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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 6 months

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Past Astarion Meets His Future

This is a weird ass idea, but I'm doing it anyway. Some time travel fuckery. But the gist is: What if Astarion, decades before the Mind-flayers captured him, was on his last leg? Just on the verge of doing, what was at the time, his only way out. But what if something a little unworldly stopped him?

TW: Suicidal thoughts. M/F, me phoning it in with the dnd lore, Cazador is evil. Like, torture, physically and mentally, manipulation, literal horror shit. He's here so bad things happen to randos and our poor guy. I'm also using this as the backstory again for why Astarion can be in the sun in the future because it's so god damned convenient for drabbles.

Astarion watched the crowded bar with focused eyes, a feigned, relaxed smirk on his lips. But even with the acting, he could feel the smile on his face start to tremble, a tell-tale sign that he was truly on his last leg. It had been a long, horrible night, one that had no end in sight. Cazador was in rare form, demanding multiple warm bodies in the span of less than five hours. Astarion wasn't sure what had angered him this time, but he was taking it on the victims in a particularly savage way.

Twice already he had forced Astarion to stay in the room with the poor souls he'd brought back. And then Cazador... made him watch what he did to them. The monster truly had a knack for keeping them alive until the last possible moment. Beating them, assaulting them, laughing at their cries for help. He drank from them last, feasting on their blood until they were just on the edge of death before tossing to them ground. Then Astarion was dismissed with the order to find another.

He hated it. It was the worst part of his nights by far, not including when he was the one being tortured in their place. It didn't help that he always looked at their faces, full of terror and betrayal.

Why did he always have to look? It was a question he knew the answer to. It was because he did that to them. Perhaps not literally, but what was the difference? Astarion had led them straight into his hands.

That was all he did. His entire existence had been reduced to this. A slave, a rat, scuttling through the streets, only capable of inflicting the same torment on strangers. It was a hell that no one should experience, and one that Astarion had been in for nearly 130 years.

How could he continue like this? What was the point? He'd spent so long living on pure survival instinct, waiting for the impossible day where luck would be on his side. Where Cazador would kill the wrong stranger, where the possibility of his murder could become a reality. It was delusional, a poor excuse to continue clinging to this farce of a life.

But there was another option. There always had been. All he needs to do is wander off and wait for the sun to rise, and everything could finally be over. It's far from the first time he's thought about it. But Astarion is nothing but a coward. He'd seen the pure pain and misery of a death of that nature, your insides boiling from within as your skin turned to dust. It was horrifying, one of the worst ways someone could go. And yet... it was starting to seem like the only reasonable option he had left.

Maybe... maybe today would be the day, the first time he'd seen the sun in decades. And the last time he'd ever take a breath.

"Are you alone?" A voice asked, followed by a gentle touch to his arm.

Astarion turned, that same shallow smile instantly reappearing on his face. It was a man, one that was handsome enough for Astarion to probably not feel completely sick during the deed. Then again... he could always ignore them and go back to his final plan.

Or he could wait it out one more day, and pray for a miracle. Astarion nodded towards him, still slightly torn but willing to at least try. It's not like he could go home empty handed if things turned out that way.

"Come to my room?"

Well this was certainly easy. Astarion didn't even have to take the energy to bite out a subpar pick up line. He just followed the man to his room, a plan forming in his head on how he could convince him back to the manor. Not to mention his own escape if he turned out to have less than savory intentions.

The stranger shut the door behind him, sitting on the side of his bed with his hands folded in his lap, his eyes staring straight ahead. Astarion barely stopped himself from rolling his own. Great. A weirdo. What a lovely way to end the night, spending it seducing a complete freak. But Astarion had dealt with worse. He perched next to him, crossing his legs as he waited to see where this would go.

"I can see it," He finally said, his voice gravelly as he turned to stare at Astarion.

Astarion raised his brow, wondering for the first time if this particular prey had been partaking in some mind altering substances, "And what exactly are you seeing?"

"You."

Suddenly, the man was wrapping a tight hand around Astarion's wrist, his eyes shining with an unnatural green light, "You're close to the edge. Too close. My lord needs you breathing."

Astarion froze, equally parts horrified and confused at what he was alluding to. How on earth did he know his thoughts? What lord? Or the more likely reality; How wasted could one person be?

Astarion tried to pull back, frowning when he realized the grip on his wrist was iron-clad. He could feel a bit of panic start to swell inside him as he struggled, his voice rising, "I have no idea what you're talking about. Let go of me-"

"You must live," He said, the color of his eyes only getting brighter and brighter, near twin flames in the darkness of the room, "There is no other way. Kelemvor has work for you yet."

His confusion was quickly evaporating into rage. He didn't know what this thing wanted from him, nor why the god of death would have any interest in his life. But how dare he insist on Astarion's pathetic existence having meaning. He knew nothing.

His mask was slipping, his righteous anger spilling forth, "Let go. Before I rip your fucking arm off."

But he made no moves to back down. Instead he started to chant, an incantation that had Astarion officially panicking. Whatever magic he was using, it was powerful. Reality was shifting right beneath Astarion's feet, morphing into something different. The next thing he knew they were somewhere else entirely, his reality melting into something new right before his eyes.

The entire thing was so shocking that Astarion didn't even realize he was seeing sunlight. Without a single pain. He frantically looked around, the insane stranger's grip finally loosening as he twisted away. They were on a couch, in the middle of what looked like a brightly lit townhouse, voices spilling out of the other room.

Astarion stood quickly, a hiss escaping him, "Where in the hells are we?"

"Nowhere," The man said cryptically, his eyes still aflame, "Neither the present of the future. We are in nothing but a glimpse, taken and made for you."

That did nothing to answer his question. But it did make his mind go into more reasonable directions. This had to be an illusion, there was no other explanation for why he wasn't being burned alive. But an illusion of what? And for what purpose?

Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose, at a complete loss at what to do. He could try and kill him and pray that that would break the spell. But there was also the chance that he wouldn't live through an altercation with someone who could warp his senses so easily. Or perhaps this whole thing was a nightmare, a horrifying dream he'd cooked up after a night in the torture chamber.

Still at a loss, he settled on asking another question, "Then what is this a glimpse of?"

"Home," The man said simply before slipping off the couch. The cryptic bastard.

He started walking towards the next room towards the unknown voices; Astarion feeling helpless but to follow.

He lingered at the entryway, his eyes widening at the sight of a woman standing there, cooing at a teary-eyed child she had on her hip. They were right in her line of sight, but she had no reaction to their presence, instead calling out into the other room, "Did you find it yet?"

Another voice called back, oddly familiar as it groaned, "If I had, would I still be on my hands and knees here?"

Astarion stepped forward, more than ready to see if he could enlist the help of strangers for his predicament.

"They can not perceive us," The stranger said, interrupting the call for help that was on the tip of Astarion's tongue, "They are not real. Merely copies of what is, what will be."

"Lovely," Astarion growled out, his fingers itching to fight back against this demon of a man, "Now what in the gods' names does this have to do with me?"

"Watch and you will see," He said, his eyes blazing straight ahead, "The Lord of Death works in mysterious ways."

Astarion's theory of this being a torture-induced dream was becoming more and more believable. He didn't even bother questioning it, not when one more inane answer would send him into a tailspin. Instead he stared ahead, waiting for the moment he would wake up.

The baby was still squirming. Annoying whining sounds spilling from its lips, nearly on the edge of crying. But the woman still had a bright smile on her face, calling back "I told you we should have looked for it last night!"

"Well when she threw it across the room I assumed that meant it had fallen out of favor!" That same familiar voice yelled back, followed by an excited ah-ha! sound.

"Isabella's gonna have a fit, isn't she?" The woman sing-songed, bouncing the child on her hip, "I guess Mommy's going to have to let you start sucking on Daddy's hair again, huh?"

"I heard that!" The muffled voice called back, getting clearer and clearer by the moment. And then another man was walking into the room, grinning ear to ear as he held up a pacifier, "And I will not be forgetting it darling. Don't come crying to me the next time she's gnawing on your nose."

He leaned over to kiss the woman on the cheek before popping the pacifier in the girl's mouth, laughing when it instantly made her calm down. He was tall and pale, an elf with piercing red eyes and pure white hair.

No. It couldn't be-

"There. All better," The man sighed, his voice crystal clear in the calmness of the room, "She has quite the arm for a toddler."

It was a voice that Astarion knew, better than anyone else. It was his own.

Astarion watched, wide-eyed as his other self lifted the baby up in his arms, laughing as the child squealed around the pacifier, "She sure is cute for someone who can be such a brat. She takes after her mother doesn't she?"

The woman rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. Almost like she couldn't help but do anything else as she watched the duo, "Brave words for someone of your nature. Not to mention how she's your twin."

"Nonsense. She looks just like you, we should have named her Tav Jr," Other Astarion playfully argued, taking his other arm to wrap around the woman's shoulders, "I'm only responsible for the corpse-like complexion."

Astarion stared at them, in complete shock. He didn't-why would anyone or anything want to show him this? It didn't make sense. How would it be possible for him to be in the sunlight? Let alone to have a family. Astarion knew that this had to be a lie, there was no other explanation.

But that didn't stop his heart from aching from being forced to witness it. He was too shell-shocked to speak as he followed the duo to the other room, listening as his other self set the child in a crib, still cooing at her, "Auntie Karlach is coming over and you'll need your rest. How else will you be annoying together?"

"Astarion!"

He watched himself laugh as he pulled back, kissing her little forehead before murmuring, "Mommy only says my name like that when she has no comeback, isn't that right princess?"

"You're going to regret telling her everything when she can start talking," The woman, Tav, piped up from next to him, "I hope you realize she'll tell me all of your secrets."

Astarion rolled his eyes before pulling her against him, pressing a sweet and lingering kiss to her lips, "What secrets do I have that you don't know? Please, enlighten me."

What kind of cruel joke was this? Astarion, the real Astarion, had seen enough. He turned to the bastard that had sent him here, growling through gritted teeth, "Why are you doing this to me? Have I not suffered through enough?"

The man offered nothing of value, "We offer you what could be, if you can survive. No more, no less."

No. No, no, no. He wouldn't believe him. He refused to. There was no future for him. There couldn't be. I-It wasn't possible. Not with Cazador looming, not when he couldn't walk in the sun without being burned alive. And especially not when he couldn't even fathom letting himself care form someone enough to have a family with.

But that's what was in front of him. He turned back, his morbid curiosity getting the better of him. Just in time to see the couple standing there, holding each other while they made out like teenagers.

"I love you," His other self sighed happily, the words free and unbidden from his own lips between kisses, "More than anything my sweet."

"With one exception?" Tav asked, her arms wrapped around his neck.

Astarion laughed, nodding towards the crib with a knowing grin, "With one exception."

Astarion stared at them, a horrifying feeling starting to grow in his chest.

Hope.

It's the greatest betrayal he could give himself, an eternity's sentence to his own personal hell on the delusional belief that something better would come. He couldn't give in to it. He wouldn't.

But the question still escapes his lips, "How long?"

"Seventy years until you meet," The stranger said, "You must live to see it. Five more until you're here."

Astarion watched, wide-eyed as the alternate reality started to fade, the stranger's eyes becoming more dull and human-like by the moment. He stared until the last possible moment, trying to commit it all to memory.

But it was difficult. Like thoughts he couldn't quite grasp, slipping through his fingers. Something wasn't right.

"Will I remember this?" He asked, even though he was already on the edge of forgetting.

"No," The man said simply. They were back in the room, sitting on the bed as though nothing had happened, "But you'll remember the hope."

It was the equivalent of a curse, one that Astarion could barely fathom as magic twisted his memories. But he could feel it there, festering in his heart. The yearning for a new life, stronger than ever.

Astarion left Shar's Caress that night feeling dazed and confused. He barely managed to drag a wasted loner back to the manor with him, preying on him in the back aisles. It was startling to think that he'd almost forgotten his original mission considering the consequences. But whatever happened had... done something to him. Something that he couldn't quite name.

But he didn't see the sun that day. Or the next. Or the day after that. Instead he continued to struggle, to suffer at the hands of his sadistic sire with no end in sight. Not until years and years later, when the worst and best thing to ever happen to him occurred. He was kidnapped by mind flayers, but gifted with a disgusting parasite that allowed him to live in the sun.

It wasn't ideal but it was better than being under Cazador's thumb. Not to mention how he found companions relatively quickly. It had been pure luck that you stumbled upon him, even luckier still that you were the type to forgive a man for having a knife to your throat.

He was happy to accompany you. He was happy to do whatever it took to increase his chances of survival, frankly. It helped that he felt... strangely drawn to you. You looked oddly familiar. He didn't know how else to describe it, but it was almost as though he'd met someone from a past life.

#astarion #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #what kind of christmas carol fuckery is this?#I'm having a kids moment #but hey isn't writing where you can explore the things you don't know if you want or not yet #heavy leaning towards not because my ass isn't locking down an astarion man #time travel?#what is this #idk #practice writing dont judge me #queue

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chopshopcheesecake · 2 years

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til my lungs give out

rafe cameron x reader

my first time posting anything ever!! I’m the ultimate lurker on here but figured I’d be brave for once and post something….. this is the beginning (which, really, is the middle, chronologically) of a long, angst-filled rafe x y/n fic I’ve had going for a while now. Hoping that if I actually post something it’ll force me to finish the fic. Wrote this today on mobile, don’t know how to tag or link or post an accompanying picture or do any of the things the rest of you do so flawlessly 💕 open to any and all thoughts, comments, and feedback (and tips for potentially creating a masterlist 🥴 (jfc) if I get that far)(AH I’m afraid!!!!!)

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Professor Ken Gilbert was a sadist. That’s the only explanation, Rafe thought. He should be locked up for the obvious enjoyment he took in torturing America’s youth.

That was the only possible reason why Professor Kenneth J. Gilbert so diabolically insisted that his Banking and Finance class—which was a mandatory requirement for all junior year finance and economics majors at Duke University—only be offered once a year, at 8:00 a.m., on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Only a person who truly took pleasure in others’ pain would force newly legal-drinking aged students come to a 3 hour lecture at the ass crack of dawn three days a week.

And on top of that, Ken Gilbert didn’t believe in syllabus week. No, he insisted that his classes “get started right away” and “waste no time”, choosing instead to send the syllabus out two weeks in advance, with no less than 50 pages of reading due on day one.

And even more unfortunately for Rafe Cameron, he knew from his fraternity brothers that Gilbert practically jerked off to the Socratic method. And took attendance. And counted even one second past 8:00 am sharp as late and, thus, an unexcused absence.

So despite himself and in light of all the above horrible characteristics attributable to one Professor Ken Gilbert, Rafe Cameron found himself slouched in the back corner, of the last row, of lecture hall 401 at 7:55 in the morning, baseball hat pulled low over his head as his large hand absently swirled his iced coffee.

Gilbert was visibly readying himself for his big moment: the first cold call of a new academic year, and Rafe groaned internally.

He turned back to the lethargic conversation going on next to him between his SAE fraternity brother, Peter Shultz, and two men’s lacrosse players. Schultz and the lacrosse players—Dan Quigley and Sean Harmon—were replaying the night before: the drunken antics, the drugs, the girls they’d had and the ones they wish they’d had.

Maybe I should just go get laid, Rafe thought dully. Maybe then I wouldn’t be fucking miserable all the time. But Rafe knew he wouldn’t ‘just go get laid’, knew it wouldn’t help anyways, so he sighed somewhat defeatedly. Reserved to a life of misery, he supposed.

He added nothing to the conversation and actually found himself relieved when Professor Gilbert called the class to attention. As Rafe waited for the attendance sign in sheet to make its way around the room and all the way up to him in the farthest possible seat from the door (and Gilbert’s watchful eye) he listlessly sipped his coffee and allowed his gaze to wander around the 70+ person lecture.

Gilbert was at the whiteboard, pointing to a supply and demand graph he’d drawn with his back to the door, when it opened slightly, catching Rafes eye in his peripheral vision. He instinctively checked the clock right above the door.

Ooh, 8:10, he thought. Someone’s about to get their ass chewed, if what Rafe heard about Gilbert was true. He felt his lips twitch upward slightly, leaning back in his chair in anticipation of the yelling and flailing for which Gilbert was infamous.

Shit, maybe he and Gilbert had more in common than he thought, the way he found some twisted form of enjoyment in this poor soul’s rapidly approaching demise.

When the door opened a crack more and a petite, baseball-hat clad figure slipped inside, Rafe’s whole body straightened, sitting up so quickly that his chair scraped the floor, generating a loud noise and immediately drawing Gilbert’s attention directly to him.

It was an involuntary response, really, like how Army cadets stand at attention the second their commanding officer enters a room. The person who’d just stepped into the lecture hall—simultaneously stealing his breath and providing him with the very oxygen he needed to survive—certainly had that effect on Rafe Cameron. (And he wouldn’t really disagree with the idea of calling her his commanding officer, either.)

Gilbert fixed the figure with a blistering glare that radiated through the hall. “And you are?”

She was the bane of Rafe Cameron’s existence.

“Bane of my existence” is a funny phrase, really, Rafe thinks, recalling a conversation from nearly two years prior about the meaning of the saying.

Typically used to describe something one hates or despises. But “bane” is defined as something that causes great distress or annoyance; the source of harm or ruin. Historically, bane was also said to be something—typically a poison—that caused death.

“So”, Rafe’s enthusiastic counterpart had told him two years ago, “really, ‘bane of my existence’ could be used to describe something so wonderful that it’s distressing, something so perfect that it’s ruinous, something so sweet, and euphoric and fated that it’s poisonous, harmful, a cause of death.”

The hopeless romantic who’d convinced Rafe that love ultimately meant the destruction of life as he knew it? None other than—

“Y/n Y/l/n—“ you began, the sound of your voice raising goosebumps on Rafe’s forearms.

“Well, Miss Y/l/n, you wouldn’t know this seeing as you are more than 10 minutes late to my class,” Gilbert began, his anger—and volume—building as he went on. “But I have a zero tolerance policy for lateness!” He boomed, his sour mood causing the air in the room to curdle with the thick tension.

Rafe’s stomach sank as he recalled how, mere seconds ago, he’d been about to relish in your misfortune, ready to watch in amusement as Gilbert reamed you out in an unnecessary display of power. Now, he found himself running through ways he could somehow do something worse — offend Gilbert more — so that you and your tardiness were no longer the target of his withering rant.

Rafe watched as you bowed your head slightly, and he swears he feels—no, hears—his heart crack. He’s now hyper aware of how rigid he is, how fast his heart is beating, and how little he is breathing. When had his own baseball hat become turned backwards on his head?

He lets out a shaky breath as Schultz eyed him nervously.

“Oh gosh, I’m terribly sorry, sir, you see—“ you said apologetically but sweetly—sinfully so—your practiced southern charm coming out in full force. Though Rafe couldn’t see your eyes from up here, save for the baseball hat, he knew the exact look you were giving Gilbert right now. Shit, he could probably draw it on the fucking ceiling of the goddamn Sistine Chapel, he’d committed it to memory so well. Wide, blue eyes sparkling as they gazed up from beneath long lashes; pouty lips turned up ever so slightly in innocence.

“I’m on the university’s women’s tennis team,” you continued, voice syrup in Rafe’s ears it was so smooth. “And, well, we have morning practice on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I’d hoped to talk with you about this after class, in private,” you lowered your voice somewhat conspiratorially as you gave a quick glance at the class, feigning embarrassment. Oh you’re on one today, sweetheart.

“But now my tardiness has bungled that all up,” you finish, bashful, undoubtedly shooting Gilbert your classic puppy dog eyes. Were your brows knitted together ever so slightly, too?

Rafe can’t help but let out a sharp breath of air in stifled laughter. You knew exactly what you were doing, and Rafe did too. But he had to admit, you were really laying it on thick with Gilbert. Must’ve heard about him being a huge dick, Rafe thought. Had to pull out the big guns.

“I’m so sorry for the disruption I’ve caused, Professor, but maybe I can find a seat and we can start fresh after class?” Rafe heard you posit, your voice still soft and sweet, but half an octave higher now. He knew all too well that you’d just flipped the switch from your sad puppy eyes to your hopeful puppy eyes, complete with the slightest smile and a demure glimmer in your gaze.

He didn’t know how you did that, seemingly made your eyes light up and sparkle on command, but God, what he wouldn’t give to see it happen up close and personal one last time, to have that very switch be flipped on him, to melt once more like putty in your hands.

Gilbert stammered slightly as he stared at you. Even he wasn’t immune to your charm, the old grouch that he was.

“I - well, I - yes, I suppose that’s fine,” Gilbert huffed, giving you a half hearted wave of his hand as he turned back to the whiteboard, the choppy, tense energy that had filled the room a moment prior now calmed by the breath of fresh air that follows wherever you go.

You made your way past Gilbert and up the center aisle of the lecture hall, angling to take a seat in the completely empty front row on the left. As you turned into the first row, you stole a glance up at the sea of students. And you smirked. And then you winked.

Was that at me? Did you just wink at me ? Who fucking winks? Christ, I didn’t know a wink could be so erotic. Wait, did you wink at me? What if you didn’t? Who the fuck else would you be winking at?

Rafe’s reeling thoughts were halted at the sight of your shirt, and his breath hitched, not for the first (or tenth) time in the last 60 seconds. It was a light blue tshirt, too big for you; a faded image of a ships steering wheel across the back, the words “St. Thomas” sprawled above it in old, navy lettering.

The shirt was worn; covered in a fair few stains. The collar was frayed slightly on the left side, and there was a tiny hole in the right shoulder.

Rafe knew because it was his shirt.

Rafe knew because he’d been there when an ember from a boneyard bonfire jumped up and singed that hole in the right shoulder, you yelping sharply and him panicking slightly before you both broke into a fit of laughter.

Just like you’d been there when he popped a bottle of red wine, depositing the faintest array of purple dots that he knew still littered the left hem. You’d been there when he’d dropped hot sauce right down the front, and you’d been there when he accidentally bleached the corner of the right sleeve when you tried to show him how to do laundry the first time freshman year.

Rafe had been there when he first noticed that frayed collar, after you’d stolen the shirt from his drawer and he found himself memorizing every detail, every stain, every memory of you inextricably woven into his new favorite shirt; memorizing how it hung on your body, loving how so seemingly enveloped you were in a piece of clothing that belonged to him.

Seeing you sitting there—a mere 100 feet and 20 rows away—in his shirt— his shirt! — after all this time made his heart lurch with hope.

And when you removed your baseball hat to shake out your ponytail, raking your fingers through your hair and massaging your scalp in that way he knew you loved so much — leaving your hair tousled and slightly unkempt like you’d just been thoroughly fucked — it made his dick twitch, thinking back on all the times he’d run his own long fingers through your hair and massaged your scalp in that way he knew you loved so much, gazing into your eyes as he peppered kisses around your face, your neck, your chest, traveling lower and lower still—

Rafe had to get ahold of himself. Christ, just seeing you redo your ponytail was getting him worked up enough that he almost felt the need to bite down on his knuckles.

When you tipped your venti Starbucks iced coffee back and he watched your throat swallow once, twice, three times, he actually did. (It wasn’t lost on Rafe that you’d used tennis practice as your excuse for being late, yet had a seemingly freshly-made iced coffee with oat milk in your hand, which made him smirk before he frowned again. He’d always brought you coffee, precisely because of your chronic inability to get anywhere on time.)

So yes, the small framed girl in a baseball hat and a white tennis skirt who’d just slinked into this class and charmed Old Grinch Gilbert, was the bane of Rafe Cameron’s existence. But not because she was distressing, or annoying; not because she was something he hated or despised. Because she was something he loved. Something—someone—he loved so deeply and fully and whole heartedly that it physically pained him to see her, or rather, to see her living without him. Someone he loved in a way he didn’t know possible, in a way that felt so right that to not be together seemed to contradict the will of the Gods themselves.

A person so wonderful that it’s distressing; a love so perfect it’s ruinous; a connection, a bond, a partnership so sweet, and euphoric and fated that it’s poisonous, harmful, a cause of death.

You were all those things and more.

Yep, Rafe thought, willing his heartbeat to slow and his breathing to return to normal. Y/n y/l/n. The bane of my existence.

Your absence in his life had been slowly poisoning him for the last year. Being without you, it would plague his life and undoubtedly end him, he just knew it would. It’d be his eventual cause of death, the bane of his existence, forevermore.

It was torture to see you down there in the front row, in his shirt, shoulders hunched slightly as you studiously took down notes by hand. His predisposition to reach out and work the kinks from your neck—to smooth the crease between your brows with his thumb—it wasn’t a want, it was a must. An instinctual need to take care of you, to protect you, that invisible string tying you to him tugging at his very soul as he watched you adjust your oversized glasses.

Rafe frowned. No, he thought. Stop. She’s not yours, not your girl, your perfect girl, and she’s made it clear she wants nothing to do with you, he told himself.

In an instant, Rafe is back in your house, on that day, 9 months ago, hearing you speak those words for the millionth time. “I’m doing this for you.” “I really believe this is what is best for you.” “I love you, always.”

But then, almost imperceptibly, something shifted. In an instant, something clicked inside Rafe’s brain and it was as if the world had been off kilter and was ever so slightly beginning to return to its normal axis.

He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was—not yet—but, for some strange reason, after moping and pining and wallowing for the past 13 months, four days, and 16 hours, give or take, he felt himself almost smile.

You were wearing his shirt.

#outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe x y/n

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dragonsarecool · 2 years

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Whumptober Day 17 - Reluctant Caretaker

Seventeen: Reluctant Caretaker

A/N: Not a huge focus on the ‘reluctant’ part, but more so that this is from an early point in Tintin and Haddock’s friendship. Set during ‘The Shooting Star’.

It was turning out to be one of the most miserable experiences of his life.

Tintin considered himself a strong man, both in the physical and mental definition. He’d been shot at, kidnapped, tortured, concussed, chloroformed, tied up; it was becoming easier for him to list off the things he hadn’t experienced.

And yet of all the things that he’d encountered, he was surprised to find sea sickness as being the one thing that brought him to his knees and begging for mercy. If this is what a pregnant woman experiences, they are truly the most impressive creatures alive…

He’d long forgotten why he’d agreed to come aboard this godforsaken tub when all it seemed to do was threaten to send his stomach contents flying all over the walls. The excitement of collecting a piece of the meteorite was at the far corner of his mind; right now, all he could focus on was remaining conscious.

He forced himself to lift his head from the dining table, having been left as the solo occupant after the other professors and sailors had departed when their bodies could no longer tolerate the vertigo. It seemed as though the ship had been tossing for hours. Every wave that they passed over sent his stomach rolling violently, and he bit on his tongue more than once to stop the bile that threatened to fall out.

He wanted nothing more than to stay in his current position, for the thought of moving sounded like torture. Yet he knew he couldn’t stay here forever; after all, a table was a poor substitute for a pillow. Guess I’ll try and get a move on then.

Removing himself from the dining table quickly turned into a very delicate operation. He began by slowly turning his head so his forehead was no longer lying on the chilled wood, though this action alone was enough to leave him in that position for another few minutes as he waited for the ship to finish crossing the latest wave. Putain d’enfer, this is ridiculous!

When he felt physically and mentally prepared, he gingerly lifted his head from the table, cringing as the vertigo seemed to double in intensity. Intent on carrying out his plan, he thrust his head upright and braced against the dining table, his knuckles white with exertion. He swallowed hard as the remains of his dinner threatened to creep back up his throat. At least I’m upright for the moment. Now, to get back to my bunk…

He waited for the latest wave to pass before sliding his rear across the seat, focusing all his strength into his calves as he delicately pushed himself to a standing position. A small sigh of relief escaped his lips. Bien! This is a good start-

Of course a sudden wave decided to rock the boat at such a crucial moment. It sent the young man tumbling to the floor, screaming in pain as the back of his head violently smashed into the dining chair. “Mon Dieu!!”

“What’s going on in there?!” The sharp voice of the Captain rumbled from outside the dining room, who quickly gasped as he caught sight of the reporter sprawled across the deck. “Tintin?!”

“Captaine!” Tintin cried, clutching his head in his arms. “Please, help…I can’t-“ Oh, mon Dieu, make it stop!

Haddock took a sharp breath in. Although he hadn’t known the young man for very long, he’d found himself having parental instincts towards him. Every time Tintin had rung him up and casually mentioned what peril he’d been subjected to that day, he’d instantly panic and lecture him as if he was his own son.

But he’s not my son, he would tell himself. He’s my friend.

He pushed his thoughts to the side as he focused on the present, his heart aching at seeing Tintin writhing in misery on the floor. “Oh lad, you’re not used to such rough seas, are ya?” He knelt next to the young man and hoisted an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, let’s get ya back to your cabin.”

“…Merci beaucoup,” Tintin mumbled, fighting the urge to vomit.

For a man of the Captain’s age, Tintin was surprised how agile he actually was when he wasn’t blind drunk. He hardly needed to carry any of his own weight, for the Captain was somehow able to support them both. This made the journey to his cabin much quicker than it would’ve been had Tintin been a solo traveller.

“Ahhh, here we are! Take it easy, lad,” Haddock spoke softly as he helped the young man into his bed. He watched as Tintin all but collapsed onto the mattress, his face whiter than the sheets. “Have a lie down on the bunk, there. Let me go find some biscuits-“

“No!” Tintin cried, holding his stomach. He was embarrassed by his sudden outburst, and fumbled to correct himself. “…I-I mean, please, no, no food-“

“Of course, lad, that’s okay,” Haddock answered. “Eatin’ something doesn’t always help, to be fair.”

An awkward silence passed between the two men, interrupted by a cough from the Captain. “Erm…anything else I can do to help, lad?”

“Non, I don’t think so,” Tintin whispered. He forced himself to turn his head to look at Haddock, a grateful look in his eyes. “Thank you, Captain.”

“Anytime, lad,” Haddock gave the young man a quick pat on the arm as he turned to leave the cabin. “If anything, you’re to be commended! I’ve had sailors spew their guts out in far quieter conditions - you’ve got a stomach of steel.”

Tintin gave a quiet laugh as the door to his cabin was closed, only for it to turn into a melancholy sigh. He crossed his arms across his stomach and snuggled deeper into the blankets. If only you knew what I’ve been through…I have to have a tough stomach for this job.

Exhaustion quickly won over the reporter and he found himself fast asleep, soothed by the same rocking that had been torturing him for hours.

A/N: Putain d’enfer = bloody hell

Bien = good

Merci beaucoup = thank you very much

#tintin #the adventures of tintin #fanfic #fanfiction #whumptober2022 #whumptober

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animeyanderelover · 3 years

Note

You’re not being strict at all! Is it okay if I request Kurapika and fluff with prompt 40. “What I am doing? I’m punishing myself. Why? Because I upset you earlier.” Thank you and keep up the good work at your own pace!

🥺💔.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, kidnapping, self-harm, slight violence, strict behavior, controlling behavior, Stockholm syndrome

Prompt 40: “What I am doing? I’m punishing myself. Why? Because I upset you earlier.”

He had messed up. He had messed up big this time. What had he been thinking? Why had he said those things to you? It had been almost in his reach if hr wouldn't have been such a jerk. Your love had been almost in his reach after months of impatiently waiting.

You had started coming around, had been more willingly spent time with him, searched for comfort in him as well as protection. He had cherished the moments he had finally been able to hold you in his arms without having to endure your struggles, your screaming and the salty tears which had always fallen down your pretty face.

He could have had it all, he could have spent this evening with you, just being lazy and cuddly with you, maybe reading a book together or just enjoying each other's presence.

But due to his faults it all had turned out differently, with you having locked yourself up in your room and him cowering outside of the house, at the front door to be specific. He just couldn't stand it anymore. For hours your whimpers and cries had now filled the house, torturing Kurapika more than he had expected.

You were in pain because of him and each of your wails had hit him like a rain of bricks. It had simply been unbearable for him, his heart had been in too much pain to stand this anymore. So he had thrown himself out of the house, not wanting to face you for the time being. He guessed his face was most likely the last thing you wanted to see right now, the still lingering burning feeling on his cheek being a dreadful reminder of it.

But even outside, guarding still over you, he didn't seem to be safe from you and your haunting weepings, almost echoing through the silent and chilly air of the forest. Why were you still crying? Why hadn't you stopped yet? Hadn't he promised to keep you safe from any sort of pain? Hadn't he been the one who had wanted to adore you like no other and give you the same fuzzy and amazing feeling you always gave him?

But he had broken that promise, he had hurt the one person he loved more than anything else. How could he? He didn't have the right to call himself your protector. And the worst was that he was too much of a coward to even face you right now, to at least try to comfort you.

He hadn't even apologized to you, you had just screamed at him to leave...and he had. Without turning back, without muttering a word. He had just left you mourning lonely in your room. What had you screamed after him when he had done this?

"Come back here! A-Apologize to me! Please...Kurapika!"

He had ignored your pleas, hadn't found the courage in himself to turn around, to give you a hug and apologize to you like you had begged. You hadn't wanted him to leave, you had recently become a bit jumpy with everything around you. You needed him. And he had known it, so why?"

"You're such a horrible liar. You promised to not leave me...You're truly a cold-hearted monster...Well, they say what you hunt and kill, you become. You're no better than them."

He was, wasn't he? He couldn't get these words out of his head, your trembling voice, the audible hurt and feeling of betrayal in it. When exactly had he sunken this low? Had he really...? He couldn't believe that you had compared him to them, the criminals he had been hunting down for years now. Normally he might had gotten angry at you, but not this time. Your words had striked a vulnerable soft spot in his heart and he remembered he had frozen when he had heard these words before rushing away. He hadn't wanted to show you his tears.

It hurt...Someone make it stop. The painful squeezing in his heart, the non-stopping tears flowing down his face, your cries which he seemed to hyper-aware of. His head was pounding, the blood feeing like it was kicking him. It was too much. "Stop this." He pressed his hands over his ears, ripping on his hair whilst doing so. The pain didn't even seem to register itself in his mind, there was simply no place for it anymore. "Please make it all stop. No more. I can't stand this. I hate it."

How much time had passed by? You didn't know, there was no clock in your room. But judging from the fact that it was already dark outside, inky darkness being your only comrade in the killing silence, a lot of hours must have passed by. And he still hadn't come to apologize.

You felt betrayed by this, you had layed hours crying in your bed, waiting for him, to hear footsteps walking up the stairs and him just taking you in his loving embrace and apologizing to you for what he had said.

You knew he hadn't meant it, he had obviously been stressed out by something, his eyes having given his emotions away. Granted, he might have overeacted a bit when you had tried to make him relax, ending with him spitting some really mean words at you.

"What do you understand about me?! You don't know anything!"

"Don't interfere with my business! If it wouldn't be for me, you would have been completely helpless! You're nothing without me!"

If he would have yelled this at you a few weeks ago, you would have snapped back at him. But now these words had hit so differently and you knew why. You had started gaining feelings for him, you had always feared that you would start developing Stockholm syndrome some day.

Back then you had told yourself you would fight it with all your mind, but instead of this you had just given in. You didn't know why. Maybe because both of you had been tired from the constant fights and arguments. All you wanted to live was a peaceful and happy life, just like him. And recently you had started feeling happy again, after you had realized your feelings. And he had been glad too, shown you much more love and care due to you not fighting back anymore. You knew that this was wrong and you would never get your freedom back. But if it meant that you could finally find a way out of your misery, you would accept it. What was so wrong with wanting to be happy, even if it was just an illusion?

You couldn't sleep despite your eyelids feeing like stones. As soon as you closed them, imagines of the fight earlier started to flash before your eyes. You had slapped him, you couldn't believe that you had done it. Sure, you had been agitated and had done it a lot of times before, but the moment you had seen Kurapika's confused and shocked face, hurt flashing his eyes, you had felt like you had just received a slap in your face as well.

Why had this to happen right now, after everything had finally started to feel better? Wy had destiny to be so cruel? All you wanted was storming to the blonde and make him apologize and afterwards dragging him to bed so you two could just savor the closeness to each other. That's all you wanted, it was so cold without his warm body pressed against yours, not to mention the loneliness. You felt empty in that moment, laying quiescent under the blankets, heart heavy and eyes burning from all the spilled tears, the sound of heavy rain outside being the only thing disturbing the silence.

You turned around a bit, staring with saddened eyes at the spot where he would have been by now. But you were only greeted with emptiness, not with warm and lovingly grey eyes which you longed to gaze into right now. You wanted this whole stupid thing to end right now, imagining very well that Kurapika was suffering currently as well. And if he wasn't the one who would prove to have the courage to do the first step, you would do it. Finding him surely couldn't be hard, he was most likely lingering somewhere in the house, hunching somewhere down and feeling terrible about what had happened.

The storm had gotten worse, but Kurapika was barely able to recognize anything around him right now. He was too deep caught in his own emotions and thoughts to even acknowledge it. He didn't realize the cold and chilly air which caused chills and goosebumps to appear anywhere on his body nor that he had started to tremble, the coldness stinging like a million tiny needles. Not even the wind who whipped the water painfully against his face, he did not realize and even if he would have, he wouldn't have cared. The only thing that had been stuck in his mind for the last few hours had been one and only one thing. "(y/n)."

"Kurapika...?" It was barely above a whisper, the wind threatening to carry the small sound far, far awy without Kurapika even hearing it. But he did, he had longed to hear this voice more than anything for a long time, calling his name softly out like this. He tensed up slightly and yet his body seemed to somehow relax as well when hearing the lovely melody of your voice, gifting him a warm tingling in his freezing body. He slowly turned around, tracing his eyes over your shocked form, standing in the doorframe. And for the first time this day, he managed to crack a small smile upon seeing you. It was tired and exhausted, but still a sincere one. "You shouldn't be outside here (y/n). It's very cold. Go back inside."

You didn't listen to him, instead staring with wide eyes at him. He was soaked from head to toe, standing in the center of the storm and being mercilessly hit from the lashing wind and the cold water. His lips had turned a slightly blue shade and it was obvious from the way he was shaking that he was freezing to death out here. He appeared to be exhausted and his voice sounded hoarse, dark circles around his eyes who were glowing in a dull red, having lost the normal flames burning inside of them. It was the first time you had ever seen him this done.

What was he doing here?! Had he been all this time outside, enduring the slaps of the storm?! "What are you doing here?" You looked like you were in absolute disbelief, not understanding why he would risk getting sick and catching a terrible cold when there had been the choice of just going inside in the warmth again. But he had somehow locked himself out of the house, you not getting why he would do this.

"What I am doing?" His face twisted shortly into a pained expression before he quickly overwrote it with a strained smile, saddness still radiating off from it. "Isn't it obvious?" It was, you somehow had a solid guess what all of this was about, but you hoped you might be wrong about it. But your hopes were erased when he said his next sentence. "I'm punishing myself."

No. Please everything, but this. "W-why?", you managed to croak out, tearing up once again when seeing him in his currently pathetic condition. All this just to punish himself? He couldn't be srious! "Why? Because I upset you earlier."

If it wouldn't have been for the sounds of thunder, splashing rain and whistling wind, you were sure the silence would have been a too heavy burden for you to carry in that moment. It only lasted a few moments, but for you and him it felt like a whole eternity. He let out a breathy laugh, rubbing one of his hands through his wet hair. "You shouldn't waste your time with me. Please go back to bed. It's already very late. You should sleep."

"No...not without you." Four small words, spoken in a quiet voice yet they hit Kurapika with unexpected lot of force, worsening his current headache even more and making him once again dizzy, but this time not only negatively. "What?" His voice was quivering, Kurapika feeling his vision blurry even more due to tearing up once again after he had thought he had wasted all his tears the last few hours.

"Come back inside Kurapika. Let's talk about it. You...We don't have to do it this way. Look, I'm sorry for annoying you earlier and hitting you. I should have given you space. I-I don't want this silent treatment anymore. Please just apologize as well and go back inside. Let's forget this incident. Okay?" You wanted to move outside and walk to him, but his sudden demand made you halt.

"Stay there! Please..." He was thankful for the heavy rain who had smeared his face all over with it's cold liquid. It made it nearly impossible for you to differ raindrops from his real tears. "Why would you apologize to me? You didn't do anything wrong. Whatever you did, I deserved it. You should have slapped me more if I'm being honest. I'm the one who was wrong. I-I'm sorry. All I really want is to protect you, but maybe you are right. Maybe I am just like them. Maybe you aren't safe because I'm a threat to you as well. I'm terrible, aren't I?"

He was cruelly mocking himself by now, feeling worthless. He hadn't been able to protect his clan and apparently he wasn't even able to protect you from himself either. Was this how he was supposed to live? Alone with the knowledge that he couldn't protect anyone?

"Prove it to me then." He gave you a mildly confused look. Proving what? "Show me you are sorry by coming back. I don't care if you see yourself as a monster. Granted, I saw you for a long time as some sort of demon as well. You took me away from everything and everyone I loved. I still hate you a bit for that. But...but if you don't stop all of this instantly and get inside, that makes you in my eyes indeed a terrible person!"

Never once before Kurapika had ever considered the thought whether he deserved you or not. But he couldn't help, but feel like he didn't in this moment. He had hurt you, you had cried because of him for hours and yet...you...you...

"Promise me you won't do something like this again. That's all I need. Just do it for me." You were pleading him, eyes holding the pain of a person who wanted someone else back by their side. You wanted him back. How could he say no?

Trying to wipe away his tears wasn't very useful, they just streamed down his face as soon as he had removed them with his damp sleeves. "I promise. It won't happen again."

He barely managed to walk straight through you, hours in the cold had gifted him with a terrible headache and constant waves of dizzyness, leading him to collapsing right in your arms as soon as you had successfully brought him inside again.

"Kurapika! Are you fine?! What am I saying, of course you're not! Wait, let me help you!" Walking up the stairs seemed to be too much for you now, he was too heavy and you were scared both of you might end up falling down. So you settled for the nextbest option. The couch, where you quickly threw all the blankets over him you had.

"I'll be right back! I'll just get some towels and new clothes! Do you want some hot tea? I can make some hot tea for you if you want too! A hot-water bottle sounds like a good idea too! I'll make you one! Maybe also-"

Your hasty talking was interrupted when you felt him suddenly tugging you back to his side, slowly sitting up and burrying his head in your chest. You were flustered by his sudden clingyness. "Kurapika? What's wrong?"

"I don't need towels, new clothes, hot tea or a hot-watter bottle. I don't want it either." His voice was slightly muffled, the vibrations tickling you a bit. He sounded really drowsy and exhausted, but still seemed to possess enough strenght to successfully pull you down so that you were sitting right next to him.

"The only thing I truly need and want right now is you. Stay with me. Don't leave me. Please never leave me. If I have you, that's enough. Then I don't need anything else."

#yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere kurapika #yandere kurapika kurta

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zuffer-weird-girl · 3 years

Text

Welcome back...

Tartarus was a mess. The world was a mess.

He didn't care. Not one bit. The pain on his forehead was nothing. He had been hitting that door just for someone to finally open his cell for him to get out, as soon as he heard the commotion that was happening on that prison.

He wasn't the same anymore. His pride long forgotten as he could only mutter 'father' in a state of desperation as he saw the chaos and tried to run.

His arms were missing but his legs weren't. So he ran as fast as he could. Leaving the prison as well as a bunch of criminals.

God... now that he knew it how much he fucking ruined his life... He didn't even know if the Shie Hassaikai was still working after his left. Oh who was he kidding..? Pops was in coma as he the supposed sucessor of the yakusa was arrested.

He heard the screams and shouts as he ran. The chaos was established... this was Shigaraki's plan? He didn't know neither could care at the moment.

He walked in a state of shock and traumatized as he started to see the city over a few kilometers away... Tartarus was located 5km away from the mainland and he was a tad bit impressed on how much he could run still after those hellish months he had to endure on that place.

It was the dead of the night, almost midnight he guessed, when he dragged his feet at the desert street. Maybe the city was in a state of lockdown after the prisoners of Tartarus escaped...

No single soul was in that street, walking in a state of misery. He could feel the drop of blood slidding down from the middle of his forehead to his chin... he wanted to at leats wipe it off, but oh with what he would? With the remains of his long lost arms?

He stopped when he recognized the building he once used to live. His eyes widejing as his feet moved before his mind could as he saw that even after months, the walls seemes to be in construction to repare.

He licked his dry lips as he looked at both his sides to ensure none police or hero was nearvy before kicking the door with all his force in desperation.

He stopped dead when the gate opened just a bit to show a gun pointed at his forehead.

"What?" Came a harsh voice as he gulped the thick air stuck on his throat. "What do you want damn freack?!"

"Im... I..." why his voice was horrible and hoarse liek that he didn't know, but he soon got desperate at seing he couldn't even say who the fuck he was.

"Get the fuck out." The old male groaned but Chisaki got his foot in before the man closed the gate, hissing at the sharp pain.

"I'm Chisaki Kai. The adopted son of Pops." He blurted out in panicked pants as the old man eyes widened in horror.

The male opened the gate and reveleaved himself, an old colleague of pops for sure as he checked him form head to toe.

"The one who got arrested? The one that made experiments with my friend's actual granddaughter who is now on care fo heroes?" He asked with venom on his voice as Chisaki felt almost sick to the stomach at hearing but could only nod. "How did you get here? I heard you were locked in Tartarus."

"Tartarus broke down a couple of hours ago... I.. escaped." The male narrowed his eyes at him even more but sighed, opening the gate for him to enter.

"You look like shit. Come in." He swore he almost dropped to his knees at the moment. But tahnks to heavens his legs allowed him to walk enough to enter.

"I have to take you to (L/n)-sama first." He widened his eyes once again as he heard your name being spilled from that man's mouth.

You... you were still here...?

But.. you didn't contacted him. Not even once. Ever since he was arrested he eneber heard of you again.

"Pardon..?" He almost whispered as the male lead him.

"She was your partner, right? (L/n)-sama confirmed that when you were arrested. By our traditions, if the successor or the other boss get arreste don a state of coma." He glared at him whose truly made him want to vomit "The wife or partner of the last boss takes the lead of the said yakusa."

So.. you accepted that..? But he knew you, he knew hwo much you hated his work... why would you-

"Here." He opened the door for him to enter "Take a sit and wait here." He closed the door abruptly making him wince.

The office of Pops... that guy really wanted to torture him. It was almost untouched tha place. Even the couch felt the same as usually would...

He soon perked up when he heard footssteps and standed up the best he could. Almost tripping even.

Pathetic. He was pathetic.

The door opened and he felt his heartbeat stop as appeared, (E/c)'s eyes widening as soon as they saw his figurine standing there... you havent changed a bit. Only for the appearance of someone who has been overworking themselfs to death... face scrunched from nights of crying...

It was a silence and such a tense atmosphere as you both stared at eachother... his eyes burning at seeing you there... he thought he would never see you again...

He saw how you blinked and rubbed your eyes only for you to widen them even more at seing him standing there still.

"K...K-Kai...?" You managed to finally pet out as his heart clenches.

You still called him ny his first name... his true first name.

You stepped closer to him as your hands hovered over his face and widened in horror at finally noticing the missing of his arms...

"What... happened to you? What is this?!" You gestured to both of the rest of his arms and his bruised forehead.

For some reason.. hearing your still concerned tone of voice made him break.. how could you still use that tone of voice with him after what he has done?! After he put his iwn father on coma?! He hadn't heard of you ever since he was arrested and now you were being nice and concerned to him?! Was this some other torture?!

"Kai!" He hadn't notices he had fell into his kness and started to hiperventilate. He could feel your hands on him as you wiped whatever it was falling from his eyes. "Hey! Hey look at me! Kai!"

He wailed. Dropping his face on the crook of your neck. Tears casting down from his eyes like waterfalls as he shouted and sobbed loudly on you. Breath hitching when you hugged his bigger form and brought him closer.

The moment he finally calmed down you parted away from the embrace and helped him up.

"Lets get you clean up, come on." You went to grab his hand but immediately retreading to grab his shoulder.

He could only follow you. Feeling numb and the headache coming from how much he had cried on your arms.

The water was comfortably warm as he finally allowed to drop his shoulders at feeling the water dropping on his body. He was still in his boxers when you helped him up... he didn't even spoke a single word as you touched every part of his body just to help clean himself up since he couldn't even do that. Even surprising himself when you brought him his old clothes.

He couldn't understand... he thought that if you didn't even went to visit him, yomust had to hate him. Despise him for what he had done like everyone else... Luckily he didn't put you on the plans with eru or else the love of his life would be arrested as well.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Your soft voice manifested as he still looked down at the ground from the spot of his old bed.. it was so much comfier than the brick he was forced to.

"... is it because of pity you pushed aside your anger towards me?" His voice was so hoarse and pained himself crunched his face at hearing.

"Pity?" You giggled sadly sitting besides him "Not quite. I-"

"Why then you did all this...? You should had let me die ..." he whispered as your chest clenched at his words.

"Why would i do that with my boyf-"

"Dont. Dont say it. After all I've done you should despise me. Hell, I thought that so after being denied of even a fucking information if you were safe..." he dropped his head befoore hearing a gaso from you.

"What do you mean? I was told by the guards of Tartarus that visits weren't allowed. And I always at least send you a letter, pn your first week when I was denied entry I send you a mask and a letter." You said while arching an eyebrow as he catched what had happened.

"The guards didn't delivered... must have stocked or throw away..." you furrowed your eyebrows but sighed shakily.

Suddenly his breath hitched when you hugged his torso and burried your face against his neck. For the first time he hadn't tensed at sucha coforting touch, but felt warm after so long without it.

"I missed you so much..." you mumbled, wetting his neck with your tears as he clenched his teeth at feeling drops of water falli g from his eyes once again.

"Damn you... I already cried enough didn't I..?" He burried his face in your hair as he allowed to be hugged. For once wishing his arms were back only to pull your body closer to him.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #chisaki kai #overhaul #bnha villains x reader #bnha fanfics #bnha fanfiction #not my best but ok #zuffer writings

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one-pissed-off-child · 3 years

Text

Only A Fool

I have been here for 300 years.

Anyway, here you go.

Phillipe didn’t listen to Camille.

He was tired, true (in this same moment, a thousand lifetimes away, he would have been much too tired and much too sullen to put up a fuss) and he had a long journey ahead of him. But Phillipe had given everything to this island. His years, his family’s funds, his dedication, and now he would give his children. He was owed, at least, a chance to see them for the first and last time.

So he went.

When his wife laid down to rest, still weary from the tribulations of birth, and when the old midwife stepped outside to fetch a bundle of calming herbs at the king’s behest, Phillipe went to see his daughters.

As he stepped into the hall, Phillipe came to the stark realization that he had no idea where the nursery was. In all the hours that they'd been here, Willa had not bothered to show him where the babes would be kept. Why would she? He was never meant to see them after all. They weren’t his to see.

But still, he searched undeterred, and eventually, he came across a room a few doors down from Camille’s birthing chamber, barred by an expertly crafted door engraved with three black roses. Beautiful flowers marked with the color of death. How symbolic.

Pushing into the room, Phillipe was reminded of the brief moment of calm that often comes within the eye of a storm. He felt himself relax as he took in the domesticity of it all.

Sunlight gently streamed in through the window, falling on three bassinets to the side of the room. He felt a small smile split his face as he approached the cradles. Seeing the small forms sleeping peacefully inside filled him with indescribable joy, he wished he knew their names. Phillipe’s smile morphed into a frown. He should know their names.

He started with the one cuddling the cloud pillow. Scooping her tiny form into his arms was a surreal experience. She barely weighed anything at all and staring down at her little face almost gave him the sensation of floating. It was often said that the queens retained no physical traits from their parents before them but he could see that this one had his jawline and ears. She would grow up to be beautiful.

Phillipe kissed her brow before settling her back into place.

The next one did not look much like him, although he could see a bit of Camille in the roundness of her face and himself in her strong nose. However, as he gently lifted the little girl out from underneath her horrid mobile, it quickly became clear the similarities between them lay in their personalities. He chuckled softly as she squirmed in his arms. His mother often told stories of how fitful Phillipe was as a child, even when asleep. His restlessness did not subside much as he grew older but rather worsened. All up until now in his manhood he had trouble keeping still. Phillipe suspected this child would be the same.

He pinched the tiny hand that slipped out of the swaddle and nearly cried when it latched around his fingers.

He tenderly set the second child down, careful to avoid disturbing -or touching- the dead reptiles, and turned his attention to the final cradle.

This last child was not like him in appearance nor mannerisms. She was so still that Phillipe almost feared for her health until he saw the healthy flush in her face. And she did not look like him at all but, he noted with no small amount of pride, she was almost the mirror image of Camille. Smallest out of the three by far, this one had to be the youngest.

Just as he kissed her cheek and prepared to set her down, big, black doll-like eyes suddenly fluttered open. He froze.

She didn't immediately start wailing like he assumed her to. In fact, she stared at him almost expectantly. As if she were waiting for him to do something. It almost felt like...a request.

To his credit, Phillipe did try to leave. Told himself to go before his traitorous thoughts could continue entertaining a notion that would likely get him killed. Yet still, even as his rational mind tried to reason with his body, he felt himself crumple to the floor. Those eyes that were so much like Camille's turned his legs to anchors.

There is a saying amongst the people of Fennbirn. At first glance, it seemed a strange one given this island’s seemingly unconditional adoration of their triplet queens. But the years taught him better.

Only a fool could love a queen

Then he truly must be the king of fools to have fallen in love with four of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Camille shot up with a gasp. Cold sweat ran down her forehead in rivulets. She gripped the sheets like a lifeline. She felt like throwing up. Camille groaned at the intense pounding in her skull. She hadn’t been able to sleep properly since her...victory.

Sleep. How could she? How could she when the ghosts of her sisters screamed in her ear; when she saw their dead and dying faces every time she closed her eyes; when the memories of her early days returned to her and all she could think of is the sweet little girls in those memories and how she murdered them?

Camille shook herself. Now was not time for regret. It wouldn’t do much good for anyone either way; what’s done is done is done. She was so close to everything she had dreamed of for seven years.  She could start over; live the life she had always wanted from the beginning. All she had to do was walk away and never turn back.

Yet, when she searched for her dream's face, she did not see him.

A cold pit of dread formed in her stomach.

Camille called for him, hoping he had simply stepped out for air. No answer. The pit in her stomach grew larger.

She desperately wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he just went to get some water or if not that then to get a better pillow or if not that then to use the chamber pot. One by one she checked the kitchen, each of the bedrooms, and the bathroom, and one by one they all were deemed empty.

Once it became evident that her husband was nowhere else in the house, Camille slowly made her way to the nursery. She pointedly ignored the bittersweet feelings that rose marked door summoned within her as she made her way into the room.

Inside, she found her husband, sitting on the ground and cradling one of the baby queens against his chest. Camille sighed heavily and approached the pair. She carded a hand through his auburn curls.

He looked up at her and- oh

He was crying.

Her love, soft-hearted though he may be, was not a well-known crier.

Pursing her lips, she carefully settled down next to him. "Come now, darling. Let us find Willa." But he was already shaking his head. He looked back at the child in his arms.

"I- I can't do this Camille. I'm sorry."

Camille's hand slipped from his hair to his shoulder as she dredged up every last ounce of patience her tired body possessed. "I know this is hard for you but it's simply how we do things here. I promise that once we get to the mainland-"

“Did you hold them? Did you even touch them?”

“Phillipe-”

“Take her, Camille.”

Camille did not take her. “You’ve known that this would happen for years. I’ve told you time and time again that you can’t get attached. This is why I told you not to go. ”

"I can't just leave my daughters-"

"They aren't your daughters," Camille said gently, "They belong to the island and the Goddess only."

Phillipe tensed. "So you truly believe that it's right for us to just sail away and go about our lives knowing what they'll be subjected to here? That it's right to just hand them over after everything these people have done to you?"

“It is my duty as queen”, Camille said mechanically. She wasn’t even sure if they were her words (they weren’t. Not really).

“They’ve taken so much from us. I hear the way you cry out for your sisters at night. I've seen the scars on your arms and back. The Arrons, the temple, this entire damned island, they have given you nothing, nothing but heartache and pain. And as thanks for your suffering, you'd give them our children to torture?"

"They are not our children!", She snapped, then softer, "Please, enough of this. You know the island won't let them go. We can have a real family on the mainland."

Phillipe just sadly shook his head again. "I can't be with someone who would abandon her own daughters to a life of misery. If you force me to choose between you and them- it's them. I'm sorry", and Camille's heart shattered.

He finally turned from the infant to her. "I don't want to choose, please don't make me choose." He took her hand and rested it on the child's -Katharine, she numbly recalled- head. "This is our family. Don't let the island tear it apart."

Everything Phillipe was saying went against the very person Camille had been taught to be. What the temple taught her of being a vessel for the Goddess on earth. What the Arrons taught her about succeeding no matter what. The things Phillipe was suggesting were blasphemous and damn near sacrilegious (but she had stopped praying a long time ago). To go along with it would be to burn down years of meticulous planning. To spit in the face of all the teachings Camille received.

She looked from Phillipe and his pleading eyes to Mirabella and Arsinoe, blissfully sleeping through the turmoil in the room, to little Katharine, whose eyes and nose looked so much like her own.

Queens never pass on physical traits

She was tired of following the rules.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Black Cottage was small, although it was not actually a cottage. Hidden away in the forest and surrounded by undergrowth, it was not an easy place to find, let alone reach. Few people were privy to the cottage’s exact location and every one except the queens were sworn to secrecy on pain of execution. This, of course, was to allow the Midwife to raise the ascending queens in peace as well as protect them in those few vulnerable years where they were not constantly guarded by a powerful foster family. The meticulous position now worked to their advantage as Queen and King rushed to secure the baby girls in the back of Willa’s old but sturdy wagon.

Phillipe tied down the wicker baskets that held his daughters with the rope they found in the kitchen while Camille shackled Willa's fastest horse, Sarin, to the front of the wagon.

Phillipe stopped suddenly. "Wait, should we bring nappies?"

Camille blinked. "What? You mean soil cloths?"

"Yes, who is going to change them?"

"I'd reckon you know more about these things than I do."

"But you're-"

She shot him a withering look. "I'm what? A woman?"

"Smarter than me", he finished.

Camille just rolled her eyes. "We can figure all that out once we're on the road. I'll go get the cloths." He nodded as Camille finished attending to the horses and turned back towards the house.

She stopped.

There in the meadow stood Willa. This was the first time Camille's seen her since the birthing. She had completely forgotten about her pseudo mother. Behind her, a small gasp indicated that Phillipe had similarly forgotten about the only other person in the house.

“Camille-”

“Get in the wagon.” She sucked in a breath and righted herself with a confidence she did not feel. “I will handle this.”

Still, Phillipe glanced between her and the old Midwife as though he expected Willa to summon a dagger out of thin air and bury it in Camille's eye. Knowing of the old woman's history as a poisoner, Camille could not even say his concern was unfounded. But he finally nodded once and got in the coach's seat.

She approached Willa with her head held high

Willa smiled as she drew near. "You were going to make off with my only wagon and best horse without even a goodbye? The gall of this generation."

Camille didn't know what to say. She stayed silent as she eyed the bag Willa had slung over her shoulder. Noticing the younger woman's tension, Willa's smile fell away.

"Relax girl. I'm not going to beat you to death with a rucksack." Her eyes hardened, "And I'm not going to try and stop you either."

Now Camille's silence was tinged with an air of shock.

"Those six years I spent raising the three of you were the happiest years of my life. I treasured every moment I spent watching you and Arden play in the river. Eating those horrible cookies that Nautica baked every winter," Willa raised one wrinkled hand to Camille's cheek. She didn't pull away. "You girls were the most important things in my life even after those black carriages came and took you away."

"I collected every piece of news about you three I could find. I celebrated every victory with you and every time I heard of Nautica's escapades with her multiple spouses or of Arden's ridiculous spars with the warriors from Bastian, I would think of our time here together."

"The pain I felt when I heard of their passing was the worst than anything I had ever experienced. I prayed I would not live long enough to feel it again."

Camille couldn't help it. Tears blurred her vision as she whispered, "I killed them."

Willa nodded. "You did."

"I remember their faces. I remember the river, the cookies, all of it." Camille shook as she wept, "And I killed them."

"And now-", Willa said as she wiped her tears, "You will ensure no little girls are forced to kill their sisters ever again."

"You failed your sisters and I failed the three of you. Do not fail your daughters." Camille nodded against Willa's hand.

Willa again smiled briefly.

“I’ll send for the houses in two hours. It will take one hour for the word to reach all of them and another three or so for the carriages to arrive. I suspect that should be just enough time for you to reach the landing. Provided you take the back roads of course.”

“I-yes. That should be enough.”

“Good. Now then,” She handed Camille the sack she had brought. Inside were blankets, soil cloths, medicinal herbs, clothes for infants, and a collection of peculiar items that she assumed were to the girls entertained. And quiet.

"Thank you", said Camille, and she meant it from the depths of her soul.

"A child needs not to thank her mother for doing a mother's duty." Then mother and daughter embraced for the last time. Camille stiffened as she pulled away.

“You’ll be-” executed. Brutally. Painfully.

The old crone just smiled. “I will be fine.” It was a lie.

The Midwife turned around and slowly made her way back into the house. Camille watched until her back disappeared behind the door before walking back to her husband and daughters.

To her family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jonathan Blackburn is a family man at heart.

Whenever his sister needed help wrangling her massive brood of eight, Jonathan was there. Whenever his mother needed him to drive the cattle because one of the work hands fell sick, Jonathan was there. And when Phillipe came to him seven years ago and told him of his plans to go to the legendary island of Fennbirn and pursue one of their triplet queens well, what other choice did Jonathan have than to go with him?

You could start a family of your own you know, Phillipe had said.

And Jonathan replied, How could I trust myself to start a new one if I can't take care of the one I have now?

So, when his little brother arrived at the landing three hours early in an old wagon with his wife at his side and a slumbering newborn in his arms, Jonathan took one look at his pleading face and called for the captain to take to sea.

Not a word was passed between them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Goddess took being robbed of her new queens about as well as Camille expected her to.

Within thirty minutes of leaving Bernadine's Landing, a vicious storm descended upon the mighty Rapshire, and thus, the battle began.

If there was one silver lining in this whole debacle, it's that every man aboard this ship was a mainlander. Not one of them batted an eye when she and Phillipe carried the girls aboard.

But as it goes, if there's an upside then there's a downside. No matter how good of a crew these men were, they were simply no match for the ferocity of the typhoon. There were many times in her life when Camille wished to be an elemental but none more so than today.

Down in the underbelly, Camille listened to the stomping and shouting above her head as the men tried everything in their power to keep the ship afloat. Phillipe was up there too, shouting orders with the rest of them.

A particularly strong gust of wind threatened to capsize the ship altogether and the young mother desperately kept hold of her children while struggling to stay sitting upright. Camille winced as the wails of Arsinoe and Katharine rose to match the crashing of thunder.

The eldest of the baby queens simply laughed. Where Camille greened every time the boat was violently rocked by the waves, Mirabella shrieked in delight and flapped her little arms about as if she were the one bringing this storm down on their heads.

Camille huffed. Elementals.

Once again, the ship rocked so violently that it was everything Camille could do to keep a tight grip on the baskets. She felt something slip out of her pocket and clatter to the ground. She looked down at it and paled.

A vile of nightshade. Willa had pressed it into her hand during their embrace. Such a poison was much too weak to have any effect on Camille. There was no question of who it was for.

You will ensure no little girls are forced to kill their sisters ever again.

Somehow she managed to grasp the vile with a shaking hand. She swallowed as she considered the task before her. Killing two teenage girls whose faces she hardly remembered was difficult enough but three infants?

Yet, letting the Goddess sweep them back to the island would be just as damning. A small bit of nightshade is incomparable to the suffering that the Arrons would inflict on Arsinoe. And Mirabella, she would be forced to live through the deaths and haunting memories of her sisters as Camille is. She uncorked the vile.

Yes, this is the kinder fate. A death by nightshade would be quick and painless. At her young age, not even Arsinoe's poisoner gift could protect her from a toxin this deadly.

She only wished that she could have made their last moments as joyous for her two youngest as they were for Mirabella.

Slowly, she kissed each of the girls goodbye. The silence was deafening as she pressed the vile to Katharine's lips and made to tip it back.

Silence?

Camille snatched the nightshade away before a drop of liquid could spill over.

The cabin was suddenly still. There was no booming thunder overhead. No screaming wind that nearly knocked them clean over. She couldn't even hear the rain anymore. It was as if the storm had never happened at all.

Camille dared to let herself hope.

And when Phillipe rushed downstairs to practically slam his mouth into hers, she knew her dreams finally came true

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun on her skin was a blessing after being cooped up in that tiny cabin for what felt like hours. If the pleased cooing was anything to go by, it seemed Katharine agreed.

An arm wrapped around her waist and her husband and brother-in-law joined her at the bow of the ship. Each of them held her other two children.

Phillipe observed them with proud eyes. He stared down at his daughter in his arms as if she were the most perfect this in the world.

Phillipe looked at her again and she saw tears in his eyes for the second time in seven years.

"What are their names?"

Camille smiled through her own tears. "She-", Camille said, nodding to the babe in Phillipe's arms, "-is Mirabella. The eldest." The new father beamed.

She gestured to Jonathan. "She is Arsinoe. Middle child."

Jonothan grinned down at his wiggling niece. "Hello, little Arsinoe. I am your uncle Jon. I can already tell you're going to be as much of a handful as your father is."

"And this is Katharine. She is the youngest." Camille pressed a kiss to Katharine's head.

Phillipe repeated their names in order under his breath. Then louder and louder still until he was shouting at the top of his lungs.

"THEIR NAMES ARE MIRABELLA, ARSINOE, AND KATHARINE! I'M A FATHER!"

Jonathan whooped. "You heard him, gents! Hats off to the new parents!"

Camille laughed like she never had before as each and every man on board cheered and flung their hats into the ocean. Those that didn't have hats took the shirts off their backs and whipped them over their heads like madmen.

Distantly, the part of her that still thought of Fennbirn as home wondered what would happen to the island without its queens. Perhaps the people would learn to move on without them, even as their gifts faded. Or maybe the Goddess, in a fit of self-righteous anger, would turn her ire on the island that she’d birthed. Maybe she would command the seas to rise and swallow Fennbirn whole. Send a storm three times as terrible as the one she inflicted on Camille's family to wash everyone and everything away.

But as she watched her husband dance and cry and laugh and kiss their daughter all over her face, Camille found that she could not bring herself to care.

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honeyheartsandkisses · 3 years

Text

A million times yes

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

One Shot!

Summary: You and Fred have always been really close. After a bad day, he tries to cheer you up and you accidentally confess. (You are in the same year as the weasley twins, one year above the golden trio.)

Warnings: Kissing, and maybe even a little grinding but no smut.

Word count: 2.6k

Sitting here in your potions lesson, you couldn't help but let your mind wander off. Professor Snape's voice droning on in the backgroun about the different kinds of spider venom and what they can be used for. The mildly pleasant smell of bubbling potions and the dim candles illuminating the dungeon all melded together, casting a drowsy spell on you.

"Miss y/l/n!" Snape's nasally voice pierced through your lazy state. You jumped to sit up straight, finding Professor Snape standing right in front of your desk. His face twisted into a nasty scowl.

He starts circling your desk like a vulture circling it's prey. You knew you were in deep trouble. "I suppose you find all this information boring Miss y/l/n?"

"No sir." You said. Staring down at the opened textbook on your desk. Snape always had a thing for torturing gryffindors.

"Humor me this, can you tell me the ingredients for a forgetfulness potion?"

"Umm... no sir."

"Not so smart now are we?" Snape grins, his long crooked nose twisting to make him look truly frightening. "Tell me the ingredients for a truth potion then."

You look up from your desk, and make eye contact with your best friends Fred and George Weasley. The red-haired twins who were seated just a table in front of you had turned around (just like the rest of the class) helplessly watching Snape humiliate you. A few slytherins were snickering, completely enjoying the show.

Feeling defiant, you wink at your two best friends before looking up to face Professor Snape. "With all due respect sir, you never taught us those two potions. How am I supposed to know what's in it?"

Your two best friends start cackling with laughter, clearly impressed by your sudden burst of confidence. A few gryffindors flashed you thumbs up signs, stifling their laughter.

"SILENCE!" Snape stops circling you and look down at you, administering a death-like glare. It instantly made you regret your decision from just five seconds ago. "Miss y/l/n. Very brave for an orphan." The word orphan struck a nerve. Your parents were muggles and at the age of 11, they passed away in a car crash. You were the only one who survived that night. Everytime someone brought it up you would relive it. The heavy snow, the thick ice, the feeling of the car skidding on the ice, and worst of all, your mother's screams.

"Perhaps they never got the chance to teach you classroom manners?" Snape continues in his low nasally voice. Your blood boiled. How dare he bring up your painful past.

"They must be disappointed to learn that their very own daughter turned out to be a failure." This makes your hands clench into tight fists.

You slam the table, standing up from your seat. "I am NOT a failure."

Professor Snape looked almost slightly surprised at your outburst. But within a second he restores his emotionless front. "Six hours of detention Miss y/l/n. Tonight. You will polish all the trophies in the trophy room, without the help of your wand. Be there immediately after dinner or it'll be eight hours. Do you understand?"

Still trembling with rage, you sit back down. "Yes Professor."

The moment Snape goes back to teaching, George quickly slips you a note. You felt slightly better knowing that your friends had your back. Holding the small piece of parchment under the table, you unfold it to see two familiar handwritings.

One of the handwritings had more rounded letters. You easily identified it to be George's.

It wrote: Wow six hours is going to be tough. I'm sorry he said those thing to you but i loved that you stood up for yourself.

The other handwriting was slightly crooked, and this belonged to Fred.

It simply wrote: Are you alright?

Your heart skipped a beat. It definitely was not out of the norm for the boys to show concern but everything Fred said and did made you want to scream. Your heart did backflips whenever you saw him. The way his messy red hair always seemed to fall perfectly into place when he ran his fingers though it, the way he always had a pleasant woody scent on him from all his quidditch practices, everything made you fall in love with him.

You flip the small piece of parchment around and write on the other side and write: I’ll be okay. Before handing it back to the twins.

You manage to stay out of trouble the rest of the lesson, and when Snape finally dismisses everyone, you scoop your heavy textbook into your arms and the three of you head toward the great hall for dinner.

“Maybe we should leave an exploding chocolate bomb on his table.” George says, holding the classroom door open for you.

You laugh, walking through the door with Fred following closely behind you. “Don’t be silly George. Snape’ll figure it out right away.”

“Still worth a shot don’t you think?” Fred says, winking at you.

You quickly shake your head. “I mean it boys. Don’t. Do. It.”

“Alright alright fine.” George says, while Fred swiftly grabs your textbook from your arms, carrying it for you the rest of the way.

“Actually we know a trick or two when it comes to cleaning the trophy room.” Fred says, looking down at you. Him being a whole head taller than you, he towered over you. It made you feel safe. “You could always bewitch a few sponges to self-clean. Sneak them in under your cloak.”

“Snape said no wands but he didn't say you couldn't do with a little... lets call it special equipment.” George adds.

You decide to take their advice, and before reporting to the trophy room after dinner, the three of you stop by a supply closet to bewitch a few sponges before they walked you to the trophy room where Snape was already waiting.

Professor Snape eyes you suspiciously before scowling. “Your little friends cannot stay with you y/l/n.”

Slightly annoyed, you snapped back. “Yes I'm well aware. They were just leaving.” The twins each give you a small pat on the back before hurrying off, leaving you with Snape.

“You will polish and shine all the trophies in this room.” Snape says in his nasally voice that always left you nauseous. Only when he steps aside do you see how massive the room was. With shelves extending from the ground up to the ceiling, each one of them crowded with trophies of all shapes and sizes. Some looked like regular muggle trophies but some seemed to be able to move. Some had faces on them whereas others were shaped like mystical animals.

“Maybe this will teach you not to disrespect a teacher.” Snape says, the corner of his lips turned upwards, clearly delighted to see you in misery. “I will be back every hour or so to check on you. If you’re not here, it’s another two hours of detention and fifty points from Gryffindor. Your wand will be confiscated until all these trophies are polished.” You reluctantly hand over your wand, wishing you could hex the professor. “Get started.” With that, he turns around and walks off, shoes clicking down the dimly lit corridor.

Cursing under your breath, you retrieved your earlier bewitched sponges from the supply closet, along with a couple other polishing solutions. To your surprise, they worked brilliantly. The small sponges scrubbed every inch of each trophy leaving it spic and span, before automatically moving on the next. While the sponges were busy at work, you headed over to a corner of the room and sat down. Just when you were about to doze off, a familiar voice jolted you awake.

“Tired already? It hasn't even been an hour.”

You look up to face it’s owner, coming face to face with Fred Weasley. Your heart swelled. Quickly rubbing the seep from your eyes, you laugh and pat the ground next to you, asking him to sit and he complies.

“What are you doing here?” “Wanted to say hi to Professor Snape.” Fred says, gleaming mischievously at you. Under the dim light, his brown eyes looked like honey and the smell of his freshly shampooed hair gave you the urge to pull him into a hug.

You roll your eyes. “Ha-ha. Very funny Weasley.”

“Are you really alright?” He suddenly says, catching you off guard.

You smile, hugging your knees. “Yeah I told you I’ll be fine.”

“But you’re not...” He looks down at you, almost like he could see right through you. “When Snape mentioned your parents earlier, you looked so incredibly sad. Like nothing could ever make you happy again.”

“I know...” you let out a big sigh. “Everytime someone mentions my parents I re-live that night. Id be lying if I said it wasn't terrifying. But this is something I have to deal with on my own. It’s not anyone’s job to fix me.” Before you know it, a tear escapes the rim of your eye, rolling down your cheek.

Fred puts an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. “I understand. I just wanted you to know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. So don’t be afraid to let me know if you’re struggling.”

You snuggle closer to his chest, his arm still tightly wrapped around you. Feeling a warmness wash over you, your mood changed for the better. You tilt your head upwards, looking at him. He senses your movement and looked down at you with concern. Your face merely inches away from his, you fought the urge to kiss him. His eyes travel down your face, staring at your lips before looking into your eyes again. “Y/n I...” But before he could say anything else, you press a kiss to his lips, quickly pulling back to observe his reaction. He looked confused and flustered, making your heart sink. You just made a huge mistake.

“I'm sorry I didn't mean to... I just...” You stumbled over your words trying to find the right thing to say. You felt embarrassed and humiliated. Did you just singlehandedly ruin your friendship with the Weasley twins?

But all of a sudden, Fred stops you from freaking out. “Shut up.” He sounded urgent and needy. He crashed his lips with yours, and you could feel his passion and urgency. Like he needed this for a long time. Like he never wanted to stop kissing you. His hands cup your face, deepening the kiss, while you move to sit on his lap. A growing heat in your lower belly started to take over and you rocked your hips forward, grinding on him. He snakes one arm around your waist, pulling you closer while you kiss his neck.

Suddenly, you hear the sound of shoes clicking against the hollow corridor and you pull away from Fred in a hurry. “It’s Snape!” you whisper urgently. “You need to go now! He’ll punish you!”

“But-” Fred tried to protest, but you move off of him, quickly standing up.

“Please Fred I wouldn't want you getting into trouble because of me. You need to hurry!”

He gives you a reluctant pout, but finally agrees. “I’ll see you later.” He kisses your forehead before hurrying off.

Shortly, Snape arrives to see you hard at work polishing the trophies. He mumbles something about you having a bad attitude before leaving, and once again you’re left alone.

You sit back down in the corner, going over the past few minutes. Fred Weasley kissed you. The boy you’ve had a crush on since your second year in Hogwarts. He liked you. Being held by him was the most amazing feeling in the world. Kissing him made your head spin.

Time flew by and before you know it, Your six hours of detention had passed. It was now 1am and the bewitched sponges had obediently dropped to the ground lifelessly after polishing the last trophy. As if on cue, Snape returns, walking up and down the trophy cases.

“Very well y/l/n. You may leave.” He hands you your wand.

“Thank you Professor. Always a pleasure.” You say sarcastically, bolting out the door before he could lecture you again. When you made it up to the common room, you expected it to be completely empty. After all, it was 1am. But to your surprise, Fred was fast asleep on the sofa in front of the fire, his chest rising and falling in sync with his breathing. He had waited for you to come back. You couldn't help but giggle. Grabbing a blanket from a nearby cupboard, you lay it over him and kiss his forehead.

Just as you were about to tip toe over to the stairs to make your way up to the girl’s dormitories, he stirs from his sleep.

“y/n? Is that you?”

You make your way back to him, sitting down on the sofa. “Hey, what are you doing here silly? Shouldn't you be in bed?”

He sits up, pulling the blanket off him. “I wanted to be here when you got back.”

“Well? I’m here now. Whats the matter?”

Without saying another word, a mischievous smile spreads across his face. Reaching under the sofa, he pulls out his quidditch broomstick. “Let me take you on a flight?”

Your eyes lit up. For years you've been begging the twins to let you use their broomstick. Theirs was always better than yours because you weren't on the quidditch team. But they guarded that thing with their life. Not once did they allow you near it.

“Really?” Fred stands, holding his broom in one hand with the other hand outstretched towards you. “Milady?”

You laugh, taking his hand. Just like that the two of you sneaked out of the Gryffindor common room, creeping past Mrs Norris and Filtch’s office. After a few long corridors and several flights of staircases, the two of you finally reach the main door. He pushes it open, and you step out into the cold night. It’s so dark, it could be impossible for anyone to see the two of you zooming around in the air.

“It’s a little chilly tonight. Here hold this.” Fred hands you his broom before taking off his coat and handing it to you. He takes the broom from you again and says “Put It on. Wouldn't want you catching a cold.” You pull it on, thanking the heavens that its dark out. This way he couldn't see how much you were blushing.

He straddles the broom before lowing the back end. “You ready?”

“Just one question.” You say, stepping closer to him so your bodies were slightly pressed together. “Why’d you bring me out here?”

“I wanted to cheer you up of course.” He says, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Wait... is it alright I did that?”

“Well, that depends.” You lean over his shoulder and whisper in his ear. “Are you my friend or are you my boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend.” he blurts out immediately. “If that's what you want of course.” he adds, looking rather embarrassed at his quick answer.

You giggle at his adorable display. “Fred Weasley are you flustered? For the first time in your life?” “Shut it y/l/n.” he laughs, “Come on, you know you're gorgeous, and funny, and kind and you have a cute butt. Now tell me, will you or will you not be my girlfriend?” Despite the nonchalance of his tone, you could tell he was nervous. His eyes gave it away.

“A million times yes.” Putting your arms around his neck, you pull him in for a long kiss. It was head spinning and life changing. The two of you only pull away when there was not enough air left. You think I have a cute butt?” You ask, smirking at him.

He smiles, rolls eyes eyes and simply says “Hop on princess.”

You climb onto the back of his broomstick, wrapping your arms around his torso tightly before the two of you take off into the night.

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highfaelucien · 3 years

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Ardere - A Helion/Lady of Autumn Fic

y’all heathens made me have feelings so i wrote a thing. hurt/comfort, angst, all sorts. Tagging some folks who inspired this with their emotional dashboard shenanigans/that I feel would Appreciate the content. @exiledelain @confused-as-all-hell @asteria-of-mars @ratabrasileira @ladyvanserra @vanserrasvalkyrie @rarephloxes @queen-hypaxia

Title: Ardere

Length: 3.3k

Warnings: Mentions of domestic abuse, given Lady Autumn’s situation

Summary: Set during the High Lords meeting in ACOWAR. Canon compliant, I suppose, but do any of us care about that anymore?? Hestia, the Lady of the Autumn Court, seeks her oldest lover and comfort Helion for a stolen night of love and reconnection. Helion POV, emotional hurt/comfort, bit of angst.

Teaser:

‘" Hestia," he whispered, with the same reverence he'd speak the name of a goddess in her holiest temple.

Instinct bade him go to her, and he did not fight it. He didn't even try.

For a moment he thought she might refuse him, might insist upon caution. But the next she was in his arms, and as he held her close and breathed her in, he knew he hadn't been truly warm since last he'd been able to embrace her.

"Helion," she murmured into his chest.

The sound of her voice wrapped around his name was the sweetest torture he'd ever known. All Hyben need do to break him was ask him to defect in her voice and he would obey without a thought.

AO3: Link

"I cannot spare long."

The book he'd been flipping idly through dropped at once from his fingers at the sound of that voice.

Before he'd finished turning to her, her scent hit him. So warm, so inviting, it nearly knocked him back into his chair.

Then he beheld her.

The first time he'd clapped eyes on her, all those centuries ago, she'd left him breathless and stunned.

Like an Autumn storm that had ravaged every part of his being and left him, naked and awed, before its power and majesty. She had blown into his life with an unexpected abruptness as yet unmatched.

He'd been an arrogant prick at that age. Cauldron, he was still an arrogant prick. But he'd been used to everyone's eyes, male or female, following him as he moved through a room.

Those gazes found him and they didn't leave. He was High fae. He was a High Lord's heir. He'd been made to rule Day and to look damned good while doing it.

He'd been accustomed to being wanted, to inspiring lust and envy by simply existing.

Never, before her, had he been on the other side.

He'd never seen someone so beautiful. So consuming and captivating that he hadn't been sure of being able to win their lust and love with a simple smile and an effortless word.

She'd shaken something in him that day. She had entered his world and unmade him with a glance. Then reconstructed him, exactly as she'd found him, with one stark difference. At the core of the man she had rebuilt was a need for her. Not merely her beautiful body, but her heart, her soul. He'd known, in that moment, that she had him. And always would.

The years had taken much from her. And holy gods, did he know it. But they had not taken this, her ability to so thoroughly destroy him that he was reborn at once as her servant in but a single glance.

" Hestia," he whispered, with the same reverence he'd speak the name of a goddess in her holiest temple.

Instinct bade him go to her, and he did not fight it. He didn't even try.

"Helion," she murmured into his chest.

The sound of her voice wrapped around his name was the sweetest torture he'd ever known. All Hyben need do to break him was ask him to defect in her voice and he would obey without a thought.

For all that he made a show, and tell, if he was fair, about what the Cauldron gave him with regards to his body, particularly his glorious thighs, that wasn't his true pride.

No, the thing he held most valuable was his mind which contained the knowledge of a thousand libraries and more.

He didn't earn his name by clearing through spells with his thighs. Fuck no. His wit, his cunning, his intellect, that was where his true power, his true strength as a High Lord came from.

That was why Hestia had always managed to claim him so thoroughly. All these centuries later and he still couldn't think around her. Couldn't form a single coherent thought while her scent filled his lungs. It travelled from there directly to his brain, and filled it with stolen afternoons and illicit nights spent in the only place they truly belonged.

Drawing away, in itself an agony, but one he was rewarded for, as it let him look into her face.

He cradled it between his hands, so careful. so delicate. She was not a fragile woman, he knew that well. She was of the forge, with fire in her veins, and iron in her bones.

The world saw the silence, the frailty of her body, and the resignation of her fate and mistook that for softness, and docility. He knew better.

This woman put the heroes of the War to shame. Her strength, her courage, her will - if they had any idea they'd have written epic poems about her resilience and ballads to her spirit.

Drakon wouldn't have lasted an hour in her place. Had she been in his, the damned War would have ended so fast they wouldn't have been able to call it one.

Yet he held her with all the gentleness that was in him. Not because he feared she might break without it; but because he knew she would find none elsewhere.

His fingers tenderly brushed her hair from her eyes. Like her, their, son's it was a red as sure as blood. But hers spiralled from her in a cacophony of raucous curls. They were contained, now, with a thick leather band around her head. He would always remember them wild, and free, as she was meant to be.

As he moved them aside, he saw the shadow of a bruise around one of her beautiful russet eyes. Hidden well, but...

His body went taut, jaw clenching instinctively. She felt the tension coiling in him, and laid her hands gently over his.

"Don’t," was all she said, voice soft, but unyielding, like the sun’s gentle rays as it rose each morning.

"Not a heartbeat has passed for me since that day," he rumbled, voice deeper and darker than his usual light, playful timbre." That I have not thought about the choice that was made, and begged the Mother to let me change it."

She faced him steadily and said, " You know I made the choice that was available to mem" she moved closer, her body melting against his, like the hot metal of a blade folded around itself to create something more, "Not the one I wanted."

"I know, my hearthlight,” he whispered softly, sensing her smile at the old pet name he used for her, “And I would never blame you for that. But as for myself-"

A coward. This woman. This holy, burning creature. This caged forest fire... She loved a coward.

Hestia placed a finger to his lips, silencing him, " What good does it do," she murmured the rich warmth of her voice caressing him like a thick blanket on a cold winter night, “To dwell upon the past? To linger, in misery, and shame in a single moment of your immortal life?”

He opened his mouth to answer her, but she knew him too well, and silenced him with but a single look.

"Will your regret force back the sun?” she demanded with that quiet spirit he loved so keenly, “Will your sadness take us back? Will your guilt rewrite the pages of the history books which have been gathering dust in your libraries for centuries?"

She was such a small thing. She always had been. And seemed more so, held between his muscular arms. Yet she dwarfed him now.

Like the flicker of a candle flame catching and summoning a raging inferno to remind him she was but a fragment of a force of nature, bound in skin, but never truly caged.

"If I could have," he said at last, voice a little hoarse as though he'd inhaled thick smoke, “I would have done so a thousand times over. And paid any price to do so."

He had tried. He'd never confess it to another soul, not even to the Mother herself upon his deathbed, but he had tried. Tried to rip apart the fabric of all reality with nothing but his bare hands and love for her.

A part of him was still surprised that it had not been enough. Because it was. Reality had simply not accepted that particular facet of its existence.

"I know you would have, lucky fluke," all these years and still she called him that.

A name she'd hung on him to tease the first day they had met. He'd baldly called their meeting the Mother's own ordained fate. She'd laughed, with a sound like falling leaves, and named it, and him, lucky fluke.

Then, the words had been edged with mockery. Now they echoed with all of their history, with all of their fondness, and all of her love.

"But time goes on. That sun of yours still journeys East to West, and we still live with the decisions we made upon a summer's night a million fireflies' lifetimes ago."

" Hestia-" he began, but she quietened him once more.

"When I wish to look back, Helion, I shall find myself a mirror,” she said, with the strength that had held her together all these decades of pain and misery, turned upon him now to remind him that she would not yield.

“I will not live my life wading through times I have already endured,” she said, voice softer now, but no less intent, “I have no wish to allow him to cause me pain in the few and rare times that are my own. I shall make pleasant moments here, with you, and that is what I ask of you. To be with me. Here. Now. And to love me while we can."

"I am yours, Lady,” he breathed.

With the same breath he’d first pledged that to her centuries ago. Before the world had taken the freedom she craved so much, and given him a power he’d never wanted. A tattoo of her heart had etched itself over his own, in a vibrant red, a marker of the bargain he’d made. Unintended, but not regretted.

“From now until my sun fades from this world unto the next," he promised her once more, one hand over his heart.

"Until I find you there as well," she replied, as she had all those years ago, leaning up, while drawing him down, and touching her forehead to his.

He loved her. Oh, Cauldron, he loved her, and whatever the Mother had used to make her, he loved that too.

"Come," she said softly," Let us make the most of what time we have."

So they did.

"What do you want from me, Hestia?" he whispered, pressing the worlds into her thick hair, his face buried in the crown of her head.

She looked at him, and answered as she did each time with aching certainty, and absolute truth." Everything."

"Then take it." he whispered, a devoted priest at last within the presence of his deity, “All I have, and all I do not. Take it all."

So she did.

They had no need of words in that hallowed space when bodies and beings connected, skin to skin, and soul to soul.

The breath it would have cost to provide a vessel for their thoughts would have only felt like a barrier between them.

They had no wish for that.

He knew her thoughts. And she knew his. They did not need to share them with the air and fireflies.

For themselves, they gave voice to those thoughts in the lost language of lovers. Spoken in the gasps of breath and sweating palms.Thundering hearts, and hungering lips. Gasping lungs, and grasping touch.

And every thought the same: I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Then came the quiet. The gentle tangle of limbs. Eyes closed, heartbeats aligned. Willing the dawn to wait for them.

They did not sleep. They would not waste time on dreams when they already had everything they could ever hope to find in that untamable oblivion already contained within their embrace.

"It has been some time," Helion said at last, loath to break the spell of the silent commune of their souls, but such was his nature,"I thought the most of you I would ever make love to again was the echo of our last time, the memory of you."

He shifted slightly, so that he could see her face, all peaceful lines and soft curls, her eyes still closed.

"Why now, Hestia? With him," his jaw tightened at the mere mention of that excuse for a male, "So close the risk-"

"Is minimal," she interceded smoothly. Still without opening an eye, she continued." I drugged his wine. He shall sleep until daybreak. At least."

Helion opened his mouth, then closed it, refusing to be drawn off course "You didn't answer my question."

"I thought the answer would be obvious to you, lucky fluke," she murmured.

"You know you reduce me to the wits of a mere mortal, hearthlight," he said, half burying the words in her thick hair.

" Hmm," she hummed, thoughtful, "Must I spell it out for you, then, brightheart?"

"If you would be so good, my lady."

She was quiet so long he thought she might have succumbed to sleep, despite their pact.

At last she said, quiet as an Autumn breeze, " Each morning, when I open my eyes, and watch the sun rise beyond my window, I prepare myself for pain."

He flinched, but she seemed not to notice, continuing calmly.

"This has been my burden to bear through all my years of marriage And I have borne it well, without falter, or complaint.

"I have known pain in many forms, and I have carried every one. But upon the horizon, I saw a new pain. One I had not confronted for so long. And I knew, in my soul, that I was not equal to it. That, at last, I would meet a battle I could not win. And so I found a way to avoid fighting it altogether."

"What did you foresee, hearthlight?" he forced himself to say.

"This war," she murmured, her ever-steady voice cracking in a way that made him pull her closer still. "This war came. And it claimed you. It took you from me when you had not been mine in centuries. And I could not abide that."

"I am always yours," he whispered fiercely.

"Peace, brightheart," she soothed, "I know that. But I had to feel it. I had to erase the idea that last time was the last. I had to have you, and hold you, and love you once more before the end. Or else I knew I could not face this war. Not alone."

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and held it, eyes closed, heart pounding, fighting every urge not to speak the words batting past the lump in his throat. But he had never been as strong as her.

"I cannot let you go this time, Hestia," he groaned, " I cannot sit idly, and smile, and tease while I've willingly let you go again."

"If I can find the strength to do what must be done," she said, with iron in her words, "Then you must find the strength to let me."

"I can't," he said, voice breaking. She found his hand and squeezed it, "I am a High Lord in my own right now, Hestia." he breathed to her." I could-"

"No, you could not." she said, firm, unyielding, a rock in an icy stream, with waters all around, that had not moved in centuries, and would not now.

"There is a war coming, Helion. Win or lose in a fight for me, it would shatter this fragile alliance, and any hope for Pythian. So you will do no such thing." she went on, before he could protest, "For we must win this war. For our courts. For our people. For our freedom. And for our son."

For the first time her voice broke. Before they fell, his fingers had already lifted to wipe her tears. the only ones she would shed. Not for herself. Never for herself. But for her, for their, son... She had never confronted him with it so boldly before.

He closed his eyes, unable to deny her. Unable to even deny her.

"We have to tell him, Hestia," he said, so softly.

"We must," she agreed, "But I have not been allowed to see him in almost three hundred years. And I will not have you tell him alone. As much for his sake as for yours."

He nodded, head bowed.

"Together, then. If I make it through what is to come."

Reaching up she took his chin between her fingers and drew his face down to meet her eyes.

"You will not die this war, Helion," she told him.

Her words flared with that fire she was forced to hide from everyone, everyone but him.

"Because if you try, I will drag the Mother by her hair to your grave and force her to dig you up for me."

He smiled at those words, at the certainty that she would do exactly as she said.

"That almost makes me want to try it, you know," he purred, tracing vague patterns into the bare skin of her shoulder with his thumb as he spoke, "Just to see you do that."

She actually growled at him which, from her, was enough to utterly dissuade him from the notion.

They lay in gentle silence together, until the velvet blackness of night bled to indigo, as the careless artist of time spilled the white she used to craft the stars into the sky itself and melted its darkness.

"I've always found it ironic," he mused, "That being High Lord of Day hasn't blessed me with the power to halt the sun, and stop the day from intruding."

"That is your duty, brightheart." she replied with a soft smile." You must assert yourself upon the land, its sleepy lovers, and restless thieves alike, and force them to make haste and more. Without you there would be no growth, no change, only stagnation and decay."

She cupped his face in her hand, a hand now lined, to show the life she'd lived. Without him. His heart lurched at the thought.

But her voice drew him back to her as she said, "And without Day, the nights would not seem nearly so precious."

He pressed a gentle kiss to her waiting mouth, silent thanks for her words, the feeling behind them. He held her eyes a moment more. spinning out this last bit of thread, like a frugal weaver making the most of fate's allotment.

Then he said, irritably, "I'm still going to have words with Thesan later today."

She laughed as he said that, but she laughed as she withdrew from him.

How fittingly ironic that the sweetest sound he'd ever heard paired in this moment with the bitterest sorrow he'd ever felt.

He watched her as she withdrew the new gown she'd thought to bring. At a silent glance from her he rose, still naked, and helped to seal her back into her cage of cotton and lace.

He combed and braided her hair, as he'd done a thousand times before. Then, heart aching, as it had a thousand times before, he spun a ward around her, to mask his scent where it mingled with hers. She could carry no reminders of this night save fragile memory.

Then, like the night, with one final kiss, she was gone. The chamber felt cold, even as it was bathed in his light.

Wordless, he pulled on a robe and strode onto his balcony to greet the rising of his sun.

It was a hollow warmth, compared to her, and brought him little comfort.

As he gazed ahead into his eternity. Alone, once more. Lonely in a way only she would know. For the world saw the friends he surrounded himself with, and the lovers he brought to his bed, without ever knowing the gaping void in his soul that he could never fill with them.

Closing his eyes, he drew in one last breath of her, of them, their scents still mingling on his skin, then banished it.

He turned towards the light, facing this new day, and begged the Mother to lend him even a fragment of his heartlight's strength that he might face it.

***

#helion spell cleaver #the lady of the autumn court #helion x lady of autumn #hestia vanserra #hearthlight #(that's what im tagging them)#(bc she doesn't have a name so im going OLD SCHOOL SHIP TAG STYLE)#this made me feel things #acotar series #text post tag #long post #my fic #mine #hearthlight fic #helion fic #hestia fic #mama lucien

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strangeinternetwasteland · 3 years

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Walking Nightmare- Hawks X Fem! Reader Song Fic

A/N: This is the last of my submissions for day 4 of @konoblog-simps server collab

Song lyrics are italicized

Song: Sleep, Everyone by Powerspace

WC: 1K

Warnings: Domestic abuse, alcohol consumption, angst

He wasn’t sure how it happened. He didn’t know why he ever got that way. It wasn’t like him. It wasn’t fair to you. Your decision was honestly the best, and he’d live with it. The nights were sleepless, and full of alcohol, at least at first. He tried to act as if nothing was wrong, and that it didn’t matter. So when he found himself in the place he met you, he told himself you’d never be there. You weren’t even though his eyes searched for you. They always did, it was instinctive. He downed another drink, and asked for another. The song that played struck him.

With so little sleep// At least you'd think I'd find some peace in my dreams

Hell. If he could dare close his eyes and you weren’t there. That would be wonderful to him. If he didn’t love you this deeply, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so bad.

In my dreams// But my mind still winds up on the same thing // The same scene // The same themes

He was a fucking idiot. How could he have put his hands on you like that? It wasn’t that he was ever an angry person. He was arrogant, cocky, and confident. That is what attracted you to him to begin with. So when you two started dating, everything was good. It continued like that for months. Everyone was happy to talk about the two of you. It made him so proud to call you his.

Cause it's all stuck in my subconscious // Built up from every day

It was 5 months into dating, when he started noticing that you’d gotten more attention than he did. It wasn’t that you didn’t deserve it. To him, you were clearly the most beautiful person in the world. He was lucky to have you, sure sometimes you were stubborn, he was too, but that didn’t mean anything. It was the type of attention you had got from other males. Sometimes, it was the way you laughed so easily, or so hard at them. The jealousy started eating him alive.

So I'm stuck with these nightmares // Where you're gone and so far away

When he closed his eyes to shake off the memories, he realized that everything wasn’t okay. The days weren’t as bright as they used to be. You weren’t at his side where you belonged.

And when I wake up // I realize that everything's still wrong // I'm still here and you're still gone // It's not fair

It wasn’t fair. You should’ve been there. The pain of the last month without you didn’t really weigh on him, until he was all alone. The alcohol didn’t help his misery. He’d let his jealousy rage for too long.

Cause either way I spin it // Separation seems so wrong// These breaks are far too long for me

There was nothing he wanted more than to see your beautiful smile. The one that lit up his whole world. If he didn’t let his jealousy fester the way it did, maybe you’d be here.

Hours and hours // I'm stuck inside this place and this town // And you're gone

The first night after you left, was the hardest. He was sure he’d marry you. You were everything he wanted. The way he acted the night before. He’d never seen you so angry. Normally, you were very calm. That night, maybe he’d had too much to drink. Maybe, he was too afraid to love you as much as he did. Maybe, he knew that if he ruined it now, you’d never know who he truly was.

Far away, you're fighting for your life all alone // I want to wake up and go home

It had been a month. You didn’t pack everything you had there. You didn’t even come back for anything. Where could you have gone? Why didn’t you ever come back? How could he not mean anything to you?

Cause it's all stuck in my subconscious// Built up from every day // So I'm stuck with these nightmares // Where you're gone and far away

The heaviness of his actions weighed heavily on him for two weeks after you had left. Were you safe? Did you find yourself in the arms of another man? Was there anything he could do to make it better? Probably not, but he wanted to try.

Oh, this tortures me so much that // I get sick and I throw up

He remembered the shock on your face as he wrapped his hands around your throat. The way you trembled as he let the jealousy grow more and more. The way he felt so angry that you’d let anybody, but him near you. He’d rather kill you than let another man flirt with you.

In my dream and here on my bed // It's messed up how it's all in my head

It had been just that morning, before the fight, when you both had decided that you’d try for a child. That you’d be a great mother, and he’d be a wonderful father.

Yet it's affecting me oh so bad// I guess this distance just makes me sick

He felt like throwing up. The tears he couldn’t cry. The anger he no longer felt, and the loneliness he’d just give into. The terrible things he thought and did wouldn’t bring you back home.

Cause when I wake up// It's 4 AM and I'm still all alone // Your message on my phone

After the bar had closed, he stumbled his way home. No one thought twice of him doing it. After all, you two had been the talk of the town while together. When it came down to it. He was the only one to blame. He fumbled with his keys in the door. Sure, if he wanted he could have a myriad of women coming and going. The only one he wanted was you. He threw his phone on his bed. He’d flung his clothes all over the room. It was much too empty for him. He tossed himself onto the bed in his drunken stupor, and felt the vibrations of his phone against the bed. It was a message from you.

Don't tell me that sleeping through the night //Is never this hard when you're home

Cause I already know

He started crying. Reading the message. He couldn’t believe you’d ever contact him. The disbelief from the message he received from you.

Wake me

#keigo x y/n #bnha hawks x reader #bnha hawk x y/n

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primasveraas-writing · 3 years

Text

And In Darkness, I Stand- Chapter 2

Kallus' leg is never quite the same after Bahryn. But then again, neither is he.

1 2 3 4 5

2. The Relentless / The Chimera

The weakness does fade.

The next day is better, if only for the bacta and the pain meds. No one asks him about his unfortunate detour- not that his inferiors would dare, nor would his superiors deign themselves to care- so he writes his report on the incident, omitting all details regarding Garazeb Orrelios, and files the matter away.

Kallus doesn’t limp. There’s no need for that anymore, not when he can stifle or otherwise ignore the discomfort. He’s sitting most of the day anyway, his hours spent planning a new angle of attack to capture the Ghost crew. He skips lunch to avoid the trek down to the mess hall and more pain with it. If this is the cost he pays for a show of strength, then so be it.

It’s been a very long time since he’s felt so weak, he thinks, vaguely dazed, as the day creeps into the afternoon. He’s lightheaded and probably dehydrated at that.

Kallus sighs, tossing the datapad back on his desk. He’s behind on his work. Between the Lothal rebels and the other insurgent cells that keep cropping up, he’s been stretched thin.

That’s unfamiliar, too. He’s not used to losing.

But here he is. For the first time in years, he’s sitting at his desk, weak, injured, struggling to keep up with a group of pesky rebels that should have been eliminated years ago.

And that’s the icing on the stupid cake: it’s been a small eternity since he’s bent the rules. Kallus lied on a report- he lied about saving a rebel.

He groans, burying his face in his hands. Two rotations ago, if Kallus had discovered one of his subordinates doing the same, he would have recommended them tried and executed for treason.

He’s earned that much, in all likelihood. It would make things simpler. The action and the consequence swiftly following, rather than skirting around reality in a desperate attempt to save his own skin.

That’s not what occurred yesterday. Yesterday, he saved Zeb when he didn’t have to. Yesterday, Zeb did the same for him- literally carried him out of harm’s way- and offered to spare Kallus once more after that.

If he had taken him up on the deal, Kallus would probably be more comfortable, he realizes with a snort. The rebels have next to nothing, and they’d still take care of his wound.

Yet here he is- a top agent of the Empire, with resources worth trillions of credits at his disposal- and he’s sitting alone in his office with a growling stomach and a broken leg.

The line of thought is dangerous and foolish. It’s the kind of thinking that could get him killed. In fact- he has killed over messaging like that. The first indication of rebellion is questioning the might of the Empire, so they cull the curious and loud. Nip it in the bud, so to say, before the spark can catch flame.

Damn. Kallus has half a mind to turn himself in. But in the past 48 hours, he doesn’t know who he’s more culpable to- the rebels or the Empire.

It is, above all else, highly doubtful that any of these wonderings are markers of a good ISB agent. It’s stupid, for one. He should have killed Zeb the moment he made it to safety on Bahryn. Failing that, he should have turned himself in and begged for forgiveness, kissed Konstantine’s boots and sworn allegiance to the Emperor over and over.

It’s unlikely that sniveling would have worked, even if it is one of Kallus’ finely developed skills. No, it was over the moment he decided not to shoot Zeb.

So he has a choice- turn himself in and be jailed or exiled, at best, or move past what happened and reprove his faithfulness to the Empire. Own up to his actions or reach his full potential under the Empire, save for one little hiccup.

The latter seems the obvious choice. But Kallus still remembers the chill of the ice moon, the agony of waiting for the Empire to rescue him, his sole relief the Lasat next to him-

No.

Today, he serves the Empire. Kallus is sure he will not be caught in fudging the report. He’s one of the best, after all, and there’s no evidence to damn him unless he or Garazeb Orrelios decide to confess the acts of their mercy to the Empire.

It’s odd, then. Kallus is ISB, an Imperial agent. He deals in secrets and lies, so he should be accustomed to circumstances such as these.

But never before has he kept a secret with a rebel. He and Zeb are the only two people in the galaxy who know what really happened.

Zeb is the only person in the galaxy who has witnessed Kallus’ mercy.

And thus that is another thing he shares with Garazeb Orrelios. These secrets, a day together in the snow, memories of a burning planet, and a life debt formed around a tenderly bandaged leg.

It feels too significant to dismiss as an anomaly.

Kallus’ fist collides with the training dummy once more, a satisfying whack! splitting through the air.

His muscles ache, from his bad leg to his abdomen and back. One fall and he’s disrupted his whole body.

His spine, in particular, throbs. The limping, as infrequent as it now is, has shifted his weight and alignment. It hurts, yet he trains and pushes, a relentless wave crashing against an unyielding seawall.

Kallus knows what his body is capable of. He knows his limits, and he knows how to expand them. He knows what he should be able to achieve.

He throws his whole body into the next punch, and loses his balance. He pivots forward, twisting on his injured leg, and pain shoots through him, spiking white-hot through his every nerve. In a desperate attempt to save himself, he sticks his hands out in front of him, but his momentum is too great, and he crashes to the floor anyways, the world spinning, he nauseous and bruised.

The training mat smells of sweat and rubber. It’s disgusting, yet Kallus is so disoriented that the stench is the first thing that makes sense, that grounds him through the vertigo and agony.

Childishly, foolishly, he wants to cry. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, burning, and Kallus raises himself up slowly, shifting so his leg is kept off the ground. He ends up on the floor before the dummy, half stuck, half afraid of the hurt that will follow when he stands.

Even he will accept that he cannot train any more today. So Kallus picks himself off the floor, painstakingly and gingerly, then unwraps his knuckles and wipes the sweat from his brow. He closes his uniform over his undershirt, and retreats to his room to lick his wound.

He’s still weak. Bahryn fractured him, and it’s doubtful that he’ll ever be at full capacity again. His strongest days are past him and he never even realized this fact to enjoy them while they lasted.

This misery is nearly enough to occupy him as he showers and changes. His weakness is troubling, unfortunate, damning. His career could be in jeopardy, should the injury get any worse, and he cannot think of a day that the leg hasn’t bothered him in all the time that has passed since Bahryn.

But it does not suffice. The pain, the threat to his livelihood, the sudden onset of his physical decline- it is not enough to distract him from the thought that whisked him away to training in the first place.

Tell Garazeb Orrelios we’re even.

So the debt is paid. Is that it? Is it over? Has he recompensed to the rebels, at least for that one day? He owes Garazeb nothing, not anymore. He owes the Empire his own life for his treason, for breaking the promises that founded all purpose in his life.

If he thinks about it, he still owes the rebels. He’s saved one of them, once, and one of them spared him, once. But what does he owe to them for all the years spent chasing them across the galaxy, for the torture and death he’s inflicted upon them?

It’s his life’s work, to have done so.

They don’t deserve it.

The realization sends a jolt of shock through him. Kallus sits up in bed, clutching at the sheets with a frantic grasp. He feels short of breath because-

It’s never been about deserve. It’s never been about compassion or mercy, or secrets, or care. The Empire is founded on and fueled by control, by order, by power.

Bahryn stripped him of all of these things. He was helpless, lost, totally dependent on Zeb to survive. Each breath of air on that accursed moon was attributed to another, and Zeb granted them all to Kallus without a second thought.

What is the reward for doing the same?

What does he owe for this debt that can never truly be repaid? Because he has deprived the rebels of so much, for so long. Even he, who has finessed the system and risen to the top, now suffers, alone and miserable.

Few others have had the luxury of mercy and kindness under the rule of the Empire. There are not enough insurgents to compensate for all that the Empire has done.

He could change this fact.

The discomfort and weakness become normal in due time. It is no longer a conscious effort to hide what remains of the limp, nor does he rely on a generous dose of medication to get through the day.

Kallus has healed. He has changed, too.

What started on Bahryn and continued with Sabine Wren has blossomed into something larger entirely. Kallus is no longer a mere Imperial officer. He is Fulcrum. He is caught between both sides of the war and has taken a page out of Garazeb Orrelios’ book- he has chosen mercy, to save rebel lives because they do not deserve to suffer under Imperial rule and at his own hand, not anymore.

He is still responsible for a great many deaths, now rebel and Imperial alike. If the whole galaxy were to know his sins, there would likely be very few beings who would agree that Kallus doesn’t deserve harsh consequences for his actions.

But he does sleep better at night now. Kallus plans to repent every day for the rest of his life, however short or long that might be.

He doesn’t know why he does it. To help a desperate rebellion and hinder a cruel Empire, yes, but beyond these satisfactions, he stands nothing to gain.

That is perhaps the starkest difference between the two groups. In the Empire, he works only for himself, a cog competing against other worthless mechanisms so that he may benefit, so that his superiors may benefit, so that the ringleaders of the whole operation may finally see an entire galaxy within their grasp. The rebellion consists of a ragtag group of misfits, fighting for what remains of their families and freedoms.

Kallus is doing it for them. To dedicate his life to those he has hurt before may grant him some peace. He’s a fraction of a step closer to being able to live with himself, at any rate.

Today, he is up at the crack of dawn, a habit he shares with the commander of his most recent station- Thrawn. Except, while the Chiss rises early to develop strategy or train, Kallus is gathering intel to send to rebel sources.

He’s sitting on the floor of his small room, back aching from hunching over the datapad and encryptor, his legs stretched before him, mostly bare, as he hasn’t bothered to shave or dress yet. The ground is cold, yet it keeps the edging tiredness at bay, a sharpness that eliminates the heaviness pulling his eyes closed.

Kallus shifts again, then freezes.

His right leg is straightened before him- he knows this because the muscles are strained, stretched too far, yet the leg is bent slightly to the side. There’s a patch of skin just below his knee that is discolored and rippled, a bump indicating where the bone below was broken.

That’s wrong. He hasn’t noticed the abnormality ever before, but there’s only one reasonable explanation for it.

He’s unhealed, after all.

It is no matter. He’s already in an incredibly vulnerable position, and he has nothing else to lose. If the faulty leg serves him until he is caught or dead, then there is no need to concern himself with the issue.

Most days, he does not wake up in pain.

Instead, any discomfort builds over the course of the day. Kallus wakes and goes about his morning with no hindrance. At midday, he might notice a twinge if he stretches and moves about, but he is not truly bothered until late in the evening, when he has trained or ran or spent more than an hour standing. It is something he can survive, provided it does not get worse.

Today, Kallus wakes up in pain.

He’s awoken before his alarm goes off, which is not atypical, but Kallus realizes almost instantly that his sleep was disturbed because of his leg, which feels like lead, burning where it attaches to his hip. He gasps aloud in the security of his quarters, waiting for the agony to cease.

It does not, ten, then twenty minutes later. He throws his pillow at the chrono beeping at him incessantly to get up, then swears under his breath and hops on one leg across the room, slamming the button on the chrono to make it stop, then stumbling into the refresher to gulp down whatever medications he has saved.

They will not act fast enough, nor are they powerful enough to truly solve the problem. But Kallus dresses, every muscle in his body tense, and he gets to work.

The Empire still lies in wait, led by Thrawn as he develops the appropriate strategy to eliminate the rebels. Kallus is grateful for the moderate respite from action, though it comes at the cost of working closely with the Admiral day in and day out. Thrawn is unnerving, not just to his enemies, but to all in his proximity. Kallus will be uncomfortable in all meanings of the word today.

And as expected, when Thrawn arrives to Kallus’ office, the pain has only doubled. Sitting does not alleviate it, and standing makes it worse. Focusing is a herculean task, and behaving normally is no more easily accomplished.

Thrawn’s presence demands these things in perfect condition. Kallus stands to greet the Admiral, offering a small nod in greeting, then Thrawn opens a map of Lothal in the middle of the room, gesturing to the places of interest. He knows the planet well, his experience aiding Thrawn’s careful study. The discussion is frank and swift, and it should be easy to follow.

Kallus’ leg is on fire. It is the worst pain he’s ever been in, rivaling the initial break and spreading through his body, which is rigid and tense and out of his control. He concentrates on standing still, on not letting his mask of neutrality slip, and it’s then he realizes Thrawn is looking at him.

“Agent Kallus.” He hates the red eyes watching him so closely, he hates them. “Are you quite well?”

“Of course, Admiral.” Kallus is a good liar, above all else. He wants to scream out loud, collapse to the floor sobbing and pounding his fists.

“Ah.” Thrawn appraises him a moment longer, then turns back to the detailed chart, his smooth voice returning to its drone about Lothal’s power supplies. Kallus’ vision is blurry at the edges, and he cannot read the inscriptions on the holo three feet away from him. The colors seem wrong and the buildings are colliding, and Thrawn’s words slip away into nothing, nothing, until they form an ungraceful, wavering song. White creeps into his sight, threatening to overtake the black of his office, and he thinks he is going to die like this, standing on a leg that should have healed months ago.

He becomes aware that Thrawn has stopped talking.

Kallus must reply- the fog clouding his brain is too thick, he doesn’t understand what’s been asked of him, and he is hopelessly lost with no way to return.

He bites down on his tongue, hard. The new pain is sharp, thick and stinging. His brain reels at the sensation, but he doesn’t gasp, blinking once to clear his eyes of tears, and with the motion, his vision returns. Thrawn his standing with his back to Kallus, hands clasped neatly behind him. The pause is too comfortable for any question to have been posed, and Thrawn has been particularly punctual today, so perhaps he has not bothered with a loaded question that the Admiral already knows the answer to. Kallus decides to weigh his bets by maintaining the silence as he tries to remember the last of Thrawn’s words that he was able to understand.

There is still a rushing in his ears, the white noise overpowering all else; Kallus bites down harder, and the galaxy bursts with sound once more.

“....but I am confident that this strategy will succeed, once the laborers are under control. Do you agree, Agent Kallus?”

“Yes.” He’s too strangled; he clears his throat and straightens, a fresh spike of agony emanating from his leg as it bears more of his weight. “Handling the working class is the first step towards uniting the people under Imperial rule.”

“Good.” The Admiral must really be as close as he can get to approval, because he does not turn around to stare at Kallus again. “I expect we will be discussing this matter further at a later date.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thrawn bows his head in acknowledgment, and Kallus does the same. The urge to yell returns again as Thrawn exits the room, his pace terribly slow and measured. Kallus is sure he is shaking; his clenched fists are no longer enough to disguise this fact, but the door hisses open, then closed again, and Kallus is alone-

His muscles give out all at once, and he collapses to the floor in a heap, limbs convulsing and his entire body trembling. Kallus’ breath is ragged and uneven, and he only realizes he is crying when he feels the wet heat on his face.

His leg is a horrible mix of utter numbness and stabbing pain. Kallus attempts to right himself, but every small movement only brings more agony. The world is lost to him, but he inhales. Exhales. Breathes.

Taste is the first thing to return to him. In his mouth, thick and warm, he recognizes the copper of blood, gushing from the hole torn in his tongue.

#kallus #kalluzeb #agent kallus #kallus x zeb #alexsandr kallus #kallus fanfic #swr #rebels #sw rebels #star wars rebels #kalluzeb fanfic #kalluzeb fanfiction #kallus headcanons #rebels fanfic #swr fanfic #star wars #star wars fanfic #and in darkness i stand

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chews-erotically · 4 years

Photo

Waxing Gibbous

Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader

Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY

* Warnings: ANGST/ mentions of depression/ anxiety/ sleep paralysis/ Tooth- rotting Comfort it’s disgusting.

* Summary: Ezra’s demons come to the surface.

* Word Count: ~1100

* I am frankly overwhelmed by the positive response to what I’ve written so far. I’ve been feeling a bit on the lonelier side (as I’m sure so many of us are), so this is pretty much me working through my feelings, so I apologize in advance because this SELF-INDULGENT as FUCK. Additional warning for just, flowery dramatic proclamations and shameless fluffy comfort because I am THAT BITCH tonight.

* As always, if I have added you to the tags and you wish to be removed please let me know immediately and I will do so.

*Part ONE* *Part TWO* *Part THREE* *Part FOUR* *Part FIVE* *Part SIX* *Part SEVEN* *Part EIGHT* *Part NINE*

PART TEN

Your new lives together began as a languid chapter of existing slowly, of lazing like cats. You often stayed in your bed, at times going hours exchanging soft words and insistent touches. You stayed unclothed for days on end, only donning a robe to accept the occasional delivery. You drank wine and ate fruit and cheese and read to each other from the books you’d begun amassing. It was heaven, bacchanalian.

Ezra would sometimes come up behind you at the kitchen counter and press against your back wordlessly, his arousal begging entry. You’d sigh, tilting your head back onto his shoulder as he slid home and made love to you lazily in the patch of sunlight that streamed through the glass to cut a warm diamond across the checkered French tile. You reveled in one another in such a way that each touch was a devotional, each kiss a promise. You had paid for your sins and for the violence of your past mistakes and bloodied intentions with pieces of your souls. What was left were holes you saw fit to fill with each other.

By the end of that first blissful week, you began entertaining how you would begin to reveal Central to Ezra. You had often walked past a small cafe that had an attached book store on your way to and from the hospital. It was small and intimate, and seemed tailor-made to entertain his whims. Two streets over you’d spied a tavern that seemed outfitted with copies of retro Earth-style advertisements and poorly taxidermied animals. You itched to walk in every time you passed it. After so much isolation, stress and heartache you were desperate to drink in any vestige of civilization, any morsel of culture you could find.

The first few times you’d brought up venturing out to Ezra, he’d been able to steer you easily with insistent kisses and roaming hands.

“Why would we dream of leaving this heaven, that we have sweat and sacrificed and toiled over, for hours unending?” he’d said softly into your neck as his hand crept downward over the slope of your stomach.

Eventually in your growing restlessness you grabbed his hands as he once again attempted a seductive distraction and you squeezed them until the stream of words slowly died off on his clever tongue. You met his eyes.

“Ezra, why do you try to distract me when I bring up leaving the apartment?”

The corner of his mouth twisted upward, but the gesture did not reach his eyes.

“Sweet love, we have both been through tours of the realms of seven layers of hell. We have almost perished time and again and have committed our fair share of sins too inumerable to count. Please, do forgive me if I deign to want some modicum of comfort.”

“You can have comfort, Ez, we can both have it. But don’t you want to peak at what’s outside as well? Aren’t you just a bit curious for what wonders Central may hold?”

As you continued to speak, the mask slipped away from Ezra’s face. A deep crease of worry, of fatigue, formed between his heavy brows. His eyes became distant, focusing on some faraway and unknowable misery. You reached out to cup his face and turned his mournful gaze upon you.

“Talk to me, my love. Please don’t hide yourself away.”

Ezra took a shallow, shuddering breath before responding.

“I fear I may have lost myself down on that accursed moon, Dove. Where I was certain of so much, I now find myself questioning even the simplest machinations. I find such mundane things as choosing clothing or food to eat almost insurmountable when tasked with the quandary of completion. I’m having dreams at night of things I cannot recall, but I’ve begun to awaken paralyzed, with the weight of a succubus upon my chest.

“It is a great humiliation to admit to you, dearest, that the thought of leaving this sanctuary, at present, is one that imbues me with an undue panic.” He was no longer meeting your eyes at this point, his gaze moving to focus on a vague point of focus somewhere past your shoulder.

You fought hard to swallow past the nefarious lump in your throat, lip trembling and vision blurring. You felt heartless. You had spent so much time reveling in every new and good comfort in your life that had stayed so foreign for so long that you had failed to notice Ezra’s pain. You were a selfish fool. You moved to turn away from him in shame.

Ezra did not let you. When he noticed your actions, his hand reached to grasp your shoulder. He turned you back to him. He enveloped you in his arms, releasing a steadying breath into your hair. He allowed you to weep against his shirt.

“Ezra,” you gasped into his chest. “.....please forgive me. I can’t believe I’ve been so blind.”

He held you against him as if trying to anchor you. He stroked your hair and the side of your face and murmured to you.

“Dove, you have been my one saving grace. If I am expressing this to you now it is only because you implore me to do so. I have tried valiantly to act as if everything were copacetic since I awoke in that soulless hospital room. Please do not torture yourself with blame when it does not belong to you.”

“It kills me that I didn’t notice, Ezra. We’re supposed to be able to take care of each other.”

“You care for me better than any I’ve known in my long and wretched life, my dearest love. I have these demons through circumstances both within and beyond my control. If not for you I would be rendered truly wretched, unworthy of the lowliest glance from the dregs of the universe.”

Your hands framed his face, your tears slowing incrementally as his words flowed through you like pure rivulets of gentle intention. You kissed him so gently, so reverently, as if he were a secret thing only reserved for those beholden to the designs of the old gods. Forgotten and precious. Sacred and profane.

“My soul will always seek out yours, beautiful boy. I will do whatever it takes to help you through this. I will ask nothing from you, ever. If you want to stay here forever I will be by your side. There is truly nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Ezra’s voice hitched with emotion. He kissed over and over your eyelids, your nose, your cheeks, before settling his parted lips to the crook of your neck, where bore witness to the fluttering of your pulse beneath your skin.

“I will try, Dove. For you I will move planets. I will raze Kevva themselves to the ground and condemn myself to eternal damnation. For you, I will try.”

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#chews-erotically writes #chews-erotically #ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra fic #waxing gibbous

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lov3nerdstuff · 3 years

Text

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.7}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 1.3k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

A glimpse into the sixth week of travels (the first week of August):

It was scorching hot, even in the shadows, and Robin felt like she had bathed in her own sweat and then slowly dried up inside out. Everything was dusty and hot and itchy and the very opposite of what she would have liked. But what else had she been expecting of southern Spain in August? Especially in such a dreadfully hot summer as it happened to be this year, it was a miracle that she hadn't burnt up entirely just yet. Still, she had a feeling that even in the shadows, her chalky skin would get a little more than just a tan by the end of the day.

After the already exhausting process of apparating down Europe step by step even before sunrise this morning, it only had gotten more and more difficult the further south they traveled. For two people who were used to cold dungeons and rainy highlands, the southern European countries weren't as much a joy as they undoubtedly were for the many tourists they had been actively avoiding all day. Understandably, both Robin and Snape had not been looking forward to today's mission, but in order to find any scorpion, and especially this particular one, they inevitably had to surrender to the southern heat. Spain simply had been the easiest to apparate to, as it had involved crossing the least borders.

They'd been hiking through the countryside by the southwestern coast for hours now, being mostly exposed to the sun directly, and with every minute that passed, Robin's wish to just rip her skin off to make the heat go away grew stronger. She already was only wearing a camisole and shorts –with the usual boots though, due to their subject of research– but she still found herself wishing that it would be possible to wear even less. Which precisely was the reason why she couldn't understand Snape for once. He still wore the usual long bottoms and sleeves, and while he was suffering from the heat even more than Robin perhaps, he also refused to do anything about it but scowling quietly.

"You could at least roll up your sleeves, you know…" Robin sighed when she once more caught a glimpse of his tortured expression. Yeah, it might be his own fault for being too stubborn to lessen his misery, but she still felt bad for him and found herself desperately wanting to make it better. She always did.

"No." Was all she got in return, and Robin rolled her eyes as she continued walking up the sloping hill.

"It would make you feel better though, and thus me as well. Seeing you suffering like that drives me nuts…"

"Does it?"

"Yes! Obviously!" She protested at his doubtful tone. "I would take double this heat just to spare you from it if I could, but unfortunately that's not how nature works. Not even for wizards."

"You would?"

"YES!" Robin groaned and rolled her eyes to herself. "But you could also just roll up your bloody sleeves and spare us both the pain."

"I will not."

"But what would be so bad about it?!" She couldn't help asking at last, after hours of wondering. "You always wear long sleeves, without any exceptions… Why?"

"It isn't important."

"Is it because of the scar on your arm?" She wondered, and even out of the corners of her eyes she could see him freezing in his every movement within a second. Standing as well, she turned around to face him with a calm expression. "I know what it is, or rather what it once was."

"How long have you known?" His tone was one grave whisper only, but the panic in his eyes told Robin by far enough about his thoughts.

"A little less than two years, probably." She shrugged easily, giving him a small smile. "I saw it in the lab one night, not on purpose or anything, but I was curious nonetheless and looked up the symbol and its history."

"You never told me."

"I had no reason to. You obviously didn't want me to know, and since I'd really only seen by accident, I didn't want to violate your privacy any more by bringing it up. Then I simply forgot about it eventually, to be honest."

"How can you say you know what it is while obviously you aren't at all bothered by what it means?"

"I'm not going to judge you based on things that happened ten years ago and that I know nothing more about than what some people on the winning team have written about it." Robin replied calmly and quirked an eyebrow at him with a smile as she took a step closer. "I might judge you for deeming me that shallow though."

"You shouldn't joke about it." He objected, but there wasn't a hint of accusation in his tone. Only reluctance and a hint of doubt, both which Robin found herself wanting to get rid of as soon as possible.

"I'm not joking. Just not making more of it than it is." She said, making sure to hold his gaze as certainly as she felt about what she was saying. "I always like to think that scars are a map of the way you've come, if you will. In that, it's not much different from the scar on my neck."

"You cannot seriously compare that."

"Sure I can, very well even. I made mistakes, but I also saved a life. So in the end, the scar really is a reminder of the good I've done." She argued, in utmost certainty about her point. "From the little I read about what happened back then, you helped to end a war; that's far more than just one saved life."

"I did terrible things, Robin. Not by mistake, but because I chose to."

"Perhaps. But in the end you chose to do better, to be better, and that's all that matters to me." She gave him a smile in the most adoration she could allow herself to show without giving away too much of its true depth. "Knowing who you were a long time ago doesn't change who you are now. And it most certainly doesn't change who you are to me."

"You cannot be serious…"

"You know me better than to doubt that." Robin couldn't help grinning a little at the exact repetition of words from half a year ago, especially when she had the feeling that this day would have a far better outcome now.

"I do indeed." He mused calmly, almost in wonder, and after holding her gaze in silence for a moment longer, he really went to roll up his sleeves at last. "Still, it should be needless to say that nobody can know about this aspect of my past, especially not the people back at home."

"Needless indeed." Robin smiled, and couldn't help observing the movements of his hands a little more curiously than she probably should. Only when he'd rolled both sleeves up over his elbows, she snapped out of her stare just in time to meet his eyes and force away the blush from her face. "Better, isn't it?"

"Obviously. Even if a bit… unfamiliar."

"Next thing, I'll get you to put your hair up." Robin couldn't help replying, grinning, teasing. "Truly does wonders against the heat."

"You are insufferable."

"Oh hush, I know you like me."

"Unfortunately I do."

______________________________

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zuffer-weird-girl · 4 years

Text

I say, WHO.IS READY. FOR. THE. CHAOSSSS?!?!?!?!?

Jokes apart, enjoy this piece :D

"Why is that guy wanting to talk to us on the first place?" Midorira asked in worry as Mirio glared at his front as well as Aizawa. The three of them walking on one of the many halls of Tartarus.

The blonde had a sick feeling on his stomach at even remembering the name of the villain they fought months ago. What he had done to Eri was unforgivable, he wasn't even mad about his quirk really, all his rage about Chisaki was only because of the torture he put that little girl through and because he was the main responsible for Sir's death.

"The guards around here said it was a emergency as far as I know of." Aizawa muttered under his breath before he stopped to talk with one of the guards as the two teenagers stayed behind him.

"Togata, why do you think he called us here for?" The green haired boy whispered as Mirio put on a thoughtful face.

"I have no idea. Good things coming from that guy is certainly not." He muttered before he say the worry spread on Izuku's face before he smiled "But he cant cause harm to anyone right now! He is behind those cells, right? No worries."

They walked a bit more before the guard stopped to put his digital for them to enter. Telling them they had 10 minutes before he left. Aizawa entered first as the two students trailed behind with a sick feeling.

There it was the man. The ex young leader of the ruined Shie Hassaikai... but he was by far most diferent them they remembered...

The man was absolutely ragged. His amber eyes seemed empty and numb, as if only his body remained here on Earth, not his soul... he had a faint but visible stubble that grew on his chin and jaw as he rested metal arms over his knees while sitting on his bed of his cell.. not even looking up despite the sound of people entering there.

"What... what happened to his arms?" Midoriya whispered in horror, but before Aizawa could open his mouth Chisaki sighed... loudly.

"Don't waste your breath now Eraserhead. Let myself explain my own misery." He waved his metal hand towards Midoriya, still not looking up at the three, prefering go remain his gaze at the ground. "When you brats destroyed my plan and I was taken away, Shigaraku and the league of the villains appeared and decided to cut my arms, for story short."

At the mention of the blue haired villain, Midoriya widened his eyes and shivered... not expecting that shigaraki would make something like that, even if Overhaul deserved it or not.

"Enough of talk." Aizawa snarled, keeping in front of midoriya (like a father ^^) "You demanded our presence you bastard. Now tell us."

"Trust me. I wouldn't call you heroes if I had a choice.. Despite one of you not being quite sick anymore, isn't that right?" He looked up, but still no change of the dead expression he had on his face at the blond "Lemillion?"

"Why you-" Midoriya felt a arm stop him. Mirio looking at him with a smile telling him it wasn't worth it.

"Just spill it out." Aizawa said nonchantly before yawned "You interrupted our schedule so I at least hope it's worth it for something." He snarled as Kai only blinked.

"Right." He sighed, crossing his arms and leaning on the wall "I know you three have all the reasons to despise me, despite me only trying to cure this hero sickness."

"You hurt a young girl for that!" Mirio shouted as Kai only arched an eyebrow.

"Anyway... Despite what I look like, cruel, unforgiving, a monster, whatever you call... I already loved someone."

The pro hero raised his eyebrows in false shook as Mirio and Midoriya stayed quite in shock. Not quite believing that such a man as Chisaki was even able to do that.

"How romantic." Aizawa muttered, rage taking over him as Kai merely sighed, taking on his metal hand a hidden collar with a ring ont it.

"Before you judge me. It was way before you imagine it... Before Eri even existed." He sighed, looking at the ring with an amount of pain that left all the men in the room suspicious.

"I met her when we were still kids. She was everything that I am could never be... Kind, generous, calm... not sick. With her being quirkless, I was the main one to protect her from this sick world... even from type of people like you." He glared at the three, making Midoriya yelp even.

"One hero when we were teenagers almost killed her from a villain attack. I had to enter that crashing building and use my own quirk... when we got out, the damn hero just snarled at her, telling how stupid a quirkless brat was to even frequent a school... she cried for hours on my shoulder. That day... she gave up on her dream of being a hero, which despite how disgusting that man was, I thanked that she wasn't going to become sick."

Midoriya felt a tinge of nostalgia of only hearing about that part. A quirkless person that wanted to be a hero... just like him was. Not every person was lucky enough to be the next succesor of the All might himself...

"... due to her affiliations with me and her absence of quirk, she suffered so... so much." His tone of voice quivered a bit "And would you believe that once I was given orders to kill her?"

The pregnant silence of the room leaves even the heroes with a unknow some sort of pity for the man.

"But due to how much I loved her, the main leader of the Hassaikai at that time... helped out a bit. Getting rid of her attacker and letting her get on the house for as long as she needed... yet, due to how pure and kind she is, couldn't hurt a fly. A bad place for her was the mafia, yet... she stayed."

He sighed deeply, making a pleading yet infuriated look at the three of them. Scaring the two young boys as Aizawa remained with the same dead look as before.

"Shigaraki. He took her dammit. While you good for nothings were arresting me, (Y/n) was with the old man that the hospital took aND HIS SUBBORDINATES TOOK THE ONLY PERSON THAT MATTERED TO ME!" He punched the wall behind him with so much force with his prothestic arm that made a quite loud noise.

The room went quietly as Midoriya furrowed his eyebrows and Mirio widened hsi eyes that Chisaki was actually in true pain, noticing also the drops of water splashing on the ground.

This guy was capable of feeling?!

"You heroes ruin EVERYTHING." He whispered shouted before frowning and looking at the three "I told this, because SHE isn't involved on this mess. She has nothing to do with the quirk erasing bullets or even Eri, hell I didn't let these two meet for the first place!" He stood up and came face to face behind his cell to look better at them.

"If you truly are heroes, if you sick disgusting people tell you do the good thing. THEN SAVE HER GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!" he shouted between tears as the heroes frowned "please... I wouldn't be here begging if it wasn't for... a person so much important as her."

Would they help him even after everything he had done...?

#bnha villains #bnha #bnha characters #bnha x reader #bnha imagine #chisaki kai #chisaki kai x reader #overhaul x reader #overhaul #fanfic overhaul #my writing #zuffer writings

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nattspencer · 4 years

Text

You finally came

Missy x Reader

Summary: The Reader is trapped and can’t see Missy for a lot of months, until the Time Lady can finally find her beloved.

A/N: English is not my first language, therefore I’m really sorry for any mistakes, let me know about them. Writing this was really fun and I had the opportunity to actually talk and meet who requested it, that was really awesome, you are really awesome, so I really hope you like and that this little thing brightens your day.

Warnings: Mental games, prison, lack of freedom, mention of anxiety and depression.

Word count: 2k

Not my GIF

The part you miss the most is the sun. Not only the brightness, the warmth, but also the way it paints the sky in orange and pink shades when it dusk and dawn. You miss the sky too, so gorgeously blue, all tones of it, changing slyly throughout the day, so imperceptive to the busy rushy lives below. You remember just laying for hours in the green grass in your childhood just to see the clouds, all different shapes and forms. Not to mention the smells, the fresh air, the leaves, petrichor. It brought you so much peace and you just miss everything.

It’s just so very dark outside. No moons, no suns, no planets, just the black abism of the universe. It could drive someone mad. Maybe it’s driving you mad, maybe you just can’t see the difference between the telepathic illusions and the reality anymore. Who are you trying to fool? You are mad. Definitely human minds are not made to be frozen in time, or to be tortured by some sadistic maniac, and no, this time you’re not talking about your sadistic maniac, actually, all you desired was to see her face one last time. You’re talking about some other creature, some that you never even saw the face, but it was there, deep on your skull.

Seems ages ago when it all happened. You and Missy were chased by a platoon of Judoon for months, and no matter what you do, they were always there, every time closer to catch the entire TARDIS with both of you inside. It was on one of these times that they finally got you in their hands. The Time Lady had fried the ship’s dematerialization circuit on the last escape and the spare one was a bit too difectful, she then contacted someone on some market that she didn’t have time to explain quite well to you, but of course, it was a trap. As soon as you got your hands on the piece, you were surrounded by Judoon's troops, all you had time to do was to hit her vortex manipulator, before they blocked it. The very last contact you had with her was though the psychic link she held on you.

“I’m sorry Missy, I love you.” Seven words. That was all you were allowed to say until they blocked it too.

There was no escape left, and in a blink of an eye, you were transported to their ship, completely surrendered. Even in such a situation the Time Lady didn’t leave your thoughts, how she could ever live like that, all the chase, all the trouble, there’s no use in both of you getting caught, so you made a decision. She gifted you with all time and space, it’s time for you to give something to her in return. You begged to the rhino creatures to let you serve her sentence, one prison two sentences, quite a good deal to be honest. From far behind you an ice monotone voice agreed, it seemed to be the contractor, all was set to stone.

Since then you live between the stone and metal walls, with only a little barred window where you could see the abism of nothing, sometimes you like to just stare at the little distantes spots of stars and try to connect the dots to form images, it was a good way to pass the days. Lights in the ground made the place backlighted and it was almost a bit cozy if it wasn’t all that existed there. You wish your body was working properly, almost all your metabolisms were frozen in time, probably only your brain were still working to keep you conscious, and it took months for you to relearn how to turn off and sleep but still you miss the taste of food. God, what wouldn’t you give for a piece of chocolate.

As much as sleep makes you forget you’re here and numbs your pain, it also scares you to death. It wasn’t unusual for you to get nightmares, at times it felt that you weren't sleeping at all, the difference between them started to get fuzzy as the days passed by but Missy was present in every single one of them. Sometimes she would just laugh while she breaks all your bones, sometimes she would just spend hours mocking out loud all your flaws, insecurities and talking about how much she contempt you. Sometimes you saw her choking to death, sometimes she killed you, well, this last one stopped occurring these days, maybe they ran out of ideas, there’s a limited amount of ways to kill someone and you think you experienced them all.

However, sometimes you just pretend she was there, plastic and static like a picture.. You would talk to her about your day, your difficulties, just to see another face around helps, especially that one you loved, although an answer never was expected, it reminded you too much about the nightmares. Sometimes you just imagined her laying with you on the floor of your cell and staring at the roof while you remember all the adventures you had with her, all the time and space, all the creatures, all the running and most of all, all your moments together. Even if you were just a casual sex to her, she was way more to you.

Another ordinary day passed by, this time the nightmares were harder then the usual and you were afraid of everything. You would be crying if your tears hadn’t dried so long ago, now you were just writing on the wall, it became quite therapeutic thanks to the chalk you held in your pocket, but you only used it when it was really necessary to write your feelings down, too afraid that it could end when you needed the most. Suddenly a noise was heard and a new shadow could be seen by your side. It was happening again. You didn’t dare to look.

“Y/N?” Missy’s voice called your name and you couldn’t suppress your body from recoling “Y/N!” The sound of her heels getting closer to you was deafening. Your elbows rested on your knees and your hands covered your head turning your body in a tiny little ball of fear. You were ready for the first assault when all it came was a caress stroke on your shoulder, still, you shivered in terror. “Hey baby girl, it’s me, it’s just little old Missy.” a gentile voice spoke.

“It’s not, you’re not real, she didn’t come for me.” You said in a tiny trembling voice.

“I did. I was looking for you restlessly, poppet, I finally found you.”

“You’re just another mind game. What are you gonna do this time? Kill me again? Break all my bones? Tell me how disposable and useless I am? Go ahead, I’m waiting.” You’re getting sick of it, all you suffered wasn’t enough?

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry about what you’ve been through… it’s all my fault, I shouldn’t let you come with me to that shop. Please look at me.” Her hand danced carefully between your curls. It’s been so long since anyone touched you like that.

“Please, please go away or ruin me. I can’t take these games anymore. Please don’t give me hope, that’s all I ask.”

“He’s dead, Vansell is dead, I killed him myself.” Her voice was bitter. “Neither he nor anyone will ever put their hands in a single hair of yours ever again. I promise.” Vansell? You never heard this name before. Finally you glanced at the woman kneeling by your side. “I could feel you know... all your pain, all your misery from our psychic link. I was powerless, completely useless, he blocked all my answers, I couldn’t send anything to you and that killed me. Please Y/N, believe me, I’m here. Truly. We can leave.” She was fully bared before you, no mask, no mocking, that was purely her. Suddenly a smell caught your nose.

“What smell is it?” You couldn’t contain the question inside your mouth.

“I-it’s your perfume. It reminded me of you” Her eyes drifted from yours in embarrassment and then it was the first time you allowed yourself to truly look at her. Missy was ruined. Big black bags laid beneath her tired blue eyes, her hair was frizzy and falled roughly from her coiffure, she was almost without any makeup, all seemed to fall out with time. You couldn’t imagine any of that, not the way it is in front of you.

“It’s really you?” Your voice was muffled with fear.

“It’s me, baby girl, we can go home.” The Time Lady’s voice was cotton-candy soft.

“I’m scared.” You stated frowning.

“I know you are.”

“I don’t think I can move. I waited for so long but now I’m just too anxious and terrified to do anything.” It was confusing, your body was confusing.

“I’ll be by your side. We are going to have very difficult days, but I’ll be there. I got you. I’ll be your safe place, just like you became by when I needed the most.”

“Y-you don’t have to. Just leave me on the earth, you don’t need a broken pet.” Your heart skipped a beat, you could never be so special to her.

“The very last thing you said to me was ‘I love you’, let me prove to you that I feel that too. You became way more to be then just a pet, Y/N.”

“You really came.” There was no doubt, even in your sweetest dream you could imagine that, your self-loathing would never allow you. Finally you let yourself smile, the first one in months.

“I did. and I’ll always come to you.” Your faces were close, and slowly she leaned over you and met your lips with hers.

This kiss was definitely different from the others you shared with her. It was slow, delicate, sweet, as if nothing matters to her more then be there with you. Her hands cupped gentilly your face and you could feel her hearts beating fast through her palms. Her tongue danced the most private waltz with yours, showing with every single moviment how much you meant to her. The entire world faded to you, there were no problems, no insecurities, no fears, it was just you and your safe place. Only when you two were complete out of breath your kiss was broken, and she rested her forehead in yours.

“I can calm you down with a bit of hypnosis and we can go home, how does it sound?”

“Oh, so you haven’t used it yet.”

“No. I would never use it without asking permission. You’re far too important.”

“Then do it. I want to go home with you.”

The first nights weren’t easy to go through. You were too afraid to sleep and suddenly realize you’re still on that cell and this wasn’t more than a dream, too afraid to wake up one day and realize that Missy wasn’t there. However, the Time Lady was indeed always there for you, dealing with every single one of your fears, lulling every single one of your nights, helping you with teas and hypnosis whenever it was needed. With time, bit by bit, you were getting back to be yourself again. And then, you asked to see one of the things you missed the most, the sunrise.

Missy took you to the most marvelous place you ever saw. She was too excited that you wanted to leave the TARDIS and see something that, for her, it needed to be perfect. And it was. Two wonderful suns raised up upon the green valley mountains and warmed your skin, the sky was beautifully painted by orange, red and pink shades like in a masterpiece. The fresh wind blows your hair and fills your lungs with joy. Your favorite Time Lady wrapped her arms between your waist and rested her head on your shoulder standing behind you. Suddenly the realization falled on you, you’re finally free. A great view and your girl, that’s all you could ask for.

You are free.

#missy doctor who x reader #missy doctor who #the master x reader #missy/reader

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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years

Text

Bloodstone | Part 9

Summary: You knew all about the ring your grandmother had told you about and yet when the stone fell from it one fateful day, you weren’t truly prepared for its return, nor who it came back with.

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x reader

Genre: fantasy / romance

Warnings: angst

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

You merely stared back at Namjoon, trying to register if he had actually uttered such a statement. Wasn’t he the one breathing into your ear that he would never leave you just the day before? And now, not only had you woken up in your apartment alone and panicked so much that you had cried all the way to the comic store, the first thing Namjoon said upon seeing you only caused your heartache to deepen.

You never knew love could cut so deep like this.

“Let me explain,” he begged, noticing the heightened despair rolling out from your shaking body in his lap. “I believe Percy existed after the shattering of the stone. From what I’ve read, I’m certain this is how we break free from its hold on us.”

“But you’ll disappear from my world,” you whispered and Namjoon nodded grimly.

“I don’t know how long the timeframe apart will be, but I’m certain after reading the books Yoongi has spread out here that it won’t be the end.”

“It’s such a big risk to take,” you told him, shaking your head. “I don’t want to try.”

“You really don’t have much of a choice, Y/N,” Yoongi spoke up from the doorway, stepping closer. “I’m not sure what he’s suggesting, but if it’s about the shattering of the stone, I think that’s the only way to break free from this trap.”

“There’s no evidence is there that this has worked?” you asked both men, knowing they had each poured their attention over the books before you. You grew hopeful despite the desperate tone. You needed hope. If you couldn’t find even a shred of it in any of this then you knew you wouldn’t be able to agree.

Yoongi glanced at Namjoon and they both shook their heads at the same time. “I mean, I found several anecdotes but every time the shattered stone took place, the human left behind did something tragic or married another instead. There’s been no documented happy ending, no.”

“Yoongi has done some research into the bloodstone outside of this one we know of. Here, why don’t you-”

“I can’t deal with this,” you announced, getting up shakily and distancing yourself. “I can’t talk about this rationally. You’re both suggesting something that could easily mean the end of your existence, Namjoon. You don’t know if you will exist after the stone breaks. And we don’t know for sure if that will even happen so…”

“Stop kidding yourself, Y/N,” Yoongi scolded and you glanced at your best friend through a veil of tears. “There’s enough evidence either way that this won’t end well. Are you going to bury your head in the sand? Maybe with the stone letting Namjoon go free we can hope for the best that he’s out there existing still. Isn’t that a good thing?”

“I…” you started, shaking your head. It didn’t matter how you worded it, you felt selfish. You didn’t want anything to change. The stone wasn’t causing Namjoon any harm right now, so why did any of this have to interrupt what you had together? You saw no need for this anxious driven stage in your relationship. You were happy to go back to the moment before you found out what the stone could do.

For a second, as you stared at Namjoon’s saddened expression, you thought of life before him. You hadn’t been suffering then. Sure, you hadn’t felt as enlightened and fulfilled as you did now with his love either. But if it was destined to end, you wished you hadn’t started at all.

“I’m going to go,” you said in a detached tone, turning around dashing out of the store.

You ran to the park you had entered the day before, letting out a bitter breath when you remembered your desperate claims.

There was so much more you wanted to do with Namjoon at your side. Now that was up in the air with his proclamation.

“I forgot how fast you can be when you put your mind to it,” a familiar voice huffed out, and you glanced at Yoongi bent over in front of you, catching his breath. He gave you a wry smile. “Is this your idea of making me exercise other things than my brain and hands over books?”

“I’m not in the mood for your humour, Yoongi.”

“No.” He stood upright and stepped closer. “But I hope you’re in the mood to listen to your longest friend for a moment.”

“Everything’s crumbling around me. I don’t know how to cope with any of it.”

“Is anyone expecting you to? Is anyone asking you to give out all the answers? I can’t even understand the guy yet I can tell he’s trying his best not to leave you either.”

“I wish you could hear him properly,” you lamented with a sigh directed at the heavens. “Then things would be a little easier.”

“I don’t know about that,” Yoongi mused, looking up at the heavens squinting. “I think if we could communicate better, I might start to like him more.”

You glanced at your friend. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“He kind of stepped up better than I’ve ever tried for you. I want to hate him for that,” he confessed and you merely stared at Yoongi’s uneasy expression, realising he was finally saying something about the feelings you knew he harboured at the back of his heart.

“I’d rather you be the best friend I could ever have. Love is so overrated,” you replied and Yoongi chuckled. “It is! Friendship is superior.”

“Says the girl who walked into my shop smiling like the Cheshire cat yesterday. You suit being in love, Y/N.”

“It’s crazy how different one day can make everything,” you mentioned softly, dropping your head as your emotions built up again. “I’m scared I will never see him again.”

Namjoon decided to wait for you back at the apartment. It wasn’t that he didn’t wish to find you himself, but when Yoongi stopped his chase after you and shook his head, Namjoon realised his short appearance in your world meant nothing compared to the lifelong companion you had in Yoongi.

It also gave him further time to contemplate his next steps.

He was scared too. Namjoon knew that was what fuelled your discomfort towards the situation. If he had to exist in another realm than yours then it would be torturous to have tasted just a small portion of his love with you. It hadn’t been enough time.

He wondered if the stone gave each couple a certain amount of days together or if there was a variable in place for each situation. From what he had read, Victoria and Percy had planned both marriage and children within three weeks of knowing one another. The stone probably came with a time limit since the overwhelming emotions accelerated the courtship of each pair compared to usual romance.

It bothered him to be tied to something that took away his control.

Perhaps he would get a chance to love you wholeheartedly without it in his way in the future. Clasping his hands together, he prayed silently for this, hoping the grander divinities would listen out for his plea.

He didn’t want to face the same fate as his father after all this.

Would you cast him aside as Eliza had? Knowing that it didn’t save his father, would you still feel it the better option than the unknown? At least he could live out his remaining lifespan, albeit miserably.

Namjoon would never take another as his bride.

You eventually returned to the apartment, looking destroyed. It seemed even with Yoongi’s best attempts, a depression had taken over your state of mind. Wordlessly, you stared at Namjoon’s half risen posture from the couch at your return before heading down to the bedroom and shutting the door firmly behind you.

He waited on the couch for you to leave the confines of your troubles behind, your quiet movement in the early hours of the morning through the living space alerting him from his unfocused gaze. Blinking several times, he watched as you padded into the kitchen area for a glass of water, his stare unrelenting as you finished in the kitchen and stepped across the room towards him.

With a strangled sob, you crossed the remaining space and fell into his arms, clinging onto him dearly. Namjoon hadn’t been one to cry often over the hundreds of years he had lived. However, with the distraught sounds leaving you, he fell into his own misery, both of you allowing your hearts to mourn what you had.

The knowledge you held now meant there was no return to oblivious bliss anytime soon.

Once the emotions ran their course, you cleared your throat noisily, still curled up within his arms. “Namjoon?”

“Yeah?”

“I won’t let you be poisoned. Eliza didn’t know any better at the time. She thought it was her best option and whilst I don’t hate her for it, I won’t make the same mistake.”

He let out a heavy breath he didn’t even realise he had held. “I couldn’t survive the way my father had.”

“And I won’t be like Victoria either,” you pointed out shakily, finally lifting your head up enough to look at your lover. Giving him a watery smile, you attempted to ease his concerns. “I’ll continue to live. My existence isn’t solely to be consumed with love. I have a lot more to learn and experience.”

“That you do.”

“I don’t want to let go of you anytime soon. But I feel maybe if we address what we’re willing to risk maybe this moment will pass and the sheer amount of pain and fear I feel ridden with will ease.”

Namjoon smiled sadly. “I want the same.”

“As much as it pains me,” you stated, biting at your lip to steady some of your emotions as you placed a hand over his chest, over the stone entirely. “I won’t ever stop loving you. If that love pulls us apart with the shattering of this stone, then know that my heart will leave with you. Please bring it back to me with your return.”

Leaning in to kiss your tear-stained lips gently, Namjoon rested his forehead against yours. “No matter how long it takes me, I will find a way back to you.”

He couldn’t tell if his promise eased you enough or it was from exhaustion, but you soon fell asleep buried into his embrace. Closing his eyes, Namjoon pleaded repetitively to find you once more in this lifetime. Fragments of his previous world flashed before his eyes, his sister calling out his name repeatedly until it felt as if she were in the same room as he was. He snapped his eyes open, aghast to find himself in his studio again, Marian letting out a relieved breath. “About time, brother. Do you know how--”

Her sentence halted when Namjoon threw himself out of the chair he had been slumped onto and moved over to the looking glass upon the wall. Staring into the reflection, he hastily unbuttoned his shirt, feeling at his chest, tears falling from his eyes with how smooth and normal it was.

The stone was now gone.

_________________

Part 10

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