into focus now, why Draco did what he did. He was never that afraid of Voldemort hurting you, he was afraid he was going to hurt you. He’s a werewolf! When did this happen? How, why? You can’t stop the questions as they continue to bombard you, desperately trying to make sense of all of this.

You fall forward, your palms catching you as you cry. Oh Draco. You had no idea what he’s been going through- what he’s had to endure this whole time. All you want now is to help him, and while you’re not sure you could ever forgive what he’s done to you- at least now you know the whole story. Your head snaps up when you hear the howl. The howl of a lonely werewolf. Your heart breaks in your chest for the thousandth time time today. You stand from the forest floor, you can’t just leave Draco all alone to deal with this by himself. Against your better judgement you keep your eyes focused on where the howl came from, and you trudge into the Forbidden Forest.

***

@justmesadgirl @youknowiloveyou-so @pansiesanddasies @allaboutthatdrummer @lifeasdreamgirl @salafab @andydre4m @xdmx @clarissaxpearce @luciferatlantic @bitchybeatle @secretaccshh @kill-the-teen-memories @saptediavoli @sabor-a-ksoo @marianamarquez2027797 @thehornyfrenchman @little-red-devil @moexniquee @capr1c0rn10 @trippy-morgan @arossebyanyothername @buckylahey @dracofeltonmalfoy @itsbebeyyy @marzen777 @i-am-addicted-to-tea @lonely-kermit @artist-bby @lexxxtacyyy @fallinallinmendes @m-winchester-67 @cocoamoonmalfoy @cleverhottubobject @just-another-selfcare-blog @realistic-breadstick

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy smut #werewolf!draco #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagine #Harry Potter #Smut #hogwarts #hp #hp fanfic #draco malfoy werewolf

83 notes · View notes

honey-dewey · 3 years

Text

All the Write Places

Pairing: Javier Peña/Reader

Word Count: 3,041

Warnings: Mentions of canon typical violence, some use of (Y/N)

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

A collection of letters between the Reader, who is still in Texas with Javier’s family, and Javier while he’s hunting Escobar in Columbia.

Mi Amor,

It’s Javier again. I know it’s been too long since my last letter, but the DEA doesn’t want any of my personal information to be intercepted. Steve is doing well. He and Connie just adopted a baby. I think her name is Olivia.

I’m sorry I haven’t called in a while. It’s for the same reason I don’t write all too often. I can’t wait to see you again, I promise it will be soon.

Yours forever, Javier.

P.S. keep an eye out for a package.

———

My Javi,

I miss you so much my dear. Your last letter brought me to tears, and I’m over the moon about the package. The jacket is huge on me, but it smells just like you. You be sure to give the Murphys my love, and kiss their little girl for me.

Things are alright here at home. Your mother treats me like one of her own kids, and it’s very sweet. Your father has begun to teach me Spanish, and your cousins constantly ask about when their Uncle Javi is coming home.

We all miss you, but I miss you most my dear. I can’t wait to see you again.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

———

Mi Amor,

The Murphys insist I tell you Olivia is doing well and has received your love. The hunt is long, but the promise of you waiting for me at home is a sure comfort.

I apologize, but I must keep my letters short. Just know that I love you and I will be coming home. I promise.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Corazón,

I know you must keep your letters short, but your mother insists you write more. She misses you dearly. I don’t think she understands the gravity of your job. Your father understands. He is worried for you, and his brother helped him rig his radio to listen to the Colombian news. Every time I hear that name, I shiver. He’s a horrible horrible man, and I cannot wait to see him rot in prison.

To keep this letter happy, I want to tell you your sister is pregnant! She’s overjoyed, and so am I. I know you won’t be home to meet the baby, but I’ll send photos, just as I always do.

I love you my dear. I’ll wait for you to return to me, no matter how long that is.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

———

Mi Amor,

The pictures were just what I needed. They are in my apartment, and I put the one of you and my parents on my desk so you’re always with me.

Tell my sister I’m proud of her and cannot wait to meet my niece or nephew. With luck, we’ll be home soon.

I’m sending another package for you and the family. I love you.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Corazón,

The pregnancy continues to go well, and the kids loved your package. I’m glad you enjoyed the photos.

Unfortunately, I don’t know when I’ll be able to write again. I know it’s hard for you, but my mother just passed, and I’m headed back north for the funeral and to spend some time with my dad. I’ll give them your love, as always.

I wish you were by my side, Javier. The days seem so long without you.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

———

Mi Corazón

You shouldn’t have called me Javier. It was risky, for the both of us. However, I do so desperately miss your voice. I’m glad I got to speak with you.

I promised I’d write when I returned to Texas, and I am home beside your family once more. They’re all jealous I got to speak with you, but the adults understand. Your mother especially understood, and made me swear to tell you she wants you to call for Christmas.

Javier, if at all possible, please listen to that annoying American station on the radio, you know the one that’s obsessed with 50’s music? We listen every night during dinner, and it would warm my heart if I knew you were listening too.

Give Murphy my love. Tell him I can’t wait to meet him one day.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

———

Mi Amor,

I apologize for the call, but you must understand why I risked it. I couldn’t have you grieve alone, not without me to help you through that pain.

I do know the station you wrote about, and I agree it’s annoying. The boys at the office like it, and it’s on while we work. Knowing you listen to it too, it makes my heart swell. One day, we’ll listen to those old songs together, I promise.

My letters will be few and far between, and I apologize. Things are getting worse here, but I vow to return to you alive and whole.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Corazón,

You mother has decided our song is that Bobby Darrin song that plays every day. The one about the man who’s away from his woman and wishes he could grow wings and fly to her side? Beyond the Sea, she says it’s called.

Your father always changes the station when he thinks we’re all asleep. He listens to the Colombian news, and I think he prays. You said he doesn’t miss you, but he does. He absolutely does.

In other news, your sister is about ready to pop. She’s always complaining about how much her back hurts, and she’s adamant that the baby is staying in all nine months only to make her suffer. I’ve enclosed pictures, because we all painted her stomach and it was hilarious.

I hope to hear from you again before Christmas. The holidays haven’t been the same without you.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

———

Mi Amor,

And I thought my family decorated for Christmas. Columbia has some of the nicest holiday decorations I’ve ever seen. I tried to get Murphy to photograph them, but they didn’t turn out quite right. I’ve sent them anyway.

Tell my sister I cannot wait to meet my niece or nephew. I’m sure that tiny bundle of joy will be just what you need over the holidays.

The Embassy is allowing me to call on Christmas, and I’m allowed to stay on the line for as long as it’s safe. With the precautions they’ve taken, I might even be able to talk with you for hours, my love. I cannot wait. It will be the best Christmas present, being able to hear your voice.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Corazón,

I don’t know when this letter will reach you, but the baby came today! Only a day before Christmas. Your sister is pissed that she’ll be spending Christmas in the hospital, but the baby, a beautiful little girl, is so cute. She’s lifted everyone’s spirits, and the promise of your call tomorrow is only making them happier.

I know this will be our reality for as long as it just be, but I want you home Javier. It sounds selfish, I know, but I want you beside me, no matter the price. Please come home soon, my love, or I fear I may forget you.

I’m eagerly awaiting your call. I’ll talk to you soon.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

———

Mi Amor,

Hearing your voice was just what I needed today. I assume I’ll be receiving a letter soon that tells me my sister had her baby, but I couldn’t wait to write.

My love, I have a surprise for you. Before you get excited, I’m not coming home soon. The fight only grows harder, and I don’t know if I’ll be home for years. But I found you a gift, one I know you’ll adore. I must be there to give it to you, in person. I know, how cruel of me to deny you your gift for what may be years. Just know, I will never forget it. It sits on my desk and Murphy teases me about it relentlessly. One day, I’ll give it to you. One day.

I’ll see you again, my love. I swear it.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Corazón,

Your last letter stunned me Javi! You must’ve written that as soon as we hung up. As for the gift, it will be aging waiting for it. Am I allowed to guess? Will you tell me when I get it right?

Your mother was a bit disappointed you couldn’t be with us for Christmas. She made an absolutely heavenly apple pie that she said is your favorite.

The baby grows stronger with every passing day. Maybe one day, she and the Murphy’s little girl can be friends. I think they’d like that.

I’ll see you soon Javier.

Yours truly, (F/N).

———

Mi Amor,

This will be hard to hear. I’ve had trouble simply writing it, and I know it will be hell to read. I have to stop sending letters. One of the DEA’s men wrote a letter to his wife, and two days later he was found dead in a river. It won’t be forever, and I will still receive every letter you send me as long as you keep mailing them they way you are, but we cannot risk anyone finding me right now.

To answer your previous question, yes. Please guess what the gift is. I bet you’ll never be able to guess.

I’ll write as soon as I can.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Corazón,

Not knowing whether you’ve received my letters will be torture Javi. But, as you’ve told me many times, I must remain strong. I will admit I cried when your last letter arrived, but then I imagined you sitting next to a radio, listening to our song at the same time I did, and it was like you were beside me. I miss you dearly Javier, but I will remain brave until your next letter arrives.

Until then, I will simply have to keep you updated. The baby is almost three months now and starting to be a troublemaker, just like her uncle. Your sister jokes her first word will be ‘Javi’ with how much we speak of you around the house.

I also heard, via phone, that Connie is back in the states with Olivia. She says Columbia was just too much, but promised to come and visit me. Give Steve my condolences, I know it must be hard.

Until my next letter, I love you dear.

Yours truly, (F/N).

P.S. Is the gift that book I spoke of over Christmas?

———

Mi Corazón,

Another month, another letter. Now, I make no effort to conceal myself when I listen to the Columbian news with your father and mother. Your mother cries, and your father prays. Sometimes I cry with her, and sometimes I pray with him. It’s hard, not knowing who’s reading this letter first.

Connie came to visit, and she brought Olivia. She’s such a sweet thing, and she adores your cousins. She told me about what she’s seen, what’s happened to her, and I wish for you home more than ever. It sounds horrible, her retellings coupled with the news I barely understand, it sounds awful. The price on your head, and yet you walk around anyway. Please, my heart, be careful. I cannot lose you.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

P.S. This guessing game is such fun. Your sister gave me an idea. Is your gift a camera? I doubt it is, but she wanted me to ask.

———

Mi Corazón,

I apologize for not writing for months. I was traveling to visit my father. He had a health scare and wanted me by his side.

The baby is almost eight months now! Her first word was ‘Javi,’ and we all had a big laugh about it. It’s painful not having you here, or at least having letters.

I listen to our song every night, whenever it’s on the radio. Your sister teases me for it, but I don’t care. It connects me to you. To makes me wonder if some day, we could have a future where there’s no threat, where we could be together.

Please promise me Javier, you won’t get involved with any of this dangerous shit happening in Columbia if you can help it.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

P.S. is the gift jewelry? Your mother thinks it’s a ring.

———

Mi Amor,

I have another torturous request. Please stop writing. Your last letter was intercepted by his men and it was almost very bad. Before I go, please know I listen to our song every night. Tell my sister I love her and her tiny troublemaker, my mother I wish I were home, and my father I’m grateful for the prayers. As for you, I miss you so much my love. I tried to delay the inevitable, but we must stop communicating. I love you, no matter how far apart we are. I’ll write as soon as it’s safe.

Yours forever, Javier.

P.S. No it isn’t the book, no it isn’t a camera, and yes it is jewelry.

———

Mi Amor,

Are you still the same person I wrote to years ago? How’s my sister and my niece, and my parents? How are you? And your father? Murphy and I are good, if a little stressed, because I know you’ll ask.

Things have gone maddeningly quiet. He’s gone, it seems. Disappeared, but I’m sure the radio told you. I know you asked me not to get involved, but I did, and I think I’m in trouble for it. Big trouble.

Anyway, I may be home soon, depending on how it all goes. I cannot wait to kiss you again.

Apologies for such a short message after years of nothing. I missed so much, you’ll have to tell me all about it.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Amor,

Please tell me these letters are reaching you. Are you still with my parents? Should I call? I think I will, at the end of the week. It’s Monday now. I guess I should tell you, right?

I received good news for you today. They’re sending me home. I know, he isn’t dead yet. But every action has a consequence and unfortunately mine are sending me home before my job is done. Murphy is understandably upset. Yelled for almost twenty minutes about how it wasn’t fair. I’d put my life on hold for almost a decade to catch Escobar, it was only right I was there when he was brought down.

But life isn’t like that, and I’ll be on a plane home in a week or two. I can’t wait to see you. I hope you’re still waiting for me.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

“Mi hija?”

You looked around, seeing Javier’s mother come out for you. The tinny radio playing your song flickered next to your leg. It was on repeat, on a CD Javier’s cousin had burned for you. You’d taken to sitting on the porch swing after dinner was over, simply to take your mind off things. The letters were stacked beside you, the newest one on top. You hadn’t had the energy to even open the new ones. What could you possibly say after years apart? Who would he be? Was he still your Javier?

“Mi hija?”

“Yes mamá?”

Javier’s mother sat beside you. “There’s a new letter in the kitchen for you.”

You smiled. “Okay.”

Standing and gathering your letters and the radio, you followed Javier’s mother into the kitchen. It was warm, and there was an envelope with your name on it resting on the counter.

Picking it up, you turned it over to see two tiny words scrawled across the back.

Open me

You popped the letter open, seeing a small card inside.

The porch. Hurry, before the sun goes down.

Confused, you headed back outside, where the sun had just begun to paint the sky. There was someone on the porch swing, rocking back and forth and humming your song, the same song that was playing from the radio by his side.

The creak of the porch door brought his attention to you, and you immediately put your hands over your mouth and sobbed. “Javi.”

“Mi amor,” he said, standing and wrapping you in a hug. “Oh how I’ve missed you. I promised I’d come home.”

“You did,” you said weakly, collapsing into the hug. “Oh Javier, my heart I’ve missed you.”

Javier kissed the top of your head, smiling as you pulled away a bit. “May I have this dance?”

You laughed, beginning to sway as Javier swayed, both humming your song.

Eventually, once the sun had set completely and the Texas stars were out, you and Javier separated, sitting together on the porch swing.

“Oh,” Javier said, standing suddenly. “Your gift!”

You smiled. “You forgot?”

“I was too busy with something else,” Javier said. “But I think I’ve made you wait long enough, mi amor. Close your eyes.”

You did, closing your eyes and hearing him shuffle in front of you. After a minute of silence, Javier spoke. “Open your eyes.”

Opening your eyes, you gasped. Javier was on one knee before you, holding out a gorgeous ring. “I knew,” he whispered softly. “I knew the minute I received your first letter that I wanted to marry you. If we had been married all those years ago, you would’ve been able to come with me, to have me by your side. And now, if you’ll have me, I want to remain here, with you at my side and with me at yours, for the rest of my life. No more letters, my love.”

You nodded, crying as you practically threw yourself into Javier’s arms. “Yes!” You said happily. “Yes!”

Javier smiled, sliding the ring onto your finger. A perfect fit. “Now we’ll always be together,” he said, kissing your knuckles. “Always.”

Kissing Javier firmly, you nodded. “Always. No matter what.”

And you did stick together. The day he got sent back, you packed a bag and boarded the plane right beside him, ready for whatever horrors would await you. He didn’t want you going, but you insisted. Together always, no matter what.

#narcos #Javier Pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

68 notes · View notes