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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 3 years

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Bound By Blood - Geralt of Rivia x (f)reader - Part 2

Summary: Geralt has learned of a mysterious witch and her supposed vicious familiar, now he must hunt to bring them down for their crimes.

Warning: blood & gore, angst, bit o fluff, things getting chaotic

Masterlist if yall are interested - you’ll find part 1 there

After an admittedly pleasant couple hours of greatly appreciated morning sex, the two of you are finally up and dressed for the days new adventure into the closest village which is about four miles southeast. Luckily for you, your man has a horse which is very fortunate when trekking through snow.

It only takes an hour or so to finally reach the small village of Thurn that’s located just below huge towering mountains that practically touch the sky. Snow covers the land just as expected though the market place is mussed up with mud and dirt from busy travelers and townsfolk alike.

Considering this place is surrounded by a great thick forest and there’s only one trail leading into it, and it’s not part of the main road, you can’t help but still feel apprehensive about who you may meet even with your Witcher by your side. No one knows who or what you are, and it appears that no one seems to care either, although you do notice how some glare in your direction. It’s not you, calm down, you try and convince yourself.

Geralt reassures you it’s only him that they’re keeping a wary eye on, and by the way he gives you a warm smile you believe him and do your best to forget the strange looks here and there. You’re safe with him, this place is away from the main road and there’s no way a single soldier would be here.

Standing on a building corner while facing the marketplace, you watch as Geralt pays for some dried fish and a fluffy loaf of warm bread. So far your nerves have calmed, though you keep a keen gaze on every opening into the great marketplace in case something or someone was to try and harm him or even you for that matter. You have killed many soldiers after all, not to mention the bear.

Suddenly a hand lays itself onto your shoulder when you’re not paying attention causing you to jump back and just about knock Geralt out with your fist. He barely manages to dodge it when you quickly reel back in shock, not expecting it to be him.

He chuckles lightly, “Just me.”

Rolling your eyes you smile fondly up at him, “Sorry...um, reflexes eh.” You mutter with a breathy laugh.

“Guess you were right about being dangerous after all.” He muses, making light of your slight embarrassment.

Taking the bread from his hand you playfully scoff, “Well then again, maybe not touch a woman before she knows who you are? Next time I might accidentally rip your throat out and you’d never see it coming.” You add while tearing off a piece of bread and popping it into your mouth.

Taking a small chunk himself, Geralt hums, “Wise words, I’ll keep that in mind next time.” Before biting into the bread, as you study his face you can’t help but notice how he appears to be fully enjoying your little makeshift breakfast.

Suddenly a flash of sunlight rickashays off of something metal catching your sight in the morning light, just about blinding you for a small moment. You blink, eyes darting to a market stall that’s filled with meats. Where two soldiers dressed in black are speaking with the butcher, you freeze, taking Geralt off guard with your new fearful state.

“Y/N what is it?” He whispers as you begin to breath heavily, eyes wide as you watch the Nilfgaardians every move. His grey brows furrow in puzzlement before he turns around to follow your line of sight, only to be met with the backs of two soldiers minding their business.

He can hear how loud your heartbeat has become as it thunders in your chest with rage and building adrenaline, he knows exactly what you want to do next but this is not the place for it. Turing back towards you he sets a cautious hand upon your shoulder, “Not here.” He warns softly.

You keep unflinching, nostrils flared as your fists clench in anger, his hand presses firmer now, “Y/N, not here.” He warns again, with more gumption this time, really meaning it.

Breaking out of your self inflicted trance your eyes shift back up to his golden ones, “It’s too late.” You whisper regretfully, “He’s coming for them.”

“Who is?” Inquires Geralt, unsure of what that could possibly mean.

Letting out a frustrated sigh you look to the slushy hard ground almost in shame, “My companion.......my bear.” You mumble, “I didn’t mean to but he can sense when I need him and now...I can’t...I can’t stop him Geralt.”

The Witcher’s eyes widen in realization, “What will the bear do?”

Bringing your worrisome gaze back up to him you shake your head nervously, “Whatever he wants.”

“Gods, Y/N.”

You cringe, this isn’t going to play out very well for you and Geralt knows it, “I know, fuck I should never have come here! We should have just stayed in bed and starved, let’s just hope he only goes for the soldiers and is satisfied with them.” You exclaim in a hushed tone, pulling Geralt behind a corner and away from any unwanted attention, “No one here will die unless they try and hurt him or me, you understand. We have to lure those fuckers away from the village. Now!”

“Alright then, do you have a plan?” He wonders, not so sure if you’ll be able to get these men away from the village in time.

“Yes.” You sigh begrudgingly, “Though it’s not to late to leave me and ride off into the sunset.”

He gives you a small smile at your attempt to make light of the situation, “I’m not leaving you, though it’s tempting.” He teases before turning serious again.

“My plan is for you to do nothing and I’ll harass those bastards into following me out of here and into the woods before my companion has a chance to find them in town.”

“I’m not just doing nothing.” He protests.

“Yes, yes I know. You’ll be my back up, okay? Now we don’t have time for this just keep close but not too close.” Before he’s able to argue back you’re already gone and halfway across the muddy street with a new fire in your heart that he’s willing to protect with his very life.

Fists clenched in anger you grab a frozen tomato from the stall next to you and without a second thought chuck it right into the back of one of the soldiers helmets with a loud thud. He grunts, whipping around with eyes full of confused aggression, “Now wha?”

Smack!

Another tomato right into his big ugly face causing him to choke on his words as he stumbles into the guy next to him. Dazed and frustrated he gets to his feet, unsheathing his jagged sword while his friend does the same. “You bitch! I’ll have your head for that you fuckin’ slut!” He cries angrily much to your sick satisfaction.

“Ma’m you have to pay for those.” Mutters the vegetable farmer fearfully, interrupting your sweet moment of anger.

“Shut up.” You snap, turning to glare daggers at the two soldiers. “Call me a slut again and I’ll shove his innards down your throat.”

Glancing at one another they smirk wickedly before charging at you, darting to the right, you sprint for the village entrance and out the giant overhang as they chase you towards the forest where a small group of tired travelers are coming from on a small wagon.

Fuck! Not these people now!

Your feet carry you almost to the safety of the thick evergreens before a thunderous roar is heard huffing and puffing from out of the pines. You fall to the snow just as the great brown bear blunders into the opening, immediately mauling down the closest soldier who gets pummeled into the wet cold earth. He screams in agony as his innards are indeed ripped out, though his cries are muffled when the bear clamps down onto his face, ending anymore unpleasant sounds coming from him.

The family next to you freezes in terror, their horse kicking and rearing at the wagon desperately trying to vacate the situation as her owner tugs on her reigns for dear life. The bear growls at the horse from across the clearing, face dripping crimson as the other soldier slashes the beast across the face with all that he can, still it does little but make a small scar of red on its furry cheek.

You gasp in pain at a stinging sensation on your cheek, however your mind doesn’t have time to weigh on it as the bear tears the man’s throat out with teeth the size of butter knives, claws digging into the soldier’s black armor as he feasts. Soon your companions furry head raises to meet eye to eye with Geralt who’s found his way onto the messy scene.

Your heart beats rapidly as you shake with adrenaline as your Witcher’s golden eyes dance from the large beast in front of him to you who’s behind both of them. Suddenly the bear takes a step forward causing Geralt to step backwards cautiously. Shit!

You move quickly to the creatures side, “Don’t.” You warn firmly, “He’s mine.” The enchanting ember eyes of the familiar meets your stern gaze as he snorts, giving a distinctive nod in understanding just as an arrow thrusts itself into the beasts shoulder.

“No!” You scream in unison with the bears roar of pain as a sharp stinging races it’s way up your arm when he knocks you to the ground, now standing protectively in front of you like a shield of steel. Geralt quickly turns around to find half a dozen more Nilfgaardian soldiers racing out from the village, one drawing another arrow as they ready a charge.

From behind the bears legs you can see what terror awaits, “Geralt!” You cry desperately as his eyes find yours, “Don’t let them hurt him!”

Heeding to your command, your brave Witcher jumps into action, taking out two soldiers before launching himself at the bowman who’s ready to fire. Your companion moves just as a last arrow plunges into the snowy blood spattered earth right in front of your face. You gasp in shock, staggering to your feet as the men that Geralt couldn’t stop attempt to take down your bear with their swords and shields.

Failing miserably they fall to the beasts paw one by one as you watch in relief, then to your great annoyance and admittedly slight fear does a lone man charge for you. One who’s been able to slip past the defenses, you reach down and take a fistful of snow before throwing it into his face, taking him off guard as you race for the wagon.

“Hand me a weapon!” You shout, “Quickly now if you want your children to live!” The terrified father keeps stiff and silent as his wife throws you a shovel of all things. Turning around you clash wood with steel, the soldier grunts as you kick his feet from out under him. Falling to the earth you quickly swing the rusted shovel around before harshly cutting right through his exposed neck in one clean motion.

His eyes gloss over as you pull the makeshift weapon from his bleeding neck, grimacing in disgust as you drop the shovel to the ground. Not feeling keen on witnessing the reactions of the family from behind you, instead your head stays forward as you walk away towards Geralt.

“Y/N! Are you hurt.” Rushes Geralt worriedly as he jogs over to your disheveled side, eyes all over you in case you really are wounded.

You nod, waving him off, “I’m fine, fine...I promise.”

He smiles, grateful to know you’re alright and uninjured, “Good. We need to leave.”

“I know, come on let’s find your hors..arh ahh fuck...” You scream in pain falling to your knees in the wet snow, Geralt catches you as your eyes darken in anger, two black pupils glaring furiously away from him. “No!” You shout, “Don’t hurt him!”

Turning his head to follow your pained gaze, he’s surprised to find some idiotic villagers as they throw rocks and other shitty weaponry at the roaring beast, “Stop it he’ll kill you!” You shout even louder now as he holds you back. Your familiar grunts and growls in protest as the men push him back farther into the woods, though they don’t stop, idiotically they follow.

“Let me go!” You snap at Geralt angrily as he holds you tight, “Geralt!”

“Y/N he’s a bear what are we supposed to do now, he cut through those trained soldiers like they were nothing, I’m not having you get anymore roughed up then you already are.” Pleads Geralt. No you idiot they cannot kill him!

Eyes darkening in rage you break from his tight grasp and shove him to the ground before grabbing his fallen sword and racing towards the stupid villagers who are disappearing into the forest, the roars of your companion sounding painfully throughout the woods.

“Y/N!” He shouts after you, still you ignore him, to focused on tearing into the woods with determination clear in your heart. Soon enough you find the men in a snowy meadow among the great timber, makeshift weapons pointing dangerously at the bear who’s now standing his ground.

“Get back!” You shout as they shove their sticks into the bears face that’s not even ten feet from them. “Don’t!”

The bear growls a fearsome roar of protest and pain as it backs up closer to the tree line while the villagers press closer and closer with their steel and wood, shouting insults as they go.

“Stop it he could rip your throats out you fools! Stop-ah..ouch fuck.” You seethe through clenched teeth as one of them knocks you to the ground with his garden hoe. He chuckles maliciously, eyeing you grossly as he holds up the tool readying for another hit.

“This your beasty, huh?” Taunts the dirty man with a smug grin just as your fearsome bear races to your aid with a new found purpose. He throws men that stand in his way before slashing open the mans stomach, entrails slipping out right before your vary eyes.

“Fuck.” You mutter before all hell breaks loose, more of the village men try and take down the bear but it’s no use, he slashes and tears at them, causing most to flee in terror back through the woods and eventually into the village.

“Stop! You’ve done enough for me! It’s time to go now, leave!” Is lost on the wind as the beast mauls down another man. Soon warm arms pull you from the ground and into a strong chest as your Witcher pleads for you to fall back. “Geralt no! I have to make him leave this place, he’ll kill all who try and harm him!”

“Y/N your bear is murdering innocents, this has to end now!” He exclaims while holding you close though he’s just making you more frustrated. No one is innocent.

“What are you implying?” You snap at him, dreading what he’s about to say next as you hold his arms against your chest.

“Y/N.” He whispers almost regretfully, face pressed against your cheek, “We have to kill him, it’s the only way to stop this slaughter from continuing.”

Elbowing him in the stomach you shove him from your side, face a mask of anguish and fear, “I can’t Geralt!” You exclaim loudly, “Fuck, there are just some things you don’t know about me yet! Dammit this is all wrong!”

He gives you a deep frown as he studies your face, confusion clear on his handsome features, “Y/N we have no choice.”

“There is always a choice!” Your voice is strong as you shout at him, he huffs in frustration at your outburst, clearly he doesn’t know why the bear cannot die. Y/N just tell him, he trusts you. Eyes softening you swallow thickly while touching your sore shoulder, “You don’t understand.”

Staring at you desperately, his face and hair undoubtedly a mess of dirt and blood, he looks to you now with deep confusion, “What do you mean?”

Breathing a heavy sigh you look down at the palm of your hand that’s still covered in bandages, “You can’t kill it, that creature is bound to me by an unbreakable link..”

“What?” He wonders, grey brows furrowing in puzzlement at your strange half explanation, “What does that mean Y/N?”

Your gaze falls to the snow covered earth then over to the beast that’s now decided to head for the woods, leaving a trail of bloody paw prints in the snow, no men left alive in it’s wake.

You frown deeply, your features conflicted and almost lost as you find his lingering gaze once more, “It’s complicated.” You begrudgingly mutter, Y/N he trusts you. “Let’s get out of here and I’ll explain everything.”

“Fine, come on.” Urges Geralt as the two of you make haste for the woods where Roach is waiting patiently.

The ride back is deathly silent, a new tension filling the small atmosphere around the two of you as you sit quietly in front of him. He doesn’t further press you for anything until he’s made it back to the secluded old cabin where he clicks his tongue to stop Roach. Boots hit the snow as Geralt looks up to you now, you nod lowly and let him help you down though you don’t truly need it, he ties off Roach before following you into the warmth of the small house.

As soon as you stand in front of the dying fire do your eyes fill with unshed tears while you bite your lip anxiously. Geralt’s gentle gaze falls onto your form as he steps closely in front of you, reaching his hands up to carefully clasp his hands with yours, “Tell me why this bear is so special to you, please Y/N?” He quietly asks.

Blinking the tears away you rest a hand onto your wounded shoulder that’s left a red mark through your shirt, though still letting him hold the other one. “That beast is my twin brother Geralt.” His brows raise in surprise still he keeps silent as you continue, “I don’t understand it myself, and neither does he. But ever since we came into this world something has linked our very souls and vessels together so that if one of us is hurt, the other feels it too.”

Blinking hard, the Witcher’s brows furrow even deeper now, “That’s your brother.” He repeats, trying to wrap his head around the whole thing as he starts to connect the dots, “Is this why your hand is hurt and your shoulder is wounded?”

You sigh, tilting your head up to fully look at him, “Yes. When you cut his paw it cut me too, then earlier when that damn archer shot him in the shoulder I felt everything.”

“I could tell you looked in pain, and your cheek.” He brings a hand up to gently caress your cheek, “A fresh scar. I did wonder how that happened.”

“It’s a quick pain, still hurts of course. But it’s something I have always lived with, and it’s something mages would be very inclined to study so you mustn’t tell a soul.” You affirmed through pleading eyes as you suddenly pull apart from his grasp when a jolting pain hits you on the temple unexpectedly. “Fuck, what the hell?”

Geralt’s at your side in an instant, “Y/N you’re bleeding.” Worries your Witcher as he grabs a spare cloth and applies it to your head. “Will you be okay?”

“Yes, it’s a simple cut. My brothers thick skull is to thank for that. Dammit if I could only find him.”

“Couldn’t you through some twin bond like you said, maybe that would work?” He suggests.

“Ah shit, fuck...okay yes there is another way...but please don’t look at me differently when I tell you. This is the last secret I promise.”

“Nothing is stranger then this twin link, tell me Y/N I trust you.”

Giving him a kind apprehensive smile do you nod, “My brother isn’t the only one who can change form, I can too. Difference is....I’m a wolf.”

Your heart beats with fear as Geralt begins to chuckle much to your confusion, “A wolf huh? Of course you’re a wolf, I’ve heard this could be destiny of some kind. Do you believe in that horseshit?”

You let out a humorous breath, “Well, I’m a skin-changer and if my twin gets hurt so do I. So...uh....I’m not exactly one to not question what weird shit destiny has in store for me, I mean look, I’m with a Witcher and he hasn’t killed me yet.”

Geralt’s hums, golden eyes shinning bright down at you, “And I don’t ever plan on it.” Oh, Geralt.

He smiles fondly at you though you begin to frown, “Well that’s just it huh, my brother has taken bear form for a while now, he won’t want to come back. And those villagers saw me with him, they’ll know...they’ll hunt for us. Geralt I can’t have him hurt anyone else...but what can I do? There’s only one way to truly reason with him....but I’m afraid.”

“Why? What would happen?” Worries your Witcher.

Your eyes briefly drop to the floor before they shift back up to Geralt, “I must take my beast form to speak with him, he understands me as I am now...it’s just, well I can’t really understand him as a bear.”

“Then we’ll find him.” Mutters Geralt reassuringly, causing a tiny smile to appear on your face, “Together.”

#the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #Geralt #geralt x reader #geralt x you #the witcher

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kittypryde-bipride · 3 years

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five times percy leaned on his friends, and the one time he stood alone

Percy stands with Jason at what might’ve been the end of the world and his hands tremble.

He feels so much – the sea roiling in pain, responding to his inner fury; the earth lying dormant, having just lost its master – but when he looks at his friend, he just feels numb. Jason’s uncertain, afraid to touch him, as frail as he is still after Tartarus and this last fight, but too kind to leave him alone.

“Are you alright?” He murmurs, putting his arm around Percy’s shoulder and slowly lowering them to the ground together.

Percy’s bare hands touch the ground and his fingers dig into the dirt. He’d unmake the world if he could undo the last hour. He’d let Gaea win.

He doesn’t say this though- there’s too many gods lingering on the scene for honesty. “She’s dead,” is what he settles for. He thinks Jason gets the message.

“Leo’s gone, too.”

Percy looks to his friend and frowns. There are unshed tears in both their eyes- Percy thinks heroes shouldn’t cry, not after a battle they’ve survived, and wonders what he could’ve done better. “I don’t think we won.”

“No,” Jason agrees. “I don’t think we did. The gods did, though.”

Percy snorts, his throat burning at the movement, and he shakes his head. “What will you do next?”

“Keep fighting their battles, I suppose. Pretend like this meant something.”

“You think it didn’t?” Percy asks, his tone cautious- wary of those who might be listening, judging their all too mortal saviors.

Jason just stares at the scene around them. The Parthenon is burning. Neither of them have moved to put it out, with either the sea or rain, and it’s clear the gods themselves couldn’t be bothered.

“We were already the children of prophecy,” he says. “This shouldn’t have happened. I think we chose wrong.”

Percy thinks the brief time all seven of them were together on the ship. Some of them – Hazel, Frank, Leo, Piper – were too young to know better. But him and Jason? Annabeth? They were old enough to know these gods are not just. They were old enough to survive- would’ve survived, if things had been a little different.

He thinks to how no gods stepped forward to save Annabeth when she fell, and wonders if they sensed their disillusionment.

If this is a warning, it’s a dangerous one.

“This did mean something,” Percy replies, closing his eyes. He can feel every drop of water for miles- the sea, the ocean, the sweat on his fellow heroes. He digs his fingers into the earth until they bleed, feels his blood mix deep in the soil, can sense miles underground to its now broken core. He inhales and can practically taste the stench of blood in the air, can hear the pulse of every living being left on the battlefield, can see the golden ichor coursing through the veins of the gods. “This proved that we can fight side by side with the gods, and come out stronger.”

He leans his head against Jason and they gather clouds in the sky, summoning a storm. Rain pours down on them and Percy doesn’t feel weak anymore.

---

“I couldn’t protect her,” Percy confesses darkly to Grover, staring at a burnt shroud. The rest of the crowd has long-dispersed.

Most of the campers they’d been close to died in the Battle of New York. Piper and Jason are on a quest. Hazel, Frank, Nico, and Reyna are back in New Rome. Chiron is too weary to stay.

“It’s not your fault, Perce,” Grover says quietly, not making eye contact.

Percy shakes his head. His fist tightens and he has to consciously stop the earth from shaking in response. “I could’ve stopped it if I’d been paying attention. I’m strong enough.”

“If the gods couldn’t save her, there was nothing you could’ve done-” Grover tries to assuage him, but Percy knows better than to trust false reassurances.

“You don’t know what I can do.” The sky darkens at his cockiness and he grins up at it, all bared teeth and no joy. He wishes they’d throw the first punch. He thinks maybe they already have.

Grover grabs ahold of his arm, then tugs him into a close hug. “I can still tell when you’re upset, Perce. What’s wrong?” Percy stares at his friend incredulously and Grover sighs. “You’re right, that was kind of dumb of me, but you know what I meant. What you’re feeling isn’t normal grief.”

“What happened wasn’t normal,” Percy retorts harshly. His friend flinches and his resolve weakens- he doesn’t want to hurt what’s left of his loved ones. He just also can’t tell them the truth. “I’m sorry, I just- I could’ve saved her. They could’ve saved her. It- they were sending me a warning. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“Fixating on the dead isn’t healthy,” Grover says solemnly, eyes downcast. “She wouldn’t have wanted this for you.”

“Yeah, well,” Percy laughs bitterly and turns away. The earth grabs at him every time he takes a step, longing to be closer to their new master. He’s taken to walking barefoot. “I don’t think she would’ve wanted a lot of what happened. I doubt she liked either prophecy. Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“Perce,” Grover warns, but Percy continues.

“Doesn’t mean she didn’t die. Doesn’t mean the gods haven’t fucked us over every time they got the chance.” The mud beneath them is sliding towards his ankles and he lets the cool earth calm him- not yet, it seems to caution. It can’t lose another master so soon.

Grover is too focused on Percy to notice the slow-moving ground beneath them. “No one angry with the gods ever wins,” he reminds his friend. “The combined Titans couldn’t beat them. Gaea, a primordial, couldn’t defeat them. Luke died fighting them.”

“I wouldn’t die, if I challenged them,” Percy says quietly and his old friend freezes, panicked. The sky rumbles and Percy forces himself to laugh- wildly, freely, like he would’ve before his anchor to this world was ripped away.

“Ah, man, don’t joke about things like that,” Grover says nervously, eyeing the still angry sky. “No need to tempt fate.”

Percy grins bitterly and pushes down the empathy link- there’s no need for Grover to get caught up in further conflict. He doesn’t need to know what side his friend would choose, after so much time apart. “Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

---

Tyson walks with him on the bottom of the ocean floor towards their dad’s palace and Percy keeps his posture relaxed- he’s just visiting family, after all, no deeper motive.

“Father’s made all kinds of improvements to the castle since Gaea was defeated,” his brother says enthusiastically. “He’s locked the foundation in deeper to the seabed, cementing our stability, and he’s uncovered a whole new kind of rock under the surface. We’re mining it for new weapons.”

“Weapons for gods?” Percy asks curiously. “Is it that strong?”

Tyson nods. “Oh, yes. And it can only be forged in our deepest caves, with lava taken directly from the center of the earth.”

Percy fights down a surge of protective anger – he felt when they reached that deep, felt them steal from the already aching, unrecovered earth, though he hadn’t known what the interference was then – and smiles brightly instead. “Wow, that’s super cool! Have you been helping with any of that?”

“I’m the General of Father’s army,” Tyson responds proudly. “Of course I’m involved in the new weapon. We have to be careful of how much we touch it, though- it hurts anything not strong enough to handle it. I touched it and it burned my hand.” He rubs his arm, visibly remembering it- it must’ve been something terrible for that visceral of a response.

Percy grabs Tyson, then sends water to wrap around the scar, cooling and healing it. When he’s done, there’s not even a mark left.

Tyson gasps and looks at it excitedly, then pulls Percy into a bear hug. “Even Father couldn’t do that!” He bursts out. “You’ve grown very strong. Thank you.”

“It’s not problem,” Percy replies easily. They step through the pearly gates of Poseidon’s castle and Percy starts feeling out the terrain, paying attention to how the castle fits into the earth and how the sea feels protective over its inhabitants. “Damn, this does look impressive.”

Tyson looks at him confused. “You can’t even see most of our changes yet!”

“Guess I’m just so confident in what you can do,” Percy easily side-steps his question and keeps walking through the halls.

The whole castle is well-reinforced and surrounded in its element, but even the best-made structures can tumble down- look at the last couple hundred years of the Olympian’s influence, after all. It’s strong, but Percy’s willing to bet he’s stronger. Even if he can’t control more of the sea than his father, he can use the ocean floor and direct line to the earth’s core to wreak havoc- and that new weapon sounds like it was made for him to yield.

Poseidon’s always been a critical part of the gods’ offense and defense. Percy’s prepared to destroy him first, when the time comes.

He turns to his brother and high-fives him. “You’ll have to show me when you finish that weapon- I bet it’s gonna look so cool. Show me your room?”

Tyson cheerfully guides him to the housing part of the palace and Percy pushes down his guilt. This has to be done, and he’s resigned to be the one to do it- he’s got nothing left to lose, thanks to the gods.

---

Percy grabs the half-full bottle out of Thalia’s hands and pours it onto the ground.

“Hey,” she slurs, angry. “That’s a waste of some perfectly good whiskey.”

“And you’re fifteen,” Percy says smugly. “You’re a little young to be drinking that much.”

She glares at him and crosses her arms. “I’m older than you and you know it!”

Percy snorts. “You don’t look it. Don’t tell me Artemis lets the twelve-year-olds on the Hunt drink like that?”

She looks down and some of her defiance melts into repressed pain. “Yeah, well. Special circumstances and all that. Guess there’s some benefit to a dead kid brother.”

Percy’s casual combativeness crumbles alongside her own- he can sense the tears welling in her eyes and he decides not to mention it. “What happened?” He asks quietly- respectfully.

Thalia clenches her fists- she hasn’t stopped trying to mask her grief with rage. Percy knows the feeling far too well. “Apollo dragged him on a quest. Something about a prophecy. Helping him while he’s mortal. Jason didn’t make it back.”

“I’m not surprised he went,” Percy says. “It’s hard to find rest, when you’ve been at war that long.”

She laughs bitterly and shakes her head. “He shouldn’t have been on that quest. Artemis told me- he wasn’t named in it. He wasn’t needed for it. Why couldn’t they leave him be?”

“They knew he’d say yes,” Percy offers, shrugging. “They asked me and I said that I don’t do that kind of thing anymore.”

Thalia whips around to glare at him, practically snarling. Her tears are falling now. “You’re the reason he was on that quest? You’re the reason he died?”

Percy frowns at her- he must’ve gotten scarier sometime recently, because it’s enough to make her falter. “The gods are the reason he died. They shouldn’t have asked him to do that. But Jason wanted all those prophecies to mean something, in the end. He would’ve died on some quest, sooner or later.”

“Sometimes-,” Thalia starts, her voice thick with some pained emotion. “Sometimes, I want to tear apart the whole system. I- I want to leave the Hunters and march up to Olympus and murder my father with my own bare hands.” Percy raises his eyebrows and she lets out a sob. “How dare they take my brother from me and all I get for it is a measly bottle of booze? This isn’t fair, Perce, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it-”

The sky thunders and Percy smiles carefully at her. The ground beneath them is hollow, aching, craving- he pushes down the urge to act. “I’d be wary of who listens, if I were you. Jason wasn’t. I wasn’t.” Her eyes go wide and he hushes her. “Don’t fight the gods unless you’re sure you can win. Are you sure?” She hesitates, just for a moment, and he grins knowingly. “Right. I don’t want to lose another friend- don’t make me, okay?”

She looks up at him and sniffs- this is the most broken down he’s ever seen her. It’s a sign of how few of their friends are left, if she’s letting him see her this weak.

“You said Jason said yes because he didn’t remember how to rest,” Thalia says finally, slowly. “But you said no. How- how did you find a way to rest?”

He looks her in the eye carefully and thinks- if he’s ever wanted an ally, now’s his chance. But he won’t drag someone innocent down with him in this crusade, can’t brand someone else as a villain, not until he’s sure he can protect them too. He’s loyal to his friends and his ideals and to the dead, so he’ll save them all in every way he can.

Sea green eyes meet electric blue and when he smiles, it’s all sharp teeth. “Who says I have?”

---

He and Clarisse fight back-to-back against the latest rush of monsters trying to invade Camp Half-Blood- they’re the only ones of their caliber left here, since everyone who could moved to the Roman camp to try and start their lives in peace.

He and Clarisse are too independent, too angry, too restless to be happy there.

In another life, Percy and Annabeth could’ve thrived in a domestic town in New Rome, but it’s too late for him now.

When it’s over, they sit outside the camp border listlessly. Threats like this barely faze them anymore.

Percy’s back at the camp for the first time in a few months and he’s been happy to catch up with Clarisse- she’s had to rise up in the absence of other camp leadership, and she’s done an admirable job. Even so, he’s not here without an agenda: he’s desperately searching for one reason not to carry out his plan; for something to stop him before he can’t take it back.

“How’s it been, sticking around here so long?” Percy breaks the silence finally. She knocks elbows with him and shrugs.

“Same old, same old. Young kids come in and need guidance. Mr. D’s gone and Chiron’s struggling, after everything that’s been happening, so I’ve been picking up some of that slack.” She grins at him, loose and familiar in a nostalgic way, and Percy’s reminded of camp meetings with Katie and Travis, Lee and Castor, Beckendorf and Silena. Annabeth. It’s just the two of them left now. “You could help out with it all too, if you wanted to come back. Getting sick of being a city-slicker again, Jackson?”

Percy smiles tightly at her. “I don’t know if the camp life is for me, anymore. I don’t think there’s a lot holding me here these days.”

“That’s fair,” Clarisse concedes. “But I see all these new faces in Ares cabin, each and every year, and I feel like I’m making a difference. Showing those suckers how to survive, how to go back home like I never could.”

“There’s no one in my cabin,” Percy says. “Would I really make a difference here?” And if he could, he’ll stay- he’ll stop all his plans, turn back on every heretical idea he’s had in the past year, dive headfirst into whatever will best help his fellow demigods. He and Jason are the same in more ways than one: they’ve played the hero so long that all they know is to be selfless for their people.

It’s just- Percy doesn’t think playing the good demigod will help anyone but the gods; and he hasn’t been loyal to them for a long time.

“Of course, you would,” Clarisse answers. “You’re practically a legend around here, you know- everyone hears about your quests and want to be the next to get a prophecy, to meet the gods.”

Percy feels the ground beneath them and he frowns. He’s in so, so deep, and he’s so, so broken, just like the earth. “I don’t want them to be blindly loyal to the gods, Clarisse.”

“Alright,” she mutters, clearly surprised by his intensity. “Well, you wouldn’t have to do that, I guess- maybe just show them how to have a life outside here? Tell them about how you’ve kept up with your family, how Sally’s doing-”

“My mother’s dead,” Percy interjects. It’s the one secret he’s kept for too a long time and now that he’s let it out, he’s made his decision on the fate of the gods- it feels real. “I went to their apartment after everything was over and a monster got her and Paul. She’s been dead since before we beat the Giants. While I was missing.”

Clarisse freezes, stunned and unsure of what to do. “Jackson, I-”

He stands and brushes off his jeans, then turns to face her. “It’s been good catching up.”

“No, wait, I-”

“I’ll see you again soon, probably,” he smirks and then starts laughing- it’s the first genuine one in a while and it tears out unbidden. He can’t stop it. He starts walking away and his feet sink deeper with each step, the earth swallowing him- protecting him. “May the best side win?”

---

Percy meets his friends on the battlefield and they all know he’s unbeatable, even alone. And he is alone, even with the sea and the earth and the blessing of the Styx and the blood in their veins- he can tell they think he’s gone as mad as Luke.

He lets them attack, the demigods who’ve been called up out of their retirement like he knew they would be – Frank and Clarisse’s blades reflect off his invulnerable skin, the earth won’t respond to Hazel’s commands, Nico’s skeletal armies are crumbling, Piper’s words can’t sway him, Grover’s plants can’t breach the ground to touch him – and

He lets them attack, the demigods who’ve been called abruptly out of their retirement like he knew they would be. Frank and Clarisse’s swords bounce off his invulnerable skin, unable to find his weak point. Grover presents a call to arms to the trees, but they can’t breach the ground to come near him. Nico’s skeletal armies crumble to dust as the water in the air erodes them. Hazel sinks into the earth with Piper by her side, trying to sneak up on him, but the earth protects him and traps them, half-buried.

He weathers it all until the gods arrive.

Tyson stands behind their father, face drawn in betrayal and horror, the newly forged weapon in his gloved hand. Percy holds out his arm – senses the earth in it, the metal mined from the ground and the lava it was bathed in – and summons it to him. He hefts the monumental longsword in his hand and even if the rest of the gods don’t know what this is, there’s fear in Poseidon’s eyes- he wonders what his dad would look like if he knew his precious castle has already crumbled, eaten by the ravenous earth.

He surveys the battlefield now that the demigods have fallen back, behind the gods, and sees Thalia standing behind Artemis. She looks conflicted, but too tired to make a stand- he’d known she wouldn’t stand up for him if it came to blows, not after everyone she’s lost in a fight. He thinks she’ll support him once he wins.

Percy closes his eyes, breathes in the stink of the fight, and he can sense everything: the ground beneath their feet, vapor in the sky, the sweat on their skin. The ichor in the veins of the gods.

He opens his eyes, sees them rushing towards him to try and defeat him, and clenches his fists. The ichor bursts and the gods fall- it was a great show of hubris from them, to even believe they could stand a chance against him.

He stares at his friend’s terrified expressions and laughs brightly, one last time. He’d been willing to martyr himself for this cause and he doesn’t quite care what happens now- he’s more than done his part to save the world. It’s up to them.

He sinks deep into the earth, letting it take him, and decides whoever wants to find him can come to him. Until then, he can finally rest.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28535157

#pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson #bamf percy jackson #dark percy #ao3

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lloydskywalkers · 3 years

Note

let me just start out by saying i love ever single one of your stories!!! i’m pretty new to the show and your works just add so much more feeling to everything and it’s sooo good!!! i don’t know if you ever do requests or not, so don’t bother with this if you’re busy!! but if you ever get a chance could you write smthg abt Jay and Kai? their friendship is so underrated but so good and i live for the moments in the show when Kai’s big brother instinct(tm) kicks in for him as well as Nya and Lloyd

aH thank you so much!! i’m so glad to hear that :D and this isn’t...exactly what you asked for, but Kai and Jay have this fun of dynamic that reminds me a lot of me and my brother, and i’ve been tossing around little bits of interaction between them for a while now, so i tried to make something coherent out of those :’D

Jay likes to think he’s pretty good at the whole compartmentalizing thing, for the most part. Mainly because he actually knows what it means, and it is not, for instance, locking your team up in a literal compartment while rushing off to fight the other compartment that is your resurrected homicidal father into submission.

“That was one time,” Lloyd will grumble, as if he’s only almost-died once. And then Jay will flinch, because that’s where his compartments come into play.

(Nadakhan gets one, Unagami gets another, the whole fun-times adoption reveal another, and everything else can get stuffed into the metaphorical attic since they won’t pay rent.)

Unfortunately, the attic is where the bad stuff lives.

Metaphorically.

If Jay had a nickel for every time he almost lost all of his friends, he’d have two nickels, plus another nickel for Cole falling into the fog, and another for Lloyd getting crushed by a roof, and another for Zane blowing up, and another for Nya in that awful dress with paling skin as her breathing stutters and the light in her eyes draining and —

And Jay is way, way too familiar with how it looks when his family dies, and all the nickels in the world won’t help that.

So while Jay likes to think he’s pretty good at compartmentalizing, he also thinks he’s got a valid excuse for the way he reacts when Lloyd goes down in the fight that afternoon. Sure, some vague part of his mind remembers that they’ve got a plan they’re running, and Lloyd should easily be able to handle a tiny little stumble — but Jay’s mind is stuck in glaring oranges and health bars, the unsteady gasping noise Lloyd had made before he went down, dissolving into digitized cubes just like everyone else, and Jay—

Jay can’t handle that, compartments or not, so he clears the space between them in a heartbeat just in time to take the bullet that comes hurtling Lloyd’s way.

It’d probably be a very noble and touching scene, if one) Jay didn’t make a hideous squeaking noise when it hit because bullets hurt, and two) the bullet would have missed Lloyd by a good two feet anyways.

Ah well, he thinks, as everything devolves into panicked yelling. It’s the thought that counts.

Except thoughts do not count when Kai is involved, apparently. Or any of the rest of the team, for that matter.

“What is wrong with you?” Kai hisses right in his face, eyes wild and sparking. “I was covering Lloyd, what were you doing?”

“Filling in for you, obviously,” Jay retorts. He has an excellent followup to that, real snappy and all, except that’s the moment Kai’s hand clamps down on the bullet wound in his arm to stop the bleeding, and Jay ends up stifling a shriek instead.

Great, he thinks, fighting back stinging tears of pain as he tries not to take Kai’s apparent wrath too personally. At least Cole looks worried, along the the rest of the team, who are dutifully concerned for his wellbeing like proper teammates should be.

“He’s going to need the hospital,” Zane informs them, his voice a lot steadier and calmer than his words make Jay feel. Zane’s eyebrows furrow as he studies his arm. “Stitches, probably.”

Jay swallows, trying not to curse. There’s a sharp scream as Nya finishes taking out another attacker just beyond them, and Jay figures that’s good enough.

“Okay,” Lloyd says, squeezing Jay’s wrist briefly. Either in comfort about the stitches or thanks for trying to cover him, Jay’s not sure. It’s a nice gesture, nonetheless. “Kai, Cole, can you get him there while we finish up? Sooner the better.”

Cole gives a sharp nod, and offers to take Jay from where Kai’s got him in a death grip. Kai shakes his head, and Jay’s stomach sinks. Sure enough, as soon as they’re clear of the scene, Kai starts going off.

“What did you mean, ‘filling in for me’,” he grinds through his teeth, clearly not about to let this go.

Jay bristles in response at his tone. “I meant,” he bites out, through a hot flare of pain in his arm. Kai’s always merciless with the bandages, even when he’s not in a mood. “That you weren’t there. So I covered.”

He should leave it at that, but Jay’s in a foul enough mood to finish with a condescending, “You’re welcome.”

Kai’s expression grows thunderous. “You didn’t need to. I was right there, you shouldn’t have — you weren’t needed, you should’ve held back.”

Jay feels his chest go tight. His head is clouding with anger, and the pain in his arm isn’t helping, but — ‘you weren’t needed’? Kai really didn’t skimp on the jerk juice this morning, did he.

“Oh, like you could’ve done so much better,” Jay glares. “Lloyd would’ve been toast by the time you got to him.”

“I could’ve made it!”

“Yeah right—”

“I would have, and I wouldn’t have gotten hit!” Kai snarls back. Something in Jay snaps. Or maybe it’s just the steadily increasing blood loss, but of all the nerve—

“Well you didn’t, ‘cause you weren’t there!” he snaps back. “You were too slow, which is real funny since your brain is too!”

It’s not his best comeback, he’ll admit, but Kai looks as if he’s about to light him on fire, if he weren’t stuck carrying Jay like the cover of some awful romance novel, blood getting all over his uniform as they both scream at each other. Maybe Jay will get lucky, and Kai will combust, and they’ll both go up in flames before they can remember that Cole is right there watching them.

“Cut it out, now!”

Oops, too late. For all the incensed authority in Cole’s voice, there’s still a traitorous falter that lets them both know they’ve screwed up. They fall silent, the atmosphere heavy with the lingering tension and new sense of guilt.

And the disgusting sound of Jay’s blood leaking through the makeshift bandage and hitting the ground, truly revolting, he hates blood.

“Just…no more. Please, shut up until we’re at the hospital.” Cole marches forward, snatches Jay from Kai’s arms, and proceeds to beat the fastest route to the hospital at a militant pace.

Jay still looks like some helpless romance cover heroine, dangling from Cole’s arms like he is. It occurs to him that he doesn’t even need to be carried — it’s his arm that’s hurt, he can still walk—

But any protests die rapidly at the look on Cole’s face. And at least this way, Jay thinks sullenly, he can fixedly ignore Kai.

Then again, Kai’s got a killer glare, and Jay’s always been garbage at ignoring people when his feelings are hurt.

* * * * * * * *

Despite the fuss everyone makes, Jay’s arm really isn’t that bad. They hook him up with some pretty sweet meds so he remembers zero of the actual arm-fixing, and he wakes up just in time to complain about being held in the hospital for ‘observation’ or whatever.

“It’s to make sure there’s no infection, or that you don’t rip your stitches out,” Nya tells him pointedly. Jay cringes under the look she gives him at that last part. Geez. You get kicked in the stitches one time after sneaking out early and suddenly no one’s got any faith in you. Typical.

“Why couldn’t we have just gone to medbay,” Jay grumbles. “Pixal gives way better stitches than this, anyways.”

“Gun wounds get hospitals,” Nya reminds him. “And it’s not fair to put that kind of pressure on Pix when we can avoid it.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

Nya glares at him. “It most certainly was that bad.”

“Oh, so when you get your arm crushed by a car, it’s fine,” Jay glares back. “But when I get a tiny little bullet nick, it’s that bad.”

Nya rolls her eyes, ignoring him. “Just think of it this way,” she says. “Now you have a little more time before Lloyd starts weeping apologies all over you.”

“Aw, no,” Jay groans, leaning back in the hospital bed. “Tell me he’s not blaming himself, Nya.”

“I think we had a promise about not lying to each other, or something,” Nya says, sympathetically. She winces. “Pretty sure he made the connection, too.”

Jay frowns. “What connection?”

Nya shifts, her eyes darting from side to side. “The, uh, the whole…Prime Empire, thing.”

Jay stares at her for a beat, trying to reconcile his blatant shock with the roiling nausea at the mention in his stomach. Nya looking at him all kind and sympathetically isn’t helping, either, because she might have made it down to the final two, but she was never all alone, and the reminder that she’d have been fine if Jay hadn’t gotten her killed twice is—

Bad. Real bad, not good, zero out of ten stars. Maybe he can take a bullet for Nya, next, and that’ll — that’ll help things, maybe. Equivalent exchange? Restitution? Some kind of fancy word that means Jay swears he’s gonna make it up.

In the meantime, he smothers the rising sickness in his throat and sinks lower into the bed, sulking. “It’s too easy to recognize trauma in this team.”

“I hear you,” Nya sighs, wearily. She nudges his shoulder, rising from her seat near the bed. “Speaking of. Someone’s got something they want to say to you.”

It takes Jay a second, but his eyes widen as Nya heads for the door. “Wait, wait wait wait, don’t you dare—”

“Love you,” Nya says cheekily, before taking her merry leave of the room. There’s a brief scuffle from outside, and the sound of Kai yelping, before Nya shoves him through the door, slamming it shut behind him with a damning click.

For a second, Jay’s tempted to hit the ‘call nurse’ button as hard as he can, in some desperate attempt to escape. Then he gets a good look at Kai, who’s turned a pale, queasy color that frankly looks awful on him, which is saying a lot ‘cause there isn’t much that doesn’t look good on Kai, but the expression he has on now—

Aw, man, now Jay’s feeling guilty and it isn’t even his fault. Stupid moral conscience center, he curses himself.

“So, uh…” he begins, because far be it from him to let this kind of awkward silence stretch on any longer. “Nice, ah, weather we’re having?”

Kai doesn’t respond, staring fixedly at the floor, and Jay sizes up the ‘call nurse’ button again. Just for the both of their sakes, of course.

But then Kai takes a deep breath, blows it out, and rocks back on his heels, fiddling with his hands. “I, um. I’m sorry.”

Jay’s jaw drops open. Which is probably an overdramatic move, all things considered, but unless he’s suddenly lost the ability to understand words, Kai just apologized to him.

Kai apologized. To him.

It’s not that Kai apologizing is some great big deal — Kai might have his pride, but he’s also an intuitive and good-hearted person who knows when he’s messed up. But to him?

Jay knows how he and Kai work. Kai knows how he and Jay work, and he’s breaking the rules. Because Kai and Jay don’t apologize to each other. Unless it’s some awkward expression of sympathy, they’ve never needed to. They fight dirty, aim for each other’s kneecaps, swear eternal vengeance and hatred at each other before storming off, then an hour later Jay’s bounding into Kai’s room to show him dumb meme videos and neither of them even remember what they were fighting about.

Acknowledging said fight with something as gushy as apologizing is not only useless since they both forget what they’re apologizing for anyways, but also useless because it’ll take too much time, and counterproductive on top, because it’ll most likely end in another fight about who apologized better. So for Kai to walk in and say sorry—

“Oh no, who did you kill?” Jay says, paling.

Kai spears him with a look, but it’s so pathetically watered-down and miserable that Jay forgets to glare back.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jay mutters. “I just—”

“No, no, I’m the one who’s sorry,” Kai interrupts. He hesitates, then sighs. “But that’s fair. I — I was unfair. To you, back there. Like, really unfair, in a bad way, ‘cause you were shot and I know you meant well, but you—”

Kai gestures wildly with his hands, his stream of words cutting off. Jay is left to stare open-mouthed at him again. Babbling like this is Jay’s thing. Kai is breaking all the rules today, huh.

“I just…” Kai trails off, ducking his head. “I don’t like watching you guys get hurt. I don’t — I don’t like watching you get hurt. And I get scared, but it comes out angry, and then I make a mess of things so I’m — sorry. Really sorry, for biting your head off.”

He exhales, a little shaky, fingers balled up in tight fists as his head hangs low, refusing to meet Jay’s eyes. Something softens in Jay’s chest, like gooey melting butter or something else equally pathetic. But it’s rare that Kai vocalizes this stuff, despite the fact that Jay knows he cares, and it’s nice to hear it, so he figures he’s entitled to all the butter he wants.

Jay’s own gaze falters, and the something starts to twist. He bites his lip, tugging half-heartedly at the bandages around his arm.

“Well,” he pauses, thinking of the way his brain had shifted to autopilot when he’d watched Lloyd falter, the razor-sharp shard of terror that always splinters through him when any of their teammates come too close to the awful images of death left in his head. He swallows. “I guess I don’t really have any room to talk,” he murmurs. “Be pretty dumb if I blamed you for that.”

He’s preparing to sink back into his own well of self-pity and loathing, resigned to spending the next few hours until they check him out of the hospital replaying bad memories in his head, when Kai’s next to him all of the sudden, shoving him over on the hospital bed.

“Hey, hey, what’s the big idea—”

“Move, c’mon. You don’t need that much room, you’re a stick,” Kai grumbles, before grinning brightly in success as Jay makes him space. The contrast in expression is enough to startle Jay into silence, and Kai takes advantage. “I know that look. But you already got shot, so you gotta cheer up now.”

“So you’re forcing me into cheerfulness by stealing my hospital bed,” Jay scowls, but the sting is lost in the sudden surge of affection as Kai elbows his way on the bed with him, a steady warmth by his side.

“I’m gifting you my presence, you should be celebrating,” Kai huffs, as he pulls his phone out. “Now stop looking so sad and watch this video I got of a bunch’a geese chasing Zane at the park the other day.”

“You’re such a jerk,” Jay says, but he’s already snickering as he leans his head against Kai’s shoulder to get a better look.

He’s forgotten to tell Kai he forgives him, but like most things between them — Jay doesn’t really need to say it out loud.

#answered #ninjago #my fic #kai smith #jay walker #tumblr pls format right for once #Anonymous

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skiller0dani · 3 years

Text

Alone Now | Draco Malfoy

M A S T E R L I S T Harry Potter Masterlist

angst requested requests info

Part 8/10 (Part 1)(Part 2)(Part 3)(Part 4)(Part 5)(Part 6)(Part 7)(Part 9)(Part 10) song

sorry it took so long lol get ready for tears. I’m not kidding this chapter is brutal.

warning: this chapter contains themes of depression and a brief mention of suicide.

You didn’t expect him to come by. That didn’t stop you from hoping he would. You always forget that you no longer mean anything to him. Harry came by everyday, any moment he could spend he was by your side- but Draco didn’t come by a single time. You don’t know why you assumed any different, this wasn’t your Draco, the Draco that cared. The aching you felt throughout your entire body was unbearable at times, but Harry was always there to help with anything you need. You couldn’t wait until you could leave the Hospital wing, it felt like you’d been in here for centuries when in reality it had only been a week and a half. You rested your head back against the pillow, listening to the quiet breathing of a second year boy who came in with a Quidditch injury. Every position you tried to sleep in was either uncomfortable or downright painful. Thanks to Madam Pomphrey, it was unlikely your scars would be really bad, only faint reminders of an event you would prefer to forget.

You sat up slowly, a sharp pain going through your chest as you did, you can’t stay in here another second. You slowly push yourself up from bed, creeping towards the exit to the Hospital wing. Madam Pomphrey would be furious if she saw you out of bed. You slowly make your way to the nearest window, sitting down carefully on the windowsill, watching the stars twinkle outside. “What on Earth are you doing out of bed!” You hear a shrill voice exclaim, and you can’t help the smile as it crosses onto your face.

“I’m fine Hermione.”

“Your bandages are bloody.” You shrug as she sits down next to you, but when you look over you see a small smile on her face. An easy silence falls over you two, and it feels comforting to be with Hermione. You missed your best friend.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione’s voice is concerned and you have no idea how Hermione knows something is bothering you, but she always does. You release a sigh before looking over at her, “I can’t stop thinking about Draco.” You admit, but when Hermione looks over you can tell she isn’t all that surprised.

“Draco hasn’t said your name once since you’ve been attacked.” You feel your chest tighten, does he really not care at all? You’d foolishly hoped that maybe he cared at least a little bit. It turns out that he really didn’t care at all, just like you always feared. You felt tears stinging at the backs of your eyes but you kept your gaze pointed out the window so Hermione wouldn’t notice. “But he hasn’t really been himself.” She adds, noticing the tears streaking your face. You only find the strength to nod, and somehow the stars seemed to look dimmer than they did before. Learning that Draco was found with you at the scene of the attack, with gash wounds covering his chest only gave you more questions than answers.

It wasn’t until 3 mornings later that Madam Pomphrey released you from the Hospital wing. You still ached a little, but your wounds were all fully healed. You didn’t see Draco, and it almost felt like he was avoiding you. You still loved him but you were starting to lose hope that you’d ever see your Draco again.

You sat across from Harry at dinner, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off the empty spot next to Pansy. It’s where Draco normally sits. You nibbled on your bottom lip, wincing as you pushed up from the table. You turned for the exit after telling Harry you were going to the Library knowing that he wouldn’t let you leave if he really knew what you were doing. You turned and began the long trudge up the stairs until you reached the astronomy tower, and when your eyes landed on white blond hair you felt your chest tighten. You haven’t really seen him since you’ve been out of the Hospital wing.

“Draco.” Your voice is weak and your vision is bleary with tears but you still see his shoulders stiffen at the sound of your voice. You take slow steps towards him but he swivels around before you can reach him. His eyes are glassy as he stares down at you, but the look on his face is practically emotionless. “You’re awake.” He says, his voice nonchalant as he cocks a brow. You blink the tears from your eyes as you look up at him, “you didn’t know?” He didn’t even check on you? Not once? You take a step away from him, watching as he shrugs. He really doesn’t care at all. “Why would I?” You feel like you can’t breathe as you stare up at him. The pain must be obvious on your face because Draco scoffs.

“Did you forget that I removed all my memories of you? You expect me to be gentle and loving? You expect me to be the pathetic little Draco that took your virginity by the Black Lake?” He laughs but you practically feel the color draining from your face. Draco pauses, his eyes widening when he realizes the mistake he made. “How did you know that our first time was by the Lake?” Your voice was trembling as you desperately reached for the railing.

“Crabbe told me-”

“We didn’t tell anybody about that Draco, how did you know?” You yelled, your eyes welling with tears as your chest constricted. When Draco doesn’t say anything you release a sob. “Oh my god, this entire time you’ve-” You’re cut off by tears, there’s no way Draco could do this. He wouldn’t do this. “Have you remembered me this whole time? Did you ever lose your memories of me?”

“Y/N I’m sorry-”

You turned to lean against the railing, tears freely falling down your cheeks by now. “The only comfort I’ve had the last few weeks was knowing it wasn’t really you but it was. It was you the entire time, you made me bleed, let Crabbe and Goyle touch me you- I can’t believe you!” You cried through sobs, watching as a tear fell down Draco’s face. It felt like your heart had been smashed into a thousand pieces as you leaned against the railing. “Why would you do this- Dray why?” Your voice breaks at the end, and Draco squeezes his eyes shut.

“I have to protect you-” You laugh bitterly.

“Protect me from what? What could be worse than you?” You spit, and Draco flinches as soon as the words leave your lips. It feels like you’re dying, this feeling is worse than dying. Against everything it’s been you and Draco, against all the bad, the pain, through all of it you could always count on the fact that it’s been you and Draco. Now you couldn’t even look at him. All the pain and torment he’s put you through has been him all along. It’s been a choice he made, knowing that he loves you, knowing that it would hurt you. He did it anyway.

“You wouldn’t understand baby I love you-” You turn away from him, the anger beginning to seep in. The pain is unbearable, it feels like you’re suffocating and that your lungs are screaming for air. “You don’t love me! You don’t love anyone or anything Draco Malfoy. You’re just like your Father!” You scream at him, a twinge of guilt flooding you once you see the look on his face. You know it’s hurting him but you continue anyway, “I hate you and I never want to see you again!” He flinches away, his eyes wide and it’s as though you’ve wounded him with your words. You begin stumbling towards the stairs of the astronomy tower, sobs wracking through your body as you reached out for the railing. You felt Draco’s palm curl around your wrist and in one swift motion you turn and bring your hand to his left cheek, slapping him hard.

“Don’t touch me.” You cry, ripping your arm free from his gentle grasp. Draco stills, watching with haunted eyes as you turn and scramble down the stairs. He feels his legs giving out as he grasps onto the railing, he always knew this would happen. He knew this would happen once you learned the truth, but that doesn’t change the fact that his heart has just been ripped out of his chest. Draco feels numb and as he gazes over the railing of the astronomy tower the urge to just throw himself over the ledge becomes more and more tempting. But at least now he knows you’ll be safe, because you’ll be far from him.

You limp into the common room, ignoring questioning looks from your friends and a million questions from Harry. You don’t feel like moving right now, you can’t believe Draco could ever be capable of something like this. At least not your Draco, but it is your Draco. It always has been, ever since the very beginning it’s been Draco. You just didn’t know this side of him existed at all, but like Voldemort the monster was hiding deep within. Your desire to see the good in everybody blinded you from seeing who he really was, blinded you from seeing that he was always meant to end up like this. Cold to love, with a Dark Mark writhing on his arm. You no longer knew if any of the moments you shared with him were real, or if they even meant anything. He said he loved you, and you believed him. Like a gullible child you believed him and because you did everybody you love could be in danger. You have no idea what Draco has been saying to Voldemort, what he’s told him about Harry. Draco used you.

How pathetic. You actually believed Draco loved you! Why would he ever love you? He’s incapable of loving anyone. You collapse to the floor of the girls dorm in tears, because the worst part is that you still love him. You love him so much it’s hard to breathe, you don’t even know what living without him looks like. You trusted him, you had faith in him. You lean against your bed crying and you can’t stop, it feels like the entire world is falling down around you. This isn’t real, it can’t be real. You don’t want it to be real but it is, it’s real.

Your body goes weak from the tears, and you’re helpless to do anything other than sit and cry.

***

@justmesadgirl @youknowiloveyou-so @pansiesanddasies @allaboutthatdrummer @lifeasdreamgirl @salafab @andydre4m @xdmx @clarissaxpearce @luciferatlantic @bitchybeatle @secretaccshh @kill-the-teen-memories @saptediavoli @sabor-a-ksoo @marianamarquez2027797 @thehornyfrenchman @little-red-devil @moexniquee @capr1c0rn10 @trippy-morgan @arossebyanyothername @buckylahey @dracofeltonmalfoy @itsbebeyyy @marzen777 @i-am-addicted-to-tea @lonely-kermit @artist-bby @lexxxtacyyy @fallinallinmendes @m-winchester-67 @cocoamoonmalfoy @cleverhottubobject @just-another-selfcare-blog @realistic-breadstick

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy smut #Harry Potter #Harry Potter Smut #draco x reader #draco x you #hogwarts #Sad Imagine

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juminly · 4 years

Text

As The Rush Comes (Ikémen Vampire Theodorus Van Gogh x Reader)

Summary: You are at a nightclub with your friend Theodorus Van Gogh. The problem is, you want to be more than friends. Does he feel the same? Hell yes. Change is bound to happen. And it does. This one-shot was inspired by the song As the Rush Comes. Read all 3 parts on AO3. Rating: Mature (explicit/coarse language, detailed mention of sexual acts)

Tags: Modern AU, mutual pining, sexual tension/frustration, jealousy, dirty dancing.

Warning: mention of the reader not remembering the events of a past night of heavy drinking and partying. Word Count: 3500 approx.

Club Music Playlist *Kiss you by Nadia Ali **Down to Love (Kyau & Albert Remix) by Armin Van Buuren feat. Ana Criado

***Still I Wait (Richard Durand’s In Search of Sunrise Remix) by Jonas Steur feat. Jennifer Rene.

Song lyrics are in bold; look at this asterisks to know which song is playing in the background and play the song as you read -------------------------- *I'd wake up, and make love to you if I had you, I would touch you so much, but I'm not allowed to… Nadia Ali, bless her heart, was only adding salt to your wounds. You were already feeling salty enough for feeling the way you did and she didn’t make it any better. Why were you salty? While the song went on and on about how the vocalist just needed to wait for the perfect moment to kiss the one she wanted to show love to, you were here lamenting pathetically over Theodorus Van Gogh, the man that occupied your every waking thought and dream… and most recent fantasies.

The music was thrumming loudly in your ears, the discographies selected by this particular local DJ was always to your liking. The rhythmic beat of trance sending the club-goers into an ephemeral state of rapture as the dancefloor flocked with writhing bodies, the scent of alcohol, sweat and sex heady in the air. Were people living in some sort of state of drought? The thirst was real… and so palpable. You were not one to judge, you felt it too.

Thud… Thud… Thud… Was that the music or your pulse? You couldn’t tell anymore.

Would you pretend, we're only friends, if I kissed you, At least I can dream of you in a scene, when I'd kiss you.

You’ve dreamed of so many scenes, in so many different locations and in all of them, you were in the most compromising situations and positions. Holy fuck, just thinking about how those icy blue eyes staring into you while he lazily ran his tongue over his swollen lips, the ones you wanted to kiss and bite so damn much, that chiseled body of his positioned between your… No.. No… You told yourself you wouldn’t go there but your mind couldn’t help but wander. The song had just been coaxing you to act on your impulses and you covered your ears, just to keep Nadia from tempting you more than you already were.

How many months has it been since the incident?

The office hottie, Arthur Conan Doyle, had thrown an extravagant birthday bash in his so-called crib, and to your own surprise, the man had exquisite taste and the entire thing was planned immaculately. Who had been his wingman during the entire process? The hot mister that was your companion at the club for the night. That was how, when and where you met him, much to your dismay.

You heard that things had gotten hot and heavy between you during that birthday party and you were literally flung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried into Arthur’s bedroom. Things had gotten that heated… However, big emphasis on the word “heard” cause you unfortunately don’t remember jackshit from that fateful night and cursed yourself all the time for this.

His hands roughly groping you and his lips fiercely crashing down on yours… The things that could’ve happened… The things you could’ve done… You could ONLY imagine. Imagine, yes. Remember, no. The heavens indisputably had some mocking plot to make you miserable. Miserable? You definitely were. After that night, you were thrown into the friendzone. With a capital F.

Pining after a man that wouldn’t lay a finger on you unless it was to ruffle your hair like some puppy. You almost got your chance at some type of romance in your uneventful life… Still, things only got interesting when that asshole suddenly showed up, but it wasn’t like you were actually willing to admit that to him. You’d rather swallow his… Brain and heart, focus. Libido and hormones, get the fuck away. He wants me… He wants me not… I want everything he’s got.

Shut it, Nadia. You were already drowning in heaps of doubt and you’ve clearly… clearly had enough of her feeding you more fantasies and unlawful and excessively unadulterated thoughts and you were doubting yourself already. And what you decided to do? Drink yourself into oblivion, accompanied by the vexing perpetrator who had just gotten back from the men’s room. It was admiration and pining time for you. As he slowly approached you with long and sure strides, Theodorus was, is and will always be probably the most gorgeous, handsome piece of eye-candy that you’ve ever laid your eyes on and you were 99.99% sure that this statement was your true and unbiased opinion.

Beige dress pants hugged the length of those legs that carried him, giving you the chance to drool over the definition of his stature that you could see thanks to the tightness of the fabric, emphasizing a bit too much for your liking on his… No, don’t go there. Heat flooded your reddened cheeks as your thoughts scrambled wildly in your mind as he found his seat next to you. That’s always where you found yourselves. Together. Always. You get along so well. It’s bound to be this way, right? The string of fate and the butterflies of time managed to find a way to bring you together. While your internal ruminations besieged your mind, a rich baritone touched your ears, unmistakably his. “We probably should leave soon. I don’t want to suffocate in this clothed orgy.” You shot him an inquisitive look, silently asking him to elaborate on his point. “You look like you’re about to melt in that pretty little dress of yours, Hondje. I’d rather hop to any pub or have a drink at that klootzak’s place and deal with his moaning than this. At least his place isn’t as filthy as this hellish kennel.”

“You talk like an old man, Theo. Why don’t we just try to live a little?” He simply gave you a glare, a response that you knew very well. He wasn’t going to waste his breath on such mundane frivolities. It seemed that you would have to take the drinking party elsewhere. Clubs were clearly not Theo’s favourite destination.

You couldn’t help but giggle at this man’s dog analogies. As much as they pissed the shit out of you… Wait. Rewind. Did he just compliment what you were wearing...? He noticed?

For the first time in a while, you decided to try “letting loose” and go for something different. You would usually go for something, more like, anything black but today was different. In celebration of whatever weird feeling and eccentricity that came over you, you decided to go for a skimpy off-the-shoulder purple dress that kissed every curve of your luscious form, barely reaching the top of your mid-thigh and pushed your bosom in a way that accentuated your cleavage. You felt hot and you wanted to feel hot too.

**It's down to love tonight, This is where we are, As we turn into the light, Let’s make it last...

On any other day, Down to Love would’ve been one of your favourite songs to listen to but definitely not today. You were clearly not down to any kind of love. This is not where you wanted to be and you didn’t want this to last. You growled under your breath, enough to have Theodorus, the man of the hour… no, he was the man of your every-fucking-day and your every-goddamn-dream and fantasy, tilt his head to the side to cast a judging gaze at you, raising an arched eyebrow with a silent what-the-fuck is wrong with you.

There was so much that was wrong with you and he was the cause of it all. The prime suspect. The only one, this maddeningly handsome asshole.

Lips slick with moisture, your eyes lingered a little too long on the inviting gleam before you attempted to relax in your seat, while Theo remained hunched apathetically over the bar counter, nursing his drink thoughtlessly. Both of you were so accustomed to whatever it was that you were doing, you fell into a pattern that soon began to feel more like a ritual. You couldn’t even remember how you became his drinking buddy but there was something that Arthur said once… Both of you were not the type to party hard so it made it hard for him to have fun with the both of you, even though Theo and him spent an obscene amount of time together. You were kindred spirits. That was a fact.

Being around him made it hard to breathe. You noticed that not only the first button of his shirt was open, but now, the second one was too, giving you a good look of impeccably sculpted pectorals, his skin shining under the epilepsy-inducing lights of the nightclub while drops of sweats meandered down to places unknown, unexplored… and desired. With one arm propped on the counter and leaning his full weight to one side, his form was completely angled towards you and his eyes roamed appraisingly over your provocative dress and your overall physique. You knew that look, you’ve seen it before. It was the same way he scrutinized and examined art.

His gaze was now posed on your thighs, your dress hiked up even more on your silky skin as you crossed and uncrossed your legs restlessly. “Looking at something, big guy? My eyes are up here. You’ve been checking me out since we got here.” you quipped with a smirk. “Hm?” he hummed, as if you had ripped him away from the depth of his thoughts. You could see a faint blush on the top of his cheekbones… It was clearly only a sign of inebriation. Right? “Oh, I was just wondering who you’re trying to seduce.” he replied blankly before continuing. “You wouldn’t need to dress up like this to impress me.” His tongue swiped over his lower lip, wettening it before throwing his head back, draining his glass of whiskey and turning his body away, leaving you perplexed by his words. What… What exactly did he mean by that? Shaking your thoughts away, you had enough wine in your system to finally get the words spilling from your lips. “Theo… Wanna dance?” Those three words prickled his ear drums and he turned to look at you with a judging smirk. “Is it playtime, Hondje?” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms at his expected remark, climbing off your bar stool and tapping your heeled foot on the black tile beneath you. Looking at him expectantly, your heart clenched, momentarily regretting your decision to build up the courage to take the first step. He was bound to embarass you somehow.

“I’m sure you can find lots of other pups and mutts to play with in that disgusting pile of bodies.” An affronted expression washed over his handsome face and you resisted the need to slap his smugness away. You began to tremble slightly and snapped at him “You suck, Theo!”. His reaction made you freeze for a second. His eyes were taking you in, gliding over your body from head to toe before locking with yours. “Would you like to take me for a test drive? Are you in heat, Hondje?” he practically purred.

“Fuck you, Theo.” Was he capable of doing anything but frustrate (and arouse) you? You could feel an intense heat building inside of you, your heart beating angrily in your chest as you seethed from his response. You blinked, completely outraged and offended as he dared to freaking chuckle at your contained outburst.

“You wish. Now, can you go bark at someone else and let me enjoy my bloody drink?” Not wanting to give him more of your precious time, you actually flipped him the bird this time, scowling at him in disbelief, all that wine in your blood giving way for your tongue to sharpen as the night went on. “Do you always have to be such an ass?”

The ear-splitting grin on Theo’s face suddenly transformed into a smirk… and a scowl? when a young man behind you asked you to dance. You couldn’t really register what the guy was saying. Something along the lines of “ I don’t know if he’s just stupid or blind” and honestly, you kind of agreed with him. As much as Theodorus Van Gogh was a genius at what he did, he was stupid for not giving in to you. You were ready to give him… your everything. You were in deep shit, being so in love with a man who would possibly not return your affections? He looked like the incarnation of heartbreak and didn’t that just make you giddy? Being around him almost made you… sarchotic.

Sarchotic or not. Now you had his full attention.

Those ocean blue eyes were trained on you, an unfamiliar predatorial aura reverberating from him, still seeping through Theodorus’ attempt to enshroud it with the negligible quirk of those lips, that half-smile that you knew too well. If he wanted a show, he’s gonna be getting one. Not that you really cared whether he enjoyed it or not, but the least you could do is actually enjoy the company of the… You looked at your newly appointed dance partner, who had just lead you to the dancefloor, to evaluate him.

Okay, he wasn’t too bad: a bit shorter and less muscular than Theo but his hair were waves of chocolate brown that were simply asking to be threaded through and pulled. You beamed at your partner, feeling a rush of adrenaline course through your blood, knowing that the handsome Dutch man had his eyes on you and you were going to put a damn show. Wait, it wasn’t a show. You were doing this for you. You didn’t give a fuck and just wanted to have some fun. Looking at the cutie in front of you, you raised your arms in the air and jumped to the beat of the music, body-rolling as you let the sinful rhythm of your racing thoughts lead your every movement. ***I wanted it, I needed it, I love the way your skin felt upon my skin, And I thought you felt the same but you threw me away, Threw me away and still

The man in front of you was definitely getting into the groove, slowly inching close to you and you were more than ready to welcome him. Your hands that were in the air were now resting on his shoulders, your fingers finding the inviting chocolate strands of his hair. His hands were on both sides of your hips, claiming control over the frantic sway of your hips, matching the booming tempo that filled the room. You licked your lips and bit them, feeling your heart race as you snuck a quick look at the bar counter, the expression on Theodorus’ face was absolutely feral… and bloodthirsty.

Good thing you had bitten your lips because you were about to let out an obscene moan as he looked like he was ready to slam you into a wall and fuck you senseless, growling in your ear: You’re already so wet for me, Hondje, so ready for me to slide inside you…. You’ve been teasing me all damn night and when I stuff you with my cock, make you mine… You’ll be screaming my name. A looming presence was suddenly behind you, a hand gripping your hip and forcefully pulling you away from the “cutie”. You had absolutely no idea what happened, when it happened and how it happened. You could’ve sworn that you heard something along the lines of “She’s mine” but it was most probably your brain playing tricks on you. Or not.

“Are you trying to play games with me, Knabbeltje?” His heavy hand on your hip clenched tightly, his fingertips digging in your soft flesh while you drank in the rumble of his voice in your ear, velvety smooth yet deep enough to shake you to the bone, capable of making your knees buckle in weakness. You fought the temptation to rub your legs together and continued the lascivious sway of your hips from side to side in a rhythm that was your own and one that Theodorus would come to learn. Cutie, who? Theodorus was the only person you knew. All your senses acutely aware of him and he made sure of that. Only a breath of air seperated your bodies yet, he was so close but still felt so far before he yanked your back brusquely, your back hitting the vast plain of his chest and the softness of your derriere grazing his crotch. You closed your eyes and hummed with a nonchalant tone, your back arching as you reached your arms behind you, gripping Theo by his nape and threading your digits leisurely through his chestnut locks.

“You really want to know, hm?” You crooned and he tensed briefly but soon relaxed behind you, one hand caressing the curve of your hips, his hold on you was firm and steady, making you feel the heat radiating from his body and enveloping you with the scent of his cologne mixed with whiskey, intoxicating you even more than the wine you drank.

One of his large hands snakes up the curve of your waist, lightly grazing the side of your soft mound and trailing up your neck and resting there. He rolled his hips against yours, your body following his every moment as he dictated your every single motion. The warmth of his breath tickled your ear as he crooned sultrily in your ear. “I could eat you all up, Knabbeltje… right fucking now.” I don't wanna feel rejection, don't wanna have no regrets… Is this a good decision or will you look for someone else? Leave me all by myself...

“Is that so?” you could hear your own smile in your voice and could hear an inherent raspiness in it too. Your thoughts swiveled with yearning and your judgement was clouded by your love for this man… and your inebriation. Your mutual ministrations continued as he grinded his hips at an excruciating pace, drawing out the torture that you were both suffering from. His long fingers were now teasing the column of your neck, careening over your sensitive skin and sending shivers up and down your spine. Slowly, he wrapped his hand on your neck, pressing only lightly and bit the tip of your earlobe before sucking on it, letting his tongue glide over its seams. “I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true. You want me to repeat myself?”

“I didn’t say any such thing, Theodorus.” You dared to use his full name, intentionally triggering him. His grip tightened on your neck and warm breath caressing your ear. “I’m not all bark like you.” He truly thought that you were all bark but you were prepared and intended to do lots of biting, now that he was so near. You tightened your grip on his strands, making him groan in response. “I hate that you make me feel this way.” you breathed out slowly, trying to ignore the tightening of anticipation rousing in your chest. “Enlighten me… What kind of way do I make you feel, hm?” It was now his turn to tease you. “You know how I feel about you…” you pouted, grudgingly taking a sharp inhale before you carried on with this morphed, semblance of a confession. “You keep… you keep messing with my head, Theo.”

“You’re doing much worse to me, mijn liefste.” Oh God, you didn’t know what he said but you were positive that it was not some dog related insult and your heart drummed even harder in your chest. Why did this man have so much control over you? His voice was like whiskey and chocolate, dark, decadent and heavy with yearning, a blazing fire in your core, an excited tremor coursed through your veins like lightning, but not once did you rush the wicked to and fro of your hips, brushing your softness against the harsh ropes of sinew that made him the Adonis that he was.

Your cheeks were rosy as the pink dusk that painted clear skies and he saw that as you twisted your chest to look back and up at him. His fierce stare reflected in your glimmering eyes, your pupils dilating clearly, making them appear almost darkened in their shade. It would be blasphemous to say that Theodorus was anything but completely mesmerizing. “Don’t give me those eyes, Knabbeltje... or I promise I’ll take you here and now.”

I love to see you smile, I love, my love… As much as the thought had you reeling, you wanted the awaited spectacle to be a private one. Gazing straight in his almost glowing orbs of sapphire, he had the look of a man who was born ready to ravage you and rearrange your insides. Leaning down, he drawled against your lips with a huskiness that sent you into a frazzled state of need.

“When I fuck you, I’m going to make sure you always remember it. The only thing that’s gonna spill from those pretty lips is my name.”

------------ Read Part II HERE. Tagging le Theo simp squad + those who have been so kind to send me their ideas on what the “dirty dancing scenario” should be like: @delicateikemenmemes @sweetlittlemouse @nad-zeta @nafeary @raymiazaki @munarisblog @karmaaf (sorry if I forgot anyone else) Hope you enjoyed this 💜 Please feel free to leave comments/feedback! Masterlist

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire theo #ikemen vampire theodorus #ikevamp theo #theodorus van gogh #ikevamp theo x reader #ikemen vampire scenario #ikemen vampire fanfic #ikemen vampire theo x reader #ikevam theo #theo van gogh #ikemen series #otome #cybird

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gingerteaonthetardis · 3 years

Note

You seem to be in the Twilight mood, particularly Bella Swan mood. Ignore this if you answered this question already. What are your favourite Bella Swan outfits? Maybe from a particular movie? Or just give us Abbey's rating of Bella's outfits?

(I swear I will never forget the khaki skirt that made Edward crazy, haha!)

oooh, this is such a fun question, because i unironically love her outfits in the films. i'm gonna stick with twilight, new moon, and eclipse because i've seen those most recently and also, i hate all of bella's bd looks, lmao.

so, here's my top five...

5. the eclipse hoodie + helmet. maybe i'm just glad they hid that wig (i'm a sucker for bella-with-her-hood-up), but i'm partial to this hoodie, especially with the bike helmet. very grungy-teenager, very grounded, and i feel like the gray, almost colorless look to the outfit tells us a lot about the state she's in mentally when the movie starts.

it also seems to be her Jacob Jacket for this particular film, because she wears it again in another one of their scenes. the warmer palette of this shot makes it almost unrecognizable (i am resisting the temptation to Speak) but the seams on the arms are the same.

4. the yellow new moon coat. i'm beginning to think i just have a thing about outerwear. but i just love the sunny color, the boxy 'i-borrowed-this-from-my-dad' fit, the way it feels like a concession to living in forks and embracing its weather... it's good.

i also love the way it makes her Stick Out in the forest. edward gets lost among the trees, but she stands bright and alone, and i love that. it tells us where the focus of this film is going to be.

3. the new moon chevy look!!! she matches the truck!! she matches her beloved rust bucket, and i just think that's so cute?? the backpack obviously makes the outfit, as does the casual ponytail.

very warm, very human-looking. helps set the tone of her return to the land of the living. i just love this scene and the awkwardness with charlie, along with the outfit itself.

2. the new moon plaid coat (aka. the original Jacob Jacket). okay, fine, i do just love outwear. and new moon. but i appreciate this whole look in all the scenes where it shows up. and it shows up a few times.

instance one: the garage. (and the bracelet!!!)

instance two: the truck. (her amber highlights... RIP to teenage me, she was so gay.)

instance three: the bikes.

this definitely came out of jacob's closet. i am asserting that. he loaned the coat to her, knowing he'd outgrown it and would never have any reason to wear it again. this is canon according to me, and i love it. iconic every time.

1. the twilight bowling shirt situation. i don't know what possessed them to choose this outfit for a teenage girl... particularly a teenage girl with whom every single character is obsessed... but i adore it. this represents the absolute height of bella swan un-fashion.

the pea soup color... the layering... the shapelessness... it's just, could a straight person even wear that? i don't think so. incredible. 10/10.

honorable mentions go to...

the twilight flannel layering moment. (i'll take 'moments in media that made you realize you weren't straight' for 500, alex.)

the new moon date outfit. (yes, this was a date. no, i will not change my mind.)

the twilight khaki skirt. of course. how could this not be included? i don't have a photo, but here's a quote:

I ended up in my only skirt—long, khaki-colored, still casual[...]

"Okay." I bounced down the stairs. "I'm decent."

[...] "Wrong again," he murmured into my ear. "You are utterly indecent—no one should look so tempting, it's not fair."

"Tempting how?" I asked. "I can change..."

He sighed, shaking his head. "You are so absurd."

note the way he still takes the time to insult her while he compliments her! how romantic!

#SASHA thank you for letting me ramble at you on this fine morning #also you KNOW i couldn't let an opportunity to roast edward pass #deardiary17 #abbey.txt #twilight posting #bella swan #long post #twilight #new moon #eclipse

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ephemerlskies · 4 years

Text

the lighthouse | jjk

⇢ pairing: reader x jungkook

⇢ genre: one shot, fluff (what's new), strangers to "lovers", mutual pining, so much sap you're gonna have to shower after reading this, ANGST, jungkook is a literary scholar (?) of sorts

⇢ word count: 12k

⇢ warnings: as stated before, it's Cheesy with a capital C, lots of introspection, brief mentions of death, explicit language, mommy issues, (((major plot twist)))

⇢ summary: you and jungkook had one thing in common: you were both lost souls stagnant in the search of some fulfillment. the one of many differences was that your story had been written on your sleeves, while jungkook’s was a story needed to be unriddled. was this going to be another disappointing chapter in the book of unattainable desires or could your encounter with the mysterious man who lived in the lighthouse lead to something much more?

a/n: i'm super proud of how this turned out even though it ripped my heart out of my chest... this was probably my favorite fic to write and ahh im so happy to release it!!!! i hope you lovely little angels enjoy!! :) <3

What makes us human? This question posed by your philosophy teacher had been stalking your thoughts hours after class had ended. As the rain padded against your umbrella, you piled in a few answers to this question.

What makes us human? A question that would seemingly have a clear cut answer, but when you got down to it, there was no distinct characteristic that differentiates humans from other animals. It was easy to say something such as how we have complex linguistics or industrialized civilization, but that is to discredit how the packs of wolves howl to each other, the birds sing from tree to tree, the beavers diligently construct their dams, or the dirt cities in which ants build their own societies not much different than humans.

You pondered the idea that we love so deeply, even when it is often unreturned, but there is no denying the way a mother bear strikes down any and all enemies to protect her baby cub is anything other than true love.

So, what makes us human? You sat on a bench placed on the sidelines where you could witness small scenes of the lives of passing strangers. This sonder might be what makes us human. The knowledge that each person lives and loves and cries and fears and speaks and dies in ways with which you will never begin to familiarize. Life continues on around you despite how unimportant it may seem to the rest.

Does a lion waste any moment of his time wondering how the deer had found its way to the shallow pond, whilst preparing to strike? Of course not.

You watched a couple clinging onto each other and wondered where they met. You then were captured in the peace of an old woman prodding around in the grass with her golden retriever; perhaps it was her last companion. Then, your eyes drifted towards the two boys pushing each other over but with the gentleness one could only assume that was out of friendship or perhaps brotherhood.

And then you saw him.

Gentle fingers tracing the stacks of magazines lined in a perfect column; an arm that disappeared into the sleeve of his dark, wool coat. A tweed newsboy hat sheltering his eyes, and deep chestnut Oxford shoes stepping lightly, nearing a tiptoe, between the cracks of each cement plate, weathered by the infinite other shoes that tread on those very grounds. A body so magnetizing and moving as if it were a secret, and you couldn’t imagine why no one else had been ingested by the enigma that is this man. You longed for him to reveal these secrets that hid underneath his hat and coat, though if he wouldn’t, which he most likely wouldn’t, you had no problem with seeking them out yourself.

In a city filled with young souls draped in modern streetwear, jeans, bright colors, and converse or Dr. Martens or perhaps high heels, catching this needle in the haystack plugged into every synapse of wonderment. The muted tones of his clothing gleamed the brightest out of the sea of strangers.

This is what made you human. Your desire to know everything that lies barely beyond your wingspan. Everything you could hold was close to nothing in meaning, and everything your arms could not reach was always all you could ever want. The rise of your legs, the way you replicated his every movement, running your fingers along the stack of magazines, fastidious prancing in the spaces between the cracks, and your subtle pursuit of the man just out of reach was what made you human.

Bodies bustling through your path failed to untether you from this chase. It felt far beyond your power to stop yourself from the rising excitement and allure in your chest that pulled you towards him. The man was quick and swift to dodge oncoming bystanders, however your eyes became a missile fixed on a target.

The unexpected turn he took had you floundering for you had been trapped behind an older lady and a couple walking side by side. Sadly, your memorization of the streets and landmarks had been admisal, so you found yourself in uncharted territory. Each road sign and corner store had been displayed like a foreign language, and you mentally cursed yourself for letting your silly lust for learning what shouldn’t be learned lead you into this difficult position.

You stood defeated, the man had evaded your fragile trail behind him with ease. You lost him, or maybe he got away.

It was still midday, prompting you to make an end of this means. Your eyes discovered the coast set along the edge of the town, and though this was the furthest you had ever gone, you dared to go further. This mishap of yours granted you the opportunity to introduce yourself to the shore, and the waves have always delighted your interest. So, you found it just to walk down to the sand. The sound of the water pressing into the wet sand was calming; it was something you could find yourself getting used to. Luck presented itself kindly, giving you a moment unencumbered by the rain that had ceased not long after you stepped foot on the beach.

You took this time to be with yourself and sort out all the problems that have been worrying your mind these past few weeks. Your best friend, Chaeyoung, had an upcoming birthday that had snuck up on you before you had the chance to even think about getting her a card, let alone a gift or celebration. And you would be disappointed with yourself if you failed to outdo last year’s efforts. There was also the test in your Chemistry class scheduled only a day after her birthday, curtailing your plans of staying out late because there was no way you would allow for anything less than your very most on this exam. Then, there was the essay on what makes us human that you denied any chance of regaining priority to your list of worries, knowing it would gnaw at your mind until you forcibly shut it out.

And the man that willed you to seek him out, and that wore the title of his stories as if he intentionally wished to spark your wonder to learn them.

That should have been the last of your worries. It should have been.

The day began to fade into a warm, orange dusk. Skies once gloomy and grey now covered in blankets of clouds reflecting the sun’s gentle rays and you found yourself reunited with the calming feeling similar to when you first stepped on the beach.

Not long after registering how far you had traveled along the shore, you noticed a quaint lighthouse with a house-like structure at the base. The off-white stones cemented up until a red paneled roof covered it, tempting you to know what lies behind those walls.

It looked like it was about to rain again.

Are lighthouses closed off from the public?

There’s a house, there must be someone inside that could help me find my way home.

All these comments to yourself made to premise the conclusion of entrance into this lighthouse. As you approached the door, framed in oak lining and painted red, the clouds appeared heavy once again. A few drops of condensation was enough persuasion that what was about to be done was for the good of your well being. You pushed it open and a creak echoed around the room inside.

The walls were covered with stone bricks and there was one table in the center of the room. Other than that, this house was barren and if it weren’t for the second door that you guessed led to the lighthouse you would have called a car to take you home.

Your walk was pensive and mouse-like; there was some quality about this structure that made you feel like you weren’t alone and sudden movements would disrupt an established peace. Your hand turned the cold, gold-plated handle and pulled open the door, soon being met with a warm gust of air that engulfed you into the lighthouse.

This part of the building was exponentially more decorated than the room that preceded it. A staircase cemented into the sides of the lighthouse plastered with shelves upon shelves of books spiraled along the cylindrical walls, paired with dull lanterns that illuminated each level of railing had you drawn into its magnificence.

You stared up to what looked like a platform that held a place in which one would rest and look out into the ocean. There was no one in sight, and you assumed permission to climb up the staircase. Your eyes scanned each spine, creased and slightly warped from the moisture of the air, like they had been read over and over again. Your breath became heavy and your stare was focused on the books to ignore the dizziness settling in.

Reaching the top of the staircase came as a blessing, your lungs were close to catching fire. There were two armchairs, side by side, one fashioned a knitted blanket and the other was used as a table for five to seven or so novels, and the walls behind buried in high stacks of more books. There had to be at least seventy in the first half of piles you accounted for, and before you had the chance to snoop around the rest of the room you heard a voice coated with alarm behind you.

“What are you doing in here?” Your breath halted as you turned around, about to explain why you had let yourself into this building, however no amount of words could fully justify this invasive act.

You recognized the wool coat and the tweed hat now resting in his hand instead of on his head. His eyes were shrouded in a youthful innocence despite his attire that implied he was a sophisticate of some sort.

“Are you going to answer me or do I have to call the police?” The boom of his voice was chilling, sending shivers along your neck and chest.

“Sorry, I’m-” How could you possibly defend your intrusion without sounding juvenile or absolutely insane? “I was… It was raining and I just was walking on the beach so-”

“So, you decided breaking and entering was better than getting a little wet?” His barbed responses hurdled how you plaintively stuttered around excuses. Despite his efforts to seem menacing, you couldn't let go of his boyish facial features. It was absolutely astonishing to you that someone who looked young enough to attend your own college and handsome enough to garner quite a bit of attention had anything to do with this dingy, aged lighthouse.

“No, I was going to come in here to ask for directions. I’m lost.” The pitiful temperament of this comment was not intentional, but the man who now stood in front of you felt itched by it. He couldn't ignore how your legs trembled, partly from the cold but also because of his raised voice directed at you, and how that admittedly aroused some guilt.

“It’s fine. Just-” He sighed deeply, placing his hat on the side table adjacent to the left armchair, “You can just wait here until the rain stops. Though, I have to say it looks unrelenting at the moment.” The man’s attention was captured by how the heavy rain seemed to wage war against the raging tides. You caught a glimpse of a smile. The slightest upturn of the corner of his lips almost compelling you to reveal you had spotted him in the town earlier today, and that you found yourself enamoured with his every movement, and he was ironically the reason you were stuck here.

“Are you sure? I can go, I shouldn't have been here in the first place.” The words escaped from your mouth quickly as if they were trying to race each other to be spoken.

“No, I said it’s fine.” The suddenness of this offer hushed you. He then removed his wool coat, unveiling the clothes he wore beneath it. The burgundy crew neck sweater layered tastefully over a collared shirt was just as old fashioned as every other article of clothing he sported. How intriguing.

“I'm sorry.” Your muscles grew sore from suppressing how aggressively you would have been shaking from the cold. “Thank you.” Him granting you shelter gave you motive to keep the umbrella that would suffice to protect you from the rain under wraps. The option he presented was far more favorable.

“Sit down. Please, use this blanket.” He gestured towards the throw draped over the right armchair. His eyes avoided you as much as he could manage though you had this glow emulating from your wanting eyes and soft looking skin that crept to the corner of his vision too brightly to ignore. Consequently, this comment soothed both your body and mind for he unguarded a kindness that was hidden when he first spoke to you.

“My name is ___.” He was facing the window that displayed the sea, now thrashing and falling into itself, and without moving his head, his eyes drifted towards you.

“I know who you are.”

“Wh- How?” Maybe accepting an invite in a secluded lighthouse on the beach wasn’t the safest thing you could be doing on a Friday afternoon. Anxiety pioneered a place in your breathing, turning it rushed and choked.

Before your mind could theorize all the ways in which you could make an escape from this room or how quickly you could use your hidden umbrella as a weapon he said, “I noticed you following me in the town’s square earlier today.” You sighed, releasing the terror that pricked your lungs. If anything, it was he who should be afraid of you.

“I’m not a stalker!” That weak defense was all you could push from your throat before any well constructed explanations could be put forth.

His laugh, along with his cryptic gaze towards the waves, made you feel even worse about your actions.

“You were just so stunning and I wanted to know what kind of person still wears a newsboy hat without trying to make a statement.” Your lower lip tucked between your teeth stopped the nervous laugh about to spill and expressed worry that the more you tried to explain yourself, the more this man believed you should be charged for stalking not to mention trespassing.

“Stunning?”

“I mean, like, someone I’d want to meet.”

“What were you planning on doing once I stopped somewhere, or noticed you?” He questioned you only because he relished how you were scrambling to a proper defense. He knew you weren’t any threat to him, not many people were, however he enjoyed your chatter more than the silence that would have taken its place.

“I don't know, maybe just… introduce myself?” This sheepish, yet honest, reply had you drowning in humiliation, while the man before you seemed as if he were floating effortlessly along the surface.

“I’m Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.” Relief replaced the worry that he would turn you away, leaving you to the hands of the storm outside. The fact that any other person would have done so led you to believe Jungkook held a lot more compassion than he let on. You held your hand to greet him, finding it only polite to execute this formality. His, however, remained folded behind his back, notably denting your ego as you retracted your hand quicker than you extended it.

“Okay.” You muttered to yourself in slight embarrassment from this trivial rejection. “So, do you live here or something?” Your question was first replied to with a breath of annoyance. Jungkook was kind enough to allow you a sanctuary from the rain, exemption from the intrusion and stalking, and now he found himself having to entertain you.

“Yeah, something like that.” All this disinterested answer did was persist your attempts to break his catatonic gaze. However, his reserve had been solidified steadily over the years, so this venture was going to be tough.

“I didn’t know you could live in a lighthouse?” Your inquiry was spoken with the hopes this would ignite a lasting conversation.

“It’s not a lighthouse, technically.” Jungkook’s affirmative tone flew right over your head, conjuring even more annoyance that oddly enticed him to continue responding to your dense questions.

“Well, it looks like a lighthouse. It’s shaped like a lighthouse. It’s on the beach, just like a lighthouse.” A chuckle joined the sigh of his breath and his head that shook at your shallow observations. Jungkook eventually turned around and made his way towards the stacks of books, trying to preoccupy himself from whatever this exchange was. “All signs point to this being a lighthouse.”

“Well, it’s not. Lighthouses are meant to send signals to the ships out at sea. This doesn't,” His curt response tickled your amusement, only encouraging you to further aggravate him. “Therefore, not a lighthouse.”

“Okay,” You sounded agreeable, but this was soon followed by a doubtful comment whispered just loud enough for Jungkook’s ear to catch it, “It’s a lighthouse.” He found his stoicism melting away due to your spiteful attitude and conniving giggle in the face of his frustration. You wanted to get a rise out of him, and he knew this, and you were doing a fine job at it.

“It’s not-” His voice elevated with excitement, but he soon tamed the defensiveness threatening to spill from his lips, “Do you want to go back out into the rain?”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” Though, you sounded all but remorseful. The sly smirk resting on your face matched Jungkook’s satisfied expression, despite these smiles surfacing for different reasons. You couldn’t deny how humorous it was to distemper this man. How all the worries you laid out like the pebbles and seashells on this beach were washed away by the tides. Meanwhile, his grin provided little contribution in masking his enjoyment of your company and relentless curiosity.

You now sat in the right armchair, bundled in the blanket. It was not necessarily a thick blanket, but the chills once disturbing you had dwindled almost immediately. You were still entranced by Jungkook's movements. His hands were now occupied with a book from one of the stacks he’d been eyeing; the way he cradled the book like it was a newborn baby further revealed he had a somewhat protective attitude towards them.

“What are you reading?” His eyes remained between the pages and lines of the book, but his focus was yet again thieved by your incessant curiosity. Jungkook thought it irritating similarly to how one would find a cat disrupting their owner from work, annoying yet ever so endearing, and adorably distracting.

“I’m not reading, I’m being bothered by you.” His snark was meant to damage your brazen pestering, but unknown to him it merely fueled it.

“Boohoo.” No matter how elementary that retort was, you still managed to fever him and hold hostage his attention.

“I’m reading The Odyssey.” Jungkook surrendered to you, placing the book on his lap that was now sitting in the armchair next to yours. “Why do you ask so many questions?” His eyes laid on you the same way they laid on the sea, filled to the brim with fascination.

“I just wanted to know what you were reading.” Even when he expressed a clear indication that he was past your nonsense, it went unnoticed like the particles of dust flitting around the darkened room. This oblivion of yours prompted your next question. “Could you read it to me?”

His eyebrows furrowed at this request. Jungkook had already found himself exhausted by your persistence, and predicted ‘no’ would not be accepted as a viable answer. He just sighed and began to read aloud.

His soft voice somehow drowned out the sea’s commotion. The words flowed off his tongue as if he wrote the book himself; such poise for a young man lured you to immerse yourself in his narration and time grew more and more abstract.

After a bit, Jungkook paused to examine how you'd received his reading and he was pleased to find your chin resting in your palm and your eyes and ears fixed onto him as if he were reading the gospel. This made it difficult, impossible, to deny entry for the subtle blush working its way on his cheeks.

“Are you satisfied?” He closed the book, peering out of the window to check if the weather had eased since you arrived. Though the intensity of the storm hadn’t lightened in the slightest, there was a new tranquility adopted by the drizzling sky waters that sank and fed into the waves.

“Never.” You replied with a hungered conviction twisted into your words, “What happens next?”

Jungkook laughed in shock of how eager you were to hear more of this story. It was unlike someone who wasn’t well versed in literature to genuinely enjoy listening to this archaic novel.

“Why are you laughing? Read more!” Your whine came off a bit childlike, but succeeded in its goal.

“It’s getting late.” He commented with a gentle sternness, though he proceeded to reopen the book. Your peculiar attention naturally drew him to oblige your desires. Even in the midst of a storm, even as the hours slipped by and the evening had been born, he continued to read.

You settled back into your chair in rejoice that you’d get to spend a bit more time with Jungkook. He was practically a stranger, and still there was a climate of comfort and intimacy that took the place of the crisp, winter air when he read from his book. He felt it too, and that was reason enough to allow you this company.

Throughout the chapter he had been working to finish, he snuck glances to find your eyes growing heavy with sleep as each page turned. Jungkook halted from reading and was trapped in the flush of your cheeks and lips and how your mouth hung slightly ajar as you inhaled the cold, wet air of the lighthouse. The puffs of breath that billowed from your lips had him yearning to know a warmth so full with life and curiosity.

“Are-” Jungkook tensed at the idea of disturbing your sleep, as if you hadn’t barged into his life without a hint of permission. “Are you asleep?”

Your head lifted slowly, then held stiff to maintain consciousness, “I was just resting my eyes. I’m not tired, I want you to read more.” You said this in spite of knowing you would drift asleep if he did.

“I think we are done reading for now.” The book closed for the last time, his hands pressing against the cover to seal his assurance. “You should head home.”

“But, I don’t know how the book ends.” This weak argument came from a place of jaded desperation. Regardless, he almost fell victim to your subdued urgency but any sensibility he could garner warned him not to allow this. You were quite obviously tired and he prefered you be safe in your own bed before the night advanced.

“Well, that’s because I only just started this book and it is very, very long.” Jungkook hoped this would usher you out even if that meant the return of loneliness would seep between the pillows of the right armchair after you left him with his solitude.

“Well, I won’t be able to get these questions out of my mind unless I finish the book.” Another weak argument drained from your inventory of excuses. Maybe a change of subject would present an opportunity to linger in his company. “Also, why do you live here all alone?”

“I just do. I feel like I don’t have to explain this to you.” Jungkook was bewildered at his admission to give you, an unannounced and uninvited visitor, any explanations and still he was close to doing exactly that. “You’re quite invested in my personal life.” As much as that was true, his withdrawal from your curiosity wasn't all that effortful. Living in secrecy and desolation had the feeling of companionship nearly vanishing from his memory and you reunited him with that warmth. And, he had not realized how it had nearly been forgotten or how much he missed it until he finally felt it again.

“You seem like someone who has better things to attend to.” The lament that stained his words bore such heartache that was soon displaced in your chest.

“No, no. My life is boring, and I don’t know. What person wouldn’t be interested in the personal life of a hermit who lives in a lighthouse?” You stood and paced around the platform towering over the swirling bookshelves below, towering over what felt like the entire world with Jungkook. The end of the blanket trailed your footstep as your drooping eyes skimmed the multicolored novels which were remarkably arranged alphabetically by author. How he had the time or patience to organize the hundreds of books he owned was beyond your comprehension. Every detail you acquired from Jungkook was stored in a compartment of your heart, almost as if it were assigned by fate. They were told in riddles and secrets and everything else meant to be deciphered.

“Not a hermit, and not a lighthouse. I couldn’t imagine someone like you being bored with your life.” His voice had become welcoming, with a hint of genuine interest, and this transition felt imminent ever since you first introduced yourself. The tilt of your head signified your agreement with his last statement and implied there was something that bothered you about this truth.

“Someone like me?”

“Someone like you. Curious, young with your whole life ahead of you. It's hard to believe you should be bored with that.”

“You say that as if you aren't the same age as me.” Jungkook shrugged lazily and scuffed his shoes against the rug as he now stood against the window sill, observing your interest of his books.

“I shouldn’t be a lot of things, and yet I am all those things. Bored, curious, and I’m here talking to a complete stranger that totally has the capability to murder me like in those movies instead of going back home.” Your comment that snuck out had wrested a soft chuckle from Jungkook. They were absentmindedly thrown into the air that filled the space between you and him, nurturing his reciprocated fascination with you. Your diligent grazing of each book had distracted how the weight of your eyelids heavied by the minute.

“It’s not like I don’t have great people in my life or a quality education that takes up most of my time, I just,” Your brief pause was to turn your attention over to Jungkook, who did not hide how he was listening intently to these confessions, alleviating from a place in need of emptying. His eyebrow was arched in a manner that jolted you back to your senses. You’d revealed one too many privacies to someone who you had been acquainted with only hours ago. Mortification would have bathed your body if not for the way Jungkook seemed to strongly engage with your openness.

“You just?” He staged his interest overtly to correct the imbalance of how your genuinity left you hanging lower than him on the emotional scale. Jungkook believed that was the least he could do to mitigate the embarrassment about to silence you.

“Uh, I just never seem to be satisfied with what I have. And that makes me seem like a greedy, spoiled child which makes me even more frustrated with myself.” You admitted, pulling the blanket over your shoulders tighter as if that would shield you from the compromising guilt slithering out of your body. “And that’s how I see myself. Ungrateful and spoiled.” This certainly scraped the barrel of your deep rooted disgust with yourself.

“Not spoiled, just lost.” His response felt like a soft and thoughtful embrace, granted that this was meant to ease the tinge of reproach in your heart. The words he spoke caressed your cheeks and told you that every horrid thing you thought of yourself was flawed.

“I’ve certainly been in your position.” He euphemized what he really wanted to say to you, that he saw himself in you. Even though you spoke very little on this, he felt himself living every experience you alluded to as if he had been right beside you your whole life. Or rather that you had witnessed his life and suffered identical desires and grievances and adversities and were simply retelling his story down to the most intricate detail; and somehow you made it sound brand new and a thousand times more aching. He was stranded in a state of amazement, ambushed by your pain and how even in moments of emotional destitution, you were unquestionably beautiful.

Likewise, this stranger, who was no longer estranged, and his kind words nearly compensated for the billions of people you could never meet, all the dreams you wanted but could never alter into incarnation, and all the disappointments that plagued your heart.

And you felt held by his words, his voice, him.

“You’ve been in my position?” You requested confirmation.

“I was. Certainly.” And he confirmed.

“Where are you now?” In turn, you wanted this to suggest, ‘where can I find you?’

This question carried profound sentiment on both the giving and receiving end of it. To you, this yearned for advice. Any piece of wisdom would gladly, gratefully be accepted to ease this rampage of constant dissatisfaction. To him, it resurfaced a series of speculations long undisturbed until you had asked this question; a place intentionally void of all attention because it was sometimes too grim to remember. A haze of difficulty crowded a definite answer, though he knew there was one. He couldn’t place his finger on a fitting response and found himself next to you in search of the answer.

Where are you now?

This haunted his mind for a bit, leaving him speechless and albeit impressed, for once, by your curiosity.

“It’s hard to say. Somewhere in between, I suppose.” Whatever meaning this carried did not resonate as sound to you. The mere idea of being on the end of perpetual longing, waiting for a clear path to the end that promised fulfillment, made it implausible to settle on being somewhere in between the two. Again, you were left unsatisfied and feeling a burden placing itself on your shoulders and wallowing a fit of disappointment in the pit of your stomach. Jungkook noticed how your eyes fell from his, down to the maroon accents of the rug, and felt out of place. Out of place, in his own lighthouse, all because your gaze and attention he’d grown used to in this short time wasn’t directed at him.

“That’s the kind of ambiguity that leaves me so hungry.” He nodded in agreeance with the twisted cruelty of his response you had pointed out. Jungkook didn’t know how or why he’d come to turn every corner and check each crevasse to find what could settle your appetite. This whole time, though, he sailed through this painstaking search without a trace of uncertainty. His illusion of disinterest and annoyance soon dissolved into the floor that your eyes hadn’t strayed from.

“Maybe if I lived in a quaint, not-lighthouse I would be satisfied with that answer, but I don’t. I live a normal, normal, normal life.” The repetition of your words stressed your fatigue of this dullness, your desire for everything just inches away from your fingertips.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a normal life. I think it’s wrong that we have put the idea of drama and excitement on a pedestal.” This outlook, unlike the last, did gain traction in stripping the thick ambiguity around Jungkook’s mind. To your surprise, you could be satisfied with the small pieces of this man’s mystery being chipped bit by bit.

He was well aware of his deep rooted appreciation that accompanied your eyes as it moved towards him once again. There was some sense of purposefulness in this glance that demoted his callousness to tender captivation.

“Can I ask one more question?”

“I have a hard time believing you only have one more question.” His doubtfulness didn’t seem to discourage you, or him.

“For real! Only one more, it’s important.” The only way to prove whether or not this question was truly important was for you to ask it. His head nodded his approval.

“What do you think makes us human?” Before he could answer, a swell of perplexity had overtaken his thoughts on this. You could tell, out of everyone, Jungkook would have a profound answer that could save you hours of contemplation over your philosophy essay’s prompt.

“That’s an interesting question.”

“An interesting question in need of an answer.” You prodded him for his response, though this was pointless if there was no response that could possibly be constructed. Not a response of reason that you seemed to require, but of feeling. Like an instinct, and that in itself made it inapplicable to this question.

“Ask me again some other time. I don’t know if the answer is that simple.”

But, of course, it was. The answer, in his eyes, was blindingly clear.

“I’ll hold you to that!” He gladly took accountability for that commitment. An unfamiliar contentment with the unknown had lodged in your chest when the promise of spending time together emerged through the once conditional circumstances. The promise that transformed those conditional circumstances to voluntary acts.

This humbling discovery left a wide grin on your face, beaming directly towards Jungkook.

Jungkook peered over to the antique clock placed on a shelf next to the window. The aversion of his eyes was to save face from how your soft smile that projected praise and attachment had effectively unnerved him; he stuffed his hands in his pockets to hide his fingers that twitched out of pure elation.

The hour hand stationed on the twelve carved in roman numerals verified how his company had erased any discern for the hours that passed. They had floated away so silently, slowly that you could have sworn time froze altogether.

“Oh shit, it’s midnight? Fuck me.” The decibels of your voice boomed against the walls, it could have shaken the stacks of books down to a pile of mess. “I’m sorry, shit. I didn’t even realize it was so late.” You unraveled yourself from the blanket and collected your belongings in a bit of a frenzy.

“It’s alright. I, um, I had a nice time.” He distanced himself from you swiftly as you dashed across the room to the edge of the stairs. Even in a hurried state, you still looked back to him and offered a smile, unsure if that was enough to suffice for a proper gesture of gratitude.

“Me too.” The words were close to inaudible, but you knew he heard them loud and clear, along with the string of implications that were laced in them.

“Oh and by the way, make good use of that umbrella. It looks like it could start raining again.” Your ears felt engorged with flames when he’d revealed his knowledge of your little secret. It was foolish of you to believe you could outsmart Jungkook because what you thought obscure was well within his range of astuteness and the umbrella, still damp from the rain, was apparent from the beginning.

You didn’t catch how he’d been smiling when you turned away bashfully, strutting down the stairs in an attempt to portray false confidence. But if you did, you would have picked up on his mutual indulgence in your visit, the absolute bliss laden in his eyes. You grasped tightly to the joy evoked from the thought of seeing him again, however your nerves held a tighter grasp that did not allow you to express this to him. Perhaps your giggles of excitement, surely heard by Jungkook, spilling from your throat as you rushed out the empty room or the way you clutched your umbrella to your chest in admittance you had purposefully kept that fact from him would give Jungkook a clue of how thankful you were to meet him. And even more so to be able to see him again.

As you parted from the lighthouse that was not a lighthouse, something in between, you felt that the comfort you once had taper off with the growing distance from the not-lighthouse. You were fraught with a gentle yearning to turn back, run up the spiraling stairs, settle yourself back into the right armchair, and ask humbly to stay a while longer.

Little did you know, Jungkook’s hopes coincided with yours like two concentric circles.

(One week later)

If it wasn’t the question left unanswered that motivated you, it was the fact that you missed the view of the beach from the window. Or maybe it was the countless supply of book titles that you didn’t get to finish inspecting. Perhaps it was that you missed how the soft blanket complimented the feathery cushion of the right armchair.

Any of these excuses could be suited to explain how you rushed through the town, determined, goal-oriented and passing down streets now ingrained in your memory, with a destination clear in mind.

But it definitely couldn't be how dearly you missed the sound of his voice when he read to you or his smile or the way he studied the waves with gentle affection. No, it couldn't be that.

Either way, you arrived at the base of the lighthouse. It had been a week since your first visit and you hoped that the invitation still stood for your return. Making your way through the empty room felt quick since you hadn't wasted time to notice how the table now had a vase of flowers in the center. Nor did you notice the new mat placed in front of the interior doorway to the lighthouse.

Your heart dropped from your chest when you reached over to the door knob only to find it was locked. You turned the handle back and forth as if that would miraculously function as a key to unlock the door. After a bit of knob fiddling had proven itself useless, you turned away with a huff of air releasing your frustration.

The click and turn of the handle had you twirling around optimistically and seeing him made all that disappointment dissolve.

“You’re back again.” He was smiling at you, then cocked his head to say come in. The moment you stepped into the lighthouse, its lackluster disappeared as if by magic. But Jungkook knew it wasn’t magic at all; it was the person that hid their umbrella, and asked him to read and promised to return as much as he promised to let you return.

“I believe you promised to keep reading to me.”

“Did I?” The reasons for your return weren’t all that important to discuss, both you and him were just glad to make your way up the stairs to the two armchairs once more, hearts both racing not because of the physical exertion from the stairs but from the excitement rasping through yours and his bodies.

“Yes, but this time I won’t fall asleep.”

“We’ll see about that.” There was no question that your intense focus wasn’t because you cared about the book he had been reading. In all honesty, you would not be able to summarize any bit of the plot if someone asked. You probably would have a hard time even naming the author of the book because what sank you into the words on the pages wasn’t the story itself, but the voice that read them. Jungkook made those languid paragraphs sound like the first words ever to be spoken; he reinvented the English language through his unique dialect, inflections and phrasing that had the words of Homer dancing off the pages. So, of course there was no question that you wouldn’t be able to name any of the characters or recognize the writing style of Homer because those details faded away, leaving only the memory of his voice with you.

This time, Jungkook didn’t have to offer you a seat. He made it clear that this spot had been reserved and waiting for you by the way the blanket had been folded and worn by the arm of the chair and the new pillow resting at the base of the chair’s backrest. You planted yourself on the cushion that felt more plump than the last time you sat in it and faced towards the large window that showcased the ocean’s energetic swaying.

“I would never get tired of this view.” You commented while Jungkook pulled back the curtains further to widen the seascape. He too was drawn to the deep blue waters making their way to and from the shore.

“I usually don’t leave the windows this open, but my love for the scenery of the ocean has rekindled.” When he said this, your eyes hadn’t budged from the window unlike Jungkook’s that peered over to you. You pretended not to notice that or the way your heartbeat had taken a quickness that had your skin growing warmer.

“How could it leave in the first place?”

“It is well known, especially by you, that having an abundance of something lessens your appreciation for it.” A corner of your lips lifted at this, knowing exactly what he had been referring to. Each wave passed by and in a comatose-like state, you wondered where on the shore it would land.

“No need to call me out already, Jungkook.” He had left the window and retrieved The Odyssey that hadn’t left the side table since the night he read it to you. This broke your trance, and you shifted to face the left armchair.

“You made it too easy, ___.”

“Okay, Hermit.” Your smile did wonders to ease the irritation in Jungkook’s chest to tenderness. Though he refused to admit it, this otherwise taunting nickname sounded affectionate coming from you.

“Technically a hermit is-”

“Technically, I don’t care about your technicalities. No amount of facts will persuade me that you aren’t a Hermit.” Jungkook dug his tongue into the side of his cheek to resist from joining in with your laughter. He’d been fidgeting with the book that was waiting to be read, but neither of you seemed to mind putting that off.

“Ho- How was your day?” You shouldn’t have felt as proud as you did for making a man who could read aloud for hours stutter over his own words, and nonetheless you were extremely flattered by this.

“It was good.” Good never really meant good, and Jungkook knew this.

“And what’s the truth?” Your playing field had once again been unleveled, the advantage returned into the palm of Jungkook’s hand in the blink of an eye. His perceptiveness had been bordering on annoying but still remained on the side of impressive.

“Well,” You bunched the blanket in your fists as an expression of worry, “My mom called today.” Anyone who could hear would be able to tell you sounded unhappy about that.

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?” Jungkook articulated his question to get the answer he’d been looking for, finding the hostility in your voice far more interesting than the actual conversation between you and your mom.

“You don’t know my mom, but she projects her over achieving personality onto almost everyone she meets, but most of it goes onto me.” Your back had straightened when mentioning your mom, almost as if it were a reflex, like Pavlov’s dog, that you were conditioned to be on guard at the thought of her. “I don’t know why I get so mad at her when she does that because I know it comes from a place of love.”

Jungkook hummed softly, granting you space to continue talking.

“Yeah, it probably comes from a place of love but part of me doesn’t believe that. Part of me thinks every time she calls to check on me it’s really just a ploy for her to nag me on what I could be doing better.” You scoffed as the conversation from earlier in the morning played out in your head again. Envisioning the back and forth between you and your mother only fueled your frustration but you couldn’t help yourself. There was no stifling the seething anger imploding before Jungkook’s eyes. “She always says stuff like, ‘Maybe if you applied yourself more you would be doing better than this.’ or ‘I told you that you should have done this or that and now it’s too late’ or the infamous ‘Do you not care about your future?’ lecture that just gets under my skin. She’s so good at saying the wrong things at the wrong time. I don’t know how she does it but she always manages to rub dirt in the wound.”

“So, she’s never satisfied with you?” Jungkook observed.

“No, never! And you’d think a mother would be supportive or happy with all the things her child had already accomplished but somehow it’s never enough. And she knows what she’s doing. That makes it worse. She knows how she weaponizes my guilt against me.” You held your tongue from the much longer rant about to digress, feeling a sudden discomfort in the way you’d been complaining to Jungkook. You couldn’t understand why it was all too easy to talk of these kinds of things to him, why he looked so interested in what you were saying even when anyone else would have grown tired of you by now, why you found in him a warm confidant much more comforting than you’d expected, yet there was no way to dismiss this reality.

Jungkook did not offer advice, or tell you that you should be thankful or that maybe you were handling these situations poorly. He did none of that. His silence was more thoughtful than any number of things he could have said. He simply listened.

You rose from the chair to get a closer view of the sea. Past your reflection in the glass, the consecutive tides seemed to grapple over the next and the next; the previous wave always just short of reach to tackle the immediate wave. He had followed you without a word, living up to your desire to have him at your side. There was no need for mindless comments or condolences to fill the silence, only mindful amity, at your side, because watching the ocean with you was enough.

“So, that was my day.” It was the first thing spoken after a period of quiet, perfectly timed and delivered for it to bear a dry humor in its intention. Jungkook and you laughed, finding this the long needed release of tension in your head.

“Is this going to become a habitual thing?”

“What’s that?”

“Me complaining to you about my personal struggles that would have gone in my journal or somewhere far more private than this.” All said while your and Jungkook’s gazes didn’t wander from the view of the window. “Me inviting myself into your lighthouse, or not-lighthouse, whatever.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.” Two heads turned towards each other almost as if it were on que.

The way your pupils dilated and softened conveyed every bit of thanks you held in your heart but couldn’t muster the courage to voice. Jungkook’s doe-eyed smile thanked you likewise and confessed the gratitude for how you had rescued him from yet another lonesome afternoon with a curtained window, an unused blanket, an empty chair, and a melancholic silence as he read his one of thousands of books. Not including The Odyssey, that was for your ears only.

“You wouldn’t?”

“Maybe a little.” His tease succeeded to provoke that smile of yours. And even though that was a favor on his end, he was the one that felt graced by it. Realistically, a smile costs nothing yet there grew an enormous debt in his heart; and even though he couldn’t afford it, all he could do was bask in every detail your smile, of the crease of your eyes, and of the way your cheeks took the form of a sweet Spring Peach, and the scrunch of your nose and brows. Before he sank himself deeper in debt, Jungkook beckoned for the two of you to return to your seats and read all your worries away.

---

Who would have guessed that The Odyssey, of all things, would be the thing that would occupy most of your Fridays through the rest of the winter? Sometimes you visited a Sunday, and other times you’d find yourself needing to hear The Odyssey on a Wednesday evening or a Monday morning. The days on which you swung by the now familiar lighthouse would vary, but they remained a weekly occurrence.

Jungkook had grown comfortable with this routine, reading to you while you watched him and the waves, but mostly him. Occasionally, his reading would cease to an interruption of his own doing to ask how your day was in a very specific way that only Jungkook seemed to exhibit. He’d ask you say anything but ‘good’ or ‘boring’ and he’d clarify that he wanted you to not leave out any details.

“Why?” You would ask. And he’d look at you as if you set yourself on fire.

“It’s important to me.” He’d reply as if it were that simple, or the answer you were looking for. Still, if it was important to him you didn’t need any more persuading.

Like when you told him you stopped by a coffee shop, he’d tell you to specify which drink you ordered and how it tasted.

“Cinnamon.”

“Is that your favorite?”

“No, I prefer peppermint but sometimes I combine those flavors and that becomes my other favorite.”

“That sounds sweet.”

“It absolutely is.”

“Does that make you happy?”

“It makes my insides feel like Christmas.”

“Is Christmas a feeling?”

“It is to me!” He smiled at your childlike enthusiasm because it made life seem a lot more appealing than he’d ever believed. Before you, the world was a little greyer. After you, suddenly full of vibrance, saturated to the grandest extents.

Or the time you brought a candle to fill the air with something a bit more pleasant than the smell of the old, wet stones of the lighthouse.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a candle, vanilla and patchouli.”

“Where did you get it?”

“I don’t remember. I just found it in my house and thought this place needed something sweet.”

“But you’re here.” Your teeth bit down on your tongue when he said this. You almost fallen trapped in figuring out what motivated him to say this, but the flattery of his comment was all too pleasing to ignore.

“But I don’t smell like vanilla and patchouli.” You said, only to save face from the fact that you suddenly felt like a deer in headlights when he looked at you, bracing for when he would crash into you and hoping to god you can absorb the exhilaration of souls colliding; and hoping to god he would crash into you.

“Could you light it, then?”

“Of course.”

And the room filled with a sweetness that complimented your company finely. Now, whenever he would smell the scents of vanilla and patchouli he would think of you, and you of him.

He would continue asking these simple questions, and so on.

Why he thought it was essential for you to relay these almost invaluable intricacies was beyond you, but it did make you feel heard; it made you feel held as it always did. It made the value of your life gone without the need to be earned or proven, the value of the smaller moments that fell between bigger moments.

It made it all okay that you felt like you stripped the clothes from your whole life off for him to revere and that he’d rarely ever display such emotional nudity for you; you were okay with lying bare before his eyes, vulnerable and pliant to his every whim. Even when you wanted to know all of these things about Jungkook and he’d hold them captive or he’d only offer half sufficient answers, you collected as many bits of the puzzle as possible to try and piece together his story.

“How are your parents, Jungkook?”

“Long gone.”

“Oh, Jungkook… I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I watched them grow old and content and that softened the blow.”

“Are you lonely?”

Yes, it’s excruciating when you are not here. I am tormented in your absence and all too plagued with despondency and I wish you knew that.

“I’ve grown used to it.”

“So you have.”

“So I have.”

You did not want him to be lonely; you didn’t want him to ever be sad but you wanted him to be able to say that he was to you. You wanted him to be able to tell you he was lonely; you wanted him to want you to know his heart. You wanted him to feel as naked as you felt. Vagueness was all you could ever manage to arrest from his gated mind.

And for once, the little he had given was more than you could ever ask for.

Sunday mornings with Jungkook were your favorite. The ocean was tame during this time on Sundays specifically and sailed you into its calmness; you were half asleep, resting on the sill running along the base of the window panes. Spring had been approaching which meant there were radiant glimmers of the early sun that reflected and glided along the ripples of the waves. Jungkook once said that every time he looked at these little pieces of diamond rays, he believed the sun and the sea performed in devotion for you and him alone.

“I love that.” And indeed you did. The idea that no one else witnessed this ocean, not this one, not the way you and Jungkook had, was a greedy disposition but felt so true.

“Would you like me to read?” He said in place of, Is my voice properly fitting for something as lovely as this moment?

“I want you to talk, but not of books.” You blinked slowly at Jungkook, “Could you tell me about yourself? Just one thing, anything you choose.” He saw those specks of diamonds glimmering in your irises. He felt so close to you, sitting on the other end of the window, and close enough to finally surrender a bit of his gated mind.

“When I was a child, I knew my days were numbered. The details of why aren’t important, but I digress.” You stuffed a scoff down your throat at the assertion that the details weren’t important. Him, of all people, claiming the details were unimportant had you whirling in a paradox. “With this in mind, I did my best to fulfill everything any child would have wanted. And I don’t think I’ve ever stopped because that list of desires was never ending.”

Was this what he meant when he said he was in my position once? You wondered.

“I spent all my time looking for the next best thing I could achieve, because the best things that I had was, as you know, never enough. One week, the best thing would be finding a four leaf clover to give to my mother. The next, it was being the first in line for the new, long awaited comic book. Or, it was the time my father took me fishing on the lake, and then seconds after it was the first fish I caught and threw back into the water, and that best thing was soon replaced by my father’s proud smile.”

Your throat tightened as you visualized a young Jungkook sitting on the dock with his father, full of youth and excitement, and how nostalgia had ripened into your heart even though you had no place in this memory of his. This dream-like sequence had compelled a few tears to fill your eyes, fogging your vision of the older Jungkook that sat before you.

“When I grew older, in my adolescent and teenage years, the next best thing was fulfilling a newfound passion. It prompted me to buy out almost the entire library and major in World Literature. I spent the rest of my days from then on immersed in reading, as you can see. It was the only place I felt like I was achieving the next best thing, and it was cruel when I came to realize there was no way in hell I could finish all the books I’d collected in time.”

“In time for what?”

“In time... for the next best thing to come along, I guess.” This answer appeared fabricated, but was subtle enough to pass through your mind without a second thought.

“And did it? Did it come along?”

It would have made no difference if your question had been asked to a brick wall because Jungkook brushed it off as he did every other question that would have given you another piece of his puzzle. He took precautions to avoid a defeat to your pouting by walking over to the left armchair and burying his face in the book’s fortitude. Before you had the chance to reiterate your question, Jungkook began to read, making it all too clear he was evading.

“Jungkook?” You whined to which he paid no mind by continuing to read.

“Is he being serious right now?” Again, you might as well have been talking to an inanimate object. There was nothing to be done when he lodged his restraint other than joining him in your armchair, quietly, permissively.

Every day, like this one, spent with him had you convinced it couldn’t be surpassed in enjoyment. And every day, your expectations had been exceeded. That was something you’d never think could happen. Soon, the cares and worries of this Winter melted as the avenue of Spring had unfolded before you. A long path, surrounded with flower blossoms and diamond coated seas, or in other words, the unfathomable had fallen into your hands.

The remainder of this pleasant Sunday had been consumed by The Odyssey and Jungkook’s voice singing its words as smoothly as the waves surrounding the lighthouse and small conversations during the pauses of his reading. One struck you into reminiscence of the first night you met.

“You never answered my question.” He paused, flipping through the many unanswered questions he’d left with you. Jungkook raised his brow to order specification of which one you referred to.

“What makes us human?” The due date of your essay passed over two months ago, however this didn’t diminish your curiosity to know his answer.

“In all honesty,” He paused and looked to assure you would believe his answer would be honest, or honest enough to cater your satisfaction. “I think it’s our desire to achieve the last best thing.”

Every fiber in you compiled its own list of questions in regards to his yet again ambiguous answer, though you had grown to accept that as a part of Jungkook. And you sure as hell accepted Jungkook, ambiguity and all.

“Hm.” It didn’t take a mind reader to know you had theorized any and all connotations branching off from his answer and he didn’t mind that you could be lost in search of whatever the actual meaning of it was.

The moon was in its fullest bloom tonight, and tomorrow, it would begin to wane into a crescent then into nothing but an empty space full of new and perhaps fortunate opportunities. Jungkook found the romance of this lunar phase well equipped for the dusty instrument he discovered in the base of the lighthouse.

“I found something that I think you’d like.” Your ears perked like a dog when it’d been presented with treats. “But you have to go get it. It’s in the other room.”

Whatever this surprise was, it had excited you enough to ignore how you’d have to descend and re-ascend the many stairs that would surely tire you. Your eager legs would have jumped right from the platform to the bottom of the lighthouse if the reality didn’t result in broken bones. As you rushed to the door to the other room, you pushed through and discovered a telescope standing in the corner of the otherwise empty space. A few moments later you were hustling back up the stairs, the telescope making the re-ascension of the stairs ten times as strenuous. All the while, Jungkook just stared in amusement at the way you struggled your way to the platform.

“No, I don’t want any help, thank you!” You said sarcastically through grunts of exertion before positioning the instrument in front of the window.

“Well, I didn’t offer you any, so, you’re very welcome.” He stood on the other side of the telescope, admiring the way you fell so easily in love with it, hands scaling the length of the scope.

“Do I just?” You pointed to the eyepiece at the end of the rod and he nodded. You brought your eye to the magnifying glass which was flooded with the enchanting glow of the stars. You’d never seen them this close, but this little gift of Jungkook’s had catapulted you into the illuminated abyss of the night sky. A measly woah was all that squeaked from your voice, because all the other words were stolen by the stars.

“Can you find any constellations?” He’d seen all the stars in the galaxy; that he was sure of. But none had shone brighter than the person he couldn’t tear his eyes from. Three o’clock had crept onto the antique clock, this late hour had worn down Jungkook’s walls completely as the soft glow of adornment laminated his eyes.

“I think I see ORion's belt. That’s the only one I know other than the Big Dipper.” You laughed at your own lack of knowledge of the stars. Knowledge didn’t seem to matter though, the beauty of the stardusted sky had taken care of that deficiency. You lifted yourself away from the telescope, allowing Jungkook a turn to stargaze.

“Have you heard of the Astral Plane?” Jungkook asking you something other than, ‘how was your day’, was a rare occurrence which most likely meant this was of some importance.

“I’ve heard of it, but I think I’ll need you to refresh my memory.” You really did need clarification on what exactly the Astral Plane entailed, though you mainly just wanted to hear him explain it.

“Some say it lies in the fourth dimension. It isn’t tangible or something that can be touched. It lies between everything, every atom, every cell, every city and forest and mountain and even between the crevasses of one’s own mind and soul. A place like this is full of divinity and complete attainment and the way it is reached has been theorized by many.” Jungkook’s meticulous readjustments of the telescope had you wondering which constellations he was searching for, or maybe he’d been looking for Venus or Mars or the Moon. “Some say you arrive there in your dreams, or when you reach enlightenment, or when death draws its curtain on you… I-I don't know why but I’ve always thought that it was stitched into the sky. Far beyond our galaxy, maybe the Astral Plane has situated itself in between each star, just like it does our souls, and exists as the vastness of outer space.” It turned out he wasn't looking for any of those things, he was looking for the Astral Plane.

Could the heat rising throughout your body be merely adoration, or was it something along the lines of a forlorn longing? When he spoke, you felt this sensation growing dense in your bones; you felt a gravitation towards him.

“Seems about right to me.” Fondness had stained your tone which filled some void in Jungkook’s hungry heart, and he’d failed to predict you were the one that would be able to settle it. “Maybe we’ll never reach the Astral Plane, but at least I’m here with you.”

When you said this, the hairs on his arms pointed towards the ceiling. For once in a very, very long time, Jungkook felt a euphoric resurgence striking through the catacombs of his soul and hot tears dripping down the expanse of his cheeks, to the tip of his chin, and onto the glass scope that was shielding this sudden emotional combustion. He blinked away the tears to the best of his abilities and turned away from you and the telescope and the sky. Jungkook felt the push of air from your movement towards him, but he shifted further away.

“Are yo-”

“I found a cluster of stardust, go look.” He averted you from him and you always fell victim to every trick in his book.

“Wow, that’s amazing!” The grip you had on the telescope was firm, like you were trying to hold onto the stars themselves.

“Amazing.” He said. This reiteration wasn’t for the stars, however. He wondered if you knew that. He wondered if you could feel how consumed he was by your magnificence under the full moon that reigned with gentleness over the waves. The once wild tides, now moving with the same serenity and romance embedded into Jungkook and this lighthouse. He wondered if you could see he had been emotionally disrobed and bearing all his affection for you. And he wondered how he was so okay with that.

Six o’clock didn’t feel like six o’clock. Your eyes that struggled to keep open told you otherwise, so again you and him were parting ways as the sun had begun dawning over the horizon and there were no more stars to fill the hours slipping away. Jungkook did all he could to compose himself. He’d offered to walk you out; you reached the door that led to the dewy, Spring air awaiting your departure from the lighthouse.

“Wait, ___!” This exclamation echoed louder than the beating of his crimson heart. After stepping through the threshold, you turned to meet his gaze, teary-eyed from what you guessed was from lack of sleep. Teary-eyed from what he knew was because of another egregious goodbye. “Thank you.”

This moment seemed fitting to test the theory that actions speak louder than words. This moment called for the lapse of courage in need to act, not speak. This moment was the moment when you finally expressed the thankfulness that, to you, seemed to outweigh his by pressing a tender kiss to his cheek. It was much colder than your lips and the docile warmth of the morning, but once you pulled away the warmth had stained his cheek.

Jungkook felt like every cell in his body was evaporating into the space around him. Like the way a fire would extend its heat into the air or the way Spring melted away the frost ridden Winter, your act had covered him in a blanket of love and refuge from the loneliness once vaulting his heart. And it certainly spoke louder than words; all the words in every book Jungkook had ever read and the words left unsaid and the words passing between everyone in the universe.

“I’m the one who should be thanking you, Hermit! You helped me see Orion’s Belt up close and personal!” You called as your strides began a slow fleet from a laughing Jungkook. You waved, now standing a generous distance from him, and he found this gave him the space needed to finally let his tears fall.

“I love you.” He whispered, hoping the wind would carry it to your ears and heart.

A revelation had overcome him, and no matter how many times he tried to wipe the tears away, they’d be instantly replenished like a stream of water rushing from a conquered dam, spilling over endlessly, with all control suspended in the air around him.

Was it finally here? The last, best thing?

---

A week after the stargazing, your mind had mapped out the stars as you too searched for that Astral Plane. To you, Jungkook’s proposition of it being strewn in the night sky was the only theoretical that made sense. You wanted to flaunt your newfound passion for this concept he’d introduced, and admittedly - and more importantly - you wanted to kiss him again, leading to yet another blissful walk down the seashore to the lighthouse. The air was warm but not humid, carrying a breeze that evened out the sun’s heat nicely. A few pillows of clouds were cascading through the sky, never staying in one spot for too long; you’d come to appreciate each one’s temporary presence and when they passed, you grew to appreciate that as well. The gaze once fixed on the sand had now traveled to the waves of much gentler motion than ever before.

This walk, unlike the dozens of others, felt different. The streets looked lovely and the air felt clean in your chest, giving you a pleasant journey far more intimate than the last. Then you realized, it felt like you were walking back home.

When you grew closer to the lighthouse, you noticed the curtains had been drawn which was strikingly unusual for a sunny day such as this one. This was a passing observation as you made your way to the base of the lighthouse.

Through the door to the room before the lighthouse, you were taken aback to find your armchair sitting in front of the table. you walked up to discover a single, folded parchment sealed with a red wax stamp labeled with your name along the top of the paper.

This felt eerie, for some reason, and you called out his name only to be met with silence, before sitting yourself down and unsealing the note.

It read in his voice:

My Dearest, ___

I wrote this to relay a lot of things left unsaid. The first being goodbye. I’m sorry to have to leave you like this, though no amount of remorse could possibly appease my actions.

Your heartbeat had grown rampant, until your eyes read those words. It was then when it stopped altogether. Still, you continued to read.

I kept things from you like the fact that our encounter in the town’s square was all but coincidental. The truth is scary, and my truth would have turned you away from the beginning. It was selfish, I admit, but I do not think I could have endured such a loss. Forgive me for keeping you in the dark all this time, but I am beyond gratified for what you granted me in spite of that.

Maybe it might seem cruel. You are not alone in feeling that — never alone. But, we were never meant to spend every Sunday morning, or Friday evening, or Wednesday afternoon together to watch the waves float along with the hours lost reading to you; I knew this was not the end of your story, just mine.

The books I have read over and over have imprisoned me in search of the “next best thing”. To my dismay, I thought I had run out of time to find it. But then you came along. You helped set me free by allowing me to live out a few more “best things” through the way you shared your life with me, unselfishly, warmly, kindly— You helped me move on.

I know you too will move on from this. I hope I could at least leave you with the tools and courage to find each “next best thing” in store. If not that, then this lighthouse, open to you and only you, and a myriad of good memories to ease our parting. I know in my heart you deserve nothing less.

I hope you find contentment somewhere in the sea or on the sand or in the stars, or perhaps somewhere in between.

Once you do, we will meet again within the Astral Plane, my love. I swear it. And if you miss me, just look through the telescope and find me woven in the spaces amidst Orion’s Belt.

Thank you. Again and again I thank you and it is still not enough. Thank you for you, for your warmth, for your salvation, for your smile, for your endless questions, for re-introducing me to the aroma of vanilla and patchouli but it was not as sweet as your companionship, for putting good use of the right armchair and the view from our window, for making the odyssey a little less lonely to read, and thank you for stepping into my lighthouse and my life.

Don't you see, it was you. You were my last, best thing.

with love and sorrow,

Jeon Jungkook

Before you got to the end of the letter, you were racing up the spiraling stairs, ignoring the burn in your tightened chest, how the air in the lighthouse had suffocated your lungs. The dizziness that blurred your eyes had not slowed your climb up the stairs, and the wetness of your tears now seeping into his letter.

You reached the top, The Odyssey greeting you on the chair Jungkook would have been seated in. Your breaths were staggered and warm, filling the mournful emptiness of the lighthouse.

“Jungkook.” You whispered. You begged for a reply. The curtains were drawn over the window, like never before, and exposed a bronze plaque peeking out from the end of the fabric. You pushed the drapes aside to read what was engraved into the metal plate and the first page of The Odyssey that hung below it.

In loving memory of our beloved son, Jeon Jungkook. May he rest in peace. 1918-1942.

The note below read:

The Odyssey

Jeon and ___ Lighthouse.

You pieced the puzzle together, finally. And with that, came the final picture, so beautiful and mesmerizing and everything you could have ever hoped for, and more.

“Jungkook.” You repeated as a bid of farewell, with a heart full of satisfaction and content, and Jungkook. You pressed the letter to your chest in hopes his words would mend your aching heart.

And it was true, he was not your last best thing, only one of them.

But he was undoubtedly your most cherished and beloved best thing.

708 notes · View notes

violetnotez · 4 years

Text

⤷ Genre: Fluff

⤷ Word Count: 3161+

⤷ Warnings: cursing(?), mentions of panic attack

⤷ Synopsis: Welcome to Hannah simps for Shoto constantly and can’t decide on a fic so she writes EVERY IDEA SHE HAD

Buy Me a Ko-fi! | Requests Open| Matchups Closed

Also @shoutogepi is the reason why I’m a Shoto simp now so say thank u to her, cause without her this probably would’ve been a Bakugo fic lmao 😂💀

You groaned into the pillow, your icy hands trying to find refuge under the soft covering of the pillow.

Your body was shaking, every bone screaming in aches, your forehead thumping against your skull..this cold was kicking your ass.

“How are you feeling love? Do you need anything?”

Shoto asked sweetly, coming over to the bed you were currently laying on. He crouched down, his bicolored eyes watching your every move carefully. He placed his hand against your forehead, feeling your temperature as you closed your eyes wistfully at the sensation.

“I-Im good…,” you mumbled groggily, “I just want to sleep…”

Shoto smiled lightly-even while sick you were so incredibly adorable, probably even more so. You had come down with a cold a few days prior, nothing too serious, but he still wanted to take care of you while you were more weak.

“That's probably best for you,” he agreed. “Sleeping off the sickness will help you recover sooner.”

He stood up, his slender hands taking the covers of the bed and wrapping them around you more snuggly.

“Just close your eyes, Ill still be here when you wake up,”

He placed a small kiss on your forehead, his lips soft against your skin and his bicolored locks tickling your face.

You snuggle even deeper in the blankets, cuddling yourself up into them as a flustred smile grew on your face. Shoto’s lips felt so deliciously warm, and you wished you could envelope your whole body in that heat. No matter how many blankets you wrapped around you or how high you put the heat up, you still felt cold. It was a strange feeling, since you knew your temperature was actually higher than normal, but you couldn’t shake the unbearable freeze that was icing your bones.

“Can you turn up the heater tho, S-Shoto? I still feel really c-cold…” you stuttered, hating how cliche your shivers sounded.

Shoto turned to look at you, a worried look washing over his face.

“Its as high as it can go y/n, I cant make it any warmer,”

“-Oh”

That’s all you said, a pit of anxiety filling your stomach.

Well that was just great-now you couldn't get any warmer and have to suffer until this stuipd sickness went away.

Shoto knew you were unnaturally cold at the moment and needed special care because of it. He reassured himself that it was just a side effect of the sickness, and it wasn’t something he should worry about too much.

It didn’t bother him how hot it was either-the ice side of his quirk allowed him to regulate his temperature, keeping him nice and cool even as the heat in the room steadily rises as you kept asking him to raise it.

It broke his heart though to see you so cold and shivering, your body curled into a little ball to gain some type of sensation of warmth. Shoto looked down at his hands in defeat, wishing he could do something, anything, to relieve you of that discomfort.

Suddenly an idea popped in his head, lighting up his mind and making him feel quite dumb for not thinking of it earlier.

Your throat began to feel scratchy, but you felt too cold to actually crawl out of bed to go get some water. You rolled over, your body beginning to prop itself shakily on your elbows.

“Actually, Shoto, is it alright if you could get me a glass of-WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR SHIRT?!”

You screeched, your eyes blown out of your sockets.

There was your boyfriend….of barely 2 months….strolling around with his shirt off like some sexy god. His collared shirt was balled neatly in his hands, his taut muscles rippling with each movement as he stood in his full glory.

You gulped, your eyes drinking in the scene in front of you. God, you knew he was ripped...but not this ripped.

You could wash clothes on his damn abs, they were that pronounced!

“I thought that since my quirk has heat qualities to it, you could use it to your benefit.” He said nonchalantly, as if the sight of him just flaunting his body wasn’t enough to make you want to pounce on him. “Am I- making you uncomfortable?”

“I-uh-np-no it doesn't, its just…” you were stuttering, your hands fidgeting in your lap. It felt like your tongue was made out of cotton, your eyes only able to focus on how adorably messy his hair looked from taking off his shirt. “I'm not used to..to seeing you-”

You had been dating Shoto for a month or so now, and you couldn’t be happier. But the boy was shy with physical touch, and you were honestly a little bit of the same way. You hadn’t seen him show more skin than right now, only getting glances when he trained and accidentally burned his training uniform. You had always wished to see more of his perfectly built body-but you always imagined you would have some warning.

Shoto fidgeted in front of the bed, his cheeks a soft shade of red.

“I can put my shirt back on y/n, it's no trouble-”

“Please don't do that!” You yelled hastily, your eyes screaming with desperation. “Honestly, that's the last thing I want you to do,”

Crap, you sounded so perverted! You basically yelled at him “Please stay half naked I love your body and I’m thirsty for you.”

You never wanted to kick yourself harder.

Shoto didn’t seem to notice your dilemma, only nodding his head. He began to walk over to the opposite side of the bed, your body feeling a dip in the bed as he sat on the mattress.

Your heart began to quicken, staring at those bi colored eyes...god, he was so damn close.

“Very well then...skin to skin contact would be best. It’ll ensure the heat transfers directly to you.”

You gulped, propping yourself up more so you were now sitting up. HIs tone was so warm, so inviting, you could completely just melt into it like honey. But nervousness began to floss your stomach, making your whole body feel heavy-how he worded his sentence, he almost made it seem like he wanted you to undress to. God-the thought made your ears tinge pink, your eyes quinting to helplessly close that flustering thought away. It was tempting….but-Shoto was too modest to suggest something like that, especially when you were sick.

He leaned in close to you, each muscle in his arms rippling in a chain reaction as he took your hand in his own.

You were amazed at how warm his skin felt, the iciness in your veins scorched away by his touch. A sigh escaped your lips, relishing in that wonderful feeling. You were already craving more of that delicious warmth, your aching body crawling towards your shirtless boyfriend.

All worry and nervousness seemed to fade ever so slightly, your icy hands tentatively touching the boy's body. Your fingers trailed lightly against his ribcage, the sensation shooting electricity throughout Shoto’s body.

Shoto stiffened at the initial contact-he still felt extremely flustered with physical touches, but he began to melt into it and relish the feeling of your skin on his. Your arms wrapped gently around his broad shoulders, a small grin enveloping on s\Shoto’s face as he felt you snuggle your cheek into the crook of his neck.

“Are you sure this isnt a sneaky way for you to see me shirtless?” you joked, your voice muffled from your lips pressed against his skin.

Oh god-his instantly felt his quirk intensify, his flusterness taking over. His skin immediately began to heat up, his cheeks blushing starkly from your words.

“Oh no-I-I didnt mean it like that-my intent t was for you to stay clothed, I just-”

He was a stammering mess, and you couldn't find it any cuter. You giggled at his obvious nervousness, your lips pressing a kiss to his cheeks to quiet his stammering.

“Its fine, Shoto, I know you're a gentleman-,” you giggled, your hold on the boy becoming tighter as you soaked in his wonderful heat

“And Besides-your warmer when your flustered”

You snuggle yourself deeper into his shoulder, Shoto’s cheks tinged with a more intense red. You were so sweet and adorable in his eyes, his body loving every second of you touching his bare skin. Every caress felt like pure electricity was coursing through his veins, sending shivers down his back and head.

“Are you sure that wasn't a sneaky way to intensify my quirk y/n?” he asked cheekily, his voice having a hint of playfulness in it

Now it was your turn to blush, a small nervous giggle slipping out of your mouth

“Maybe…” you said, almost like a child who was caught doing something they weren't supposed to.

Shoto chuckled, his head turning to plant a quick kiss along your scalp.

God- you were too cute for your own good.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

(⚠️Mentions of panic attack!⚠️)

It was the dead of the night, an intense feeling of panic flooding the room.

You had just had a nightmare, the scene so real and intense that even when you woke up, you were sweating with uncontrollable fear.

Everything felt so small-the walls of the room were crushing your lungs, the sheets were tangling your legs together in a vise, the shadows felt like demons crawling to swallow you whole.

Shoto had thankfully woken up when you did, the sound of your muffled screams making him shoot up out of dead sleep.

But even with your protective boyfriend so close to you, reassuring you that you were okay and safe, you still felt like you were full of panic.

“Shoto-pls-I cant-cant-” you panted out, your voice cracking with anxiety. You couldn't get a breath of air it seemed like, as if your body was getting suffocated by your own mind.

Shoto was worried-he had never seen you so worked up, so terrified as if something was going to happen to you at any moment. He tried to comfort you, his hands gripping your shoulders in order to ground you, but it wasn't working- you were having an attack of some sort, your mind unable to bring you down from your panic.

“Y/n, you're fine, everythings fine-” he tried to reassure you soothingly, but it didn't work, your eyes still wide with terror.

“It doesn't feel fine!” you cried in panic, “ Everything is crazy, and heavy, I cant think straight Shoto I cant-”

Shoto felt his heart break hearing your voice- you almost sounded desperate, as if you were begging him to help you.

He cupped your face in his hands, his intense bi-colored eyes staring into you. Even in the dark, Shoto could see how shaken you were by your dream-your eyes were big and doe-like, shining as tears threaten to spill out. It made his heart ache, his mind determined to bring you down from your attack.

“-Give me your hands.” he commanded softly, his voice deep and silky. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, your breath still irregular and intense as you slowly gripped his wrists. Your digits were shaking as they wrapped around his skin, his hand quickly detaching from your face to entangle with your fingers.

“Just focus on my voice. Can you do that for me my love? Just focus on me-nothing else.”

You quickly close your eyes, trying to do exactly what your boyfriend instructed you to do.

“What does that feel like?”

A strong sensation of cold filled your hands, the icyiness nipping at your skin. It shocked you at first,the sting an unwelcome sensation. But then your skin slowly got used to the foreign touch, the dull pain bringing a starker clarity to your mind.

“It-its cold,” your words felt thick as they stumbled out of your mouth, each one a labor to process out of your cluttered mind. But it was slowly getting less foggy, the sensation gently swiping the panic away.

“What else?”

“Its smooth, like-like silk. And slippery,” your eyes were scrunched shut, desperately trying to form your words. It was still a struggle, but getting slightly easier to just focus on his touch.

“Good, you're doing wonderful-” Shoto congratulated, his tone having a hint of relief. He could already notice how you were affected by his ice, happy that it was helping you in some way. “how does it feel against your palms,”

“It kinda stings but...it's nice,”you smiled, the panic already ebbing out of you. Your breath was finally normal, your mind felt clear, and the panic inside you had deceased. “ It hurt at first but then its numbs so I can feel it.”

“Do you feel better? More grounded?” Shoto asked, his tone worried, but a part of him already knew the answer. The small, tired smile on your lips and your soft expression told him loud and clear you had finally calmed yourself from your panic.

You opened your eyes tentatively, a hum of acknowledgement ringing from your lips.

Shoto smiled at you, relief washing over his face. But he wanted you to completely rid yourself of the panic, worried that if you weren't calm enough, you’d fall asleep and wake again to another nightmare.

“Take a few deep breaths-it will reconnect you alot better.” he stated softly, watching you close your eyes again and slowly breath.

Inhale...exhale-repeat.

You did this three times, each one grounding you more and more. The room felt cool and spacious again, the sheets werent suffocating anymore, and you finally felt at peace with yourself once again.

A small blush of embarrassment began to creep on your cheeks, as the realization struck you that you had had a full blown panic in the middle of the night.

“Thank you… Im so sorry I freaked out so much-” you apologized, your face flustered from your actions.

Shoto only smiled, his other hand busy at work to slowly melt the ice on your palms.

“Y/n, dont apologize. That was your body’s reaction to stress, something you cant control. Just-if you ever feel like that again, please don't hesitate to get me.”

The ice was now a pool of water on the bed, the sheets sucking up the silky droplets .Shoto gave you a loving smile, his hand tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and leaning in to plant a gentle kiss against your forehead

“ I can help you,love-I just don't want you going through that alone,”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

You twisted on the sofa, your face smashed against a pillow as you tried to forget about the excruciating pain in your core.

“DAMN MY UTEREUS,” you yelled into the pillow in frustration, your words muffled against the fabric.

“Is everything alright y/n-san?” Shoto asked, his eyebrows cocked up in worry.

Shoto was fully aware that this week was your “period” week, the intense cravings and sudden moodiness days prior signalling the dreaded time. Shoto was pretty, well, clueless to the female system, only knowing the basics from school health classes. He had felt slightly nervous around you all week, tending to you as if you were sick and in need of his care.

Of course you had told him that all the attention wasn't necessary, you could survive on your own, but that didn't stop him from doing little things like buying you the food you were craving or a fresh set of feminine products. He wanted to prove to you and himself he could take care of you.

You groaned again, a wave of intense pain making you curl into yourself.

“No…” you grimaced, “ I feel like there’s a butcher hacking at my insides and this damn water bottle is doing nothing-”

Shoto cocked his head, looking up from the book he was reading.

“Water bottle?What is that used for?”

Sure enough, there you were, your hands placing a water bottle wrapped in a thin layer of paper towels against your lower back. Your hands were pushing against it, almost to get it as close to your skin as your face contorted with pain.

“Well...I kind lost my heat pad,” you explained,” so this is my next best solution to just heat this thing up-but its not doing anything-”

Shoto looked at you, his heart breaking at the look of utter discomfort on your face. You looked as though you couldn't take it anymore, your lips quivering and your eyes threatening to spill tears. It was absolutely painful for Shoto, and he felt like it was his duty to at least help alleviate the havoc going on inside your body.

He scooted his body next to yours, his eyes soft with concern. You noticed a dip in the couch as Shoto sat closer to you, the sensation of his hands wrapping around your waist making your eyes shoot open.

Before you could register what was going on, Shoto had expertly pulled your body into his lap, your breath knocked out of your chest and your heart thumping. The water bottle was long forgotten on the floor, your knees cradling Shoto’s sides as he looked at you with those intense, bi-colored eyes

“Can I see if I can be of any help?” he asked, his voice low

“Sure,” you gulped out, “ but I dont know if-uhuh-”

Shoto’s hands wrapped fury against your lower back, his palms radiating an intense heat you had been craving for . The heat was so soothing, something you had desperately needed, and you couldn't help but slump against the man in relief.

“Does that feel a little better, love?”

“God, so much better,” you exhaled out

This is what it felt like to be painless? You seriously loved you boyfriend… you reached around your back to place your hand on his own, guiding his delicious heat to the most critical areas

“Ah...can you do a little lower,,that's it, right there-”

You smiled in relief as you found the perfect spot, your arms wrapping around Shoto’s neck lovingly.

“Who knew you had so many talents Shoto? I have to keep a list of all the amazing uses for that quirk of yours-” you joked, your cheeks nuzzling itself into his neck.

“Also-Im just telling you right now that I wont be leaving your lap for the next few hours-”

Shoto smiled, his cheeks a warm shade of red. DId you always have to be this cute, nuzzling your head into him like a little kitten? He lifted his left hand up to your head, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Oh thats alright, love, that doesnt bother me one bit-”

You lifted your head up in shock, a surprised grin enveloping on your face.

“THE Shoto Todoroki? Being flirty? Never thought Id see the day-”

Shoto smiled at you, his bi-colored eye twinkling with adoration. You felt your heart skip a beat, that warm hand on your lower back intensifying as he planted a warm kiss to your cheek

“Only for you dear,”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

#bnha #bnha x reader #hannah fangirls #shoto x reader #bnha shoto x reader #mha shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #bnha todoroki x reader #mha todoroki x reader #shoto fluff #bnha fluff #bnha shoto fluff #mha shoto fluff #shoto

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peantutbutter · 3 years

Note

69. “We are not going to steal someone’s dog.” with Michael, Gavin and Jeremy please!

69. (nice) “We are not going to steal someone’s dog.”

Trigger Warning for brief mentions of animal abuse. Nothing is graphically explicit and everything turns out ok and the dog is rescued, but the thought of an injured animal is triggering or otherwise too emotionally distressing for you, go ahead and keep scrolling

The Mad Lad’s Animal Rescue Agency [ao3]

It’s odd.

As far as Michael knows, both Gavin and Jeremy are what he would consider cat people. Pets aren’t allowed in the penthouse, of course, but both get swept up in conversations about what they would name potential future cats, and both go out of their way to set out food and water for the strays of the city.

So when the two come to him cooing and gushing about a sweet looking pit bull they’ve met, Michael is a little astonished when they start telling him their plans for whisking her away in the dead of night.

“We’re not stealing someone’s dog,” he deadpans, and he can’t fucking believe that he has to say it.

“Awww, c’mon Michael, why not? Lookat her!” Gavin whines, shoving his phone in his face.

And, yeah, alright, she’s fucking cute — chocolate brown fur; a light pink tongue lolling out of her mouth; a tail that’s blurry because it’s wagging so fast; and large, shining brown eyes that are staring adoringly at Gavin in the selfie he’s taken — but Michael can’t just let his boys go off and steal a dog for no good reason. “Because it’ll shit all over the goddamn floor!” he argues. “Where are we gonna keep her, Gavin? We gonna make her ride an elevator every time she needs to take a piss?”

But the thing about Gavin is that once he gets something in his head, there’s really no stopping him. And with Jeremy involved, really, all Michael can do is hope to mitigate the inevitable collateral damage.

It’s ass o’clock in the morning when Michael pulls into what is possibly the most boring middle class neighborhood and parks across the street from a house that looks like the dozens of others surrounding it. He cuts the engine of their unmarked van and looks to Gavin and Jeremy making their last-minute preparations in the back. The entire vehicle smells like peanut butter and Gavin slaps Jeremy’s hand away from the bag of bacon he had fried up before leaving. “That’s not for you!” he hisses.

Jeremy pouts indignantly, but lets it be. They grab a pair of bolt cutters, while Gavin stuffs his pockets full of treats and clips various dog toys to his belt. A brightly colored rope dangles from his hips, and right beside it a squeaky chicken. He pauses for a minute, tennis ball in hand, and frowns thoughtfully, trying to figure out where to place it.

Ultimately, he sets it down, deciding that his skirt of toys is sufficient.

Jeremy pulls on a pair of gloves and grabs a leash dangling from a hook. They shoot Gavin an eager look, which he eagerly returns.

“You look like fucking idiots,” Michael says, because one: it’s true, and two: he apparently has a compulsive need to kill the mood if it’s stupid, like this one. Gavin and Jeremy just look at him, still smiling, mischief gleaming in their eyes. Michael rolls his eyes and waves his hand. “Go get the damn dog.”

The other two excitedly scramble out of the car and crouch-run their way across the street, like they’re on some sort of actual heist. Michael barely suppresses an eye roll. It’s not like the hazy moonlight or streetlamps are illuminating the street or anything. Idiots.

He watches them stealth their way to a chain-link fence. On the other side, Michael can make out what appears to be a ramshackle doghouse, and a tiny figure curled up just outside it. He can’t hear it, but he assumes Gavin whistles or does something to get the dog’s attention, because the figure’s head pops up and it pushes itself onto it’s legs.

Or at least it tries.

Jeremy is clipping away at the fence when Michael notices how the poor thing’s back paws are dragging uselessly along the ground. Her tail wags furiously as she crawls over to Gavin, but she isn’t moving very fast.

Oh. That’s why they’d been so adamant about doing this.

His knuckles turn white, and the steering wheel creaks under his grip. That familiar burn courses through his body, licking flames up and down his arms and legs. The vein in his jaw throbs, and he forces himself to take a deep breath. Going in and beating the owner senseless is tempting — “How does it feel, huh? How does it fucking feel? — but running in blindly, fists flying, would be reckless and stupid. And while he has his moments, tonight he’s the sensible one.

Or at least that’s what he tells himself. But when a light flicks on in the house while Jeremy is in the middle of unhooking the dog’s chain and latching their own, all of Michael’s self restraint leaves him. There’s a shadow moving throughout the house, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He pulls the baseball bat from the passenger footwell and tears out of the van.

Gavin exclaims loudly as Michael rips past.

“Get the dog outta here, I’ll cover you!” Michael yells, and his lifetime of hopping fences pays off as he effortlessly scales the wire structure. His feet land on the ground with a soft thump and gets into position on the other side of the sliding glass door. He chokes up on the bat, ready to swing.

Jeremy finally manages to slip the hook of their leash through the loop on the dog’s collar just as the door slides open. The man inside is screaming angrily, but Michael doesn’t hear what he’s saying. He’s more focused on how he’s going to make this dickbag scream for another reason.

The guy steps outside, not seeing Michael where he hides just behind him, and he reaches for something tucked in his waistband. The second Michael realizes it’s a gun, he pounces, striking the guy in the back of the knees and bringing the bat down on the guy’s back with a satisfying crack.

He fucking whales on the guy, letting all that righteous anger course through him. Each strike shakes his bones, and he’s pleasantly reminded why this is his primary weapon of choice. There’s something so deliciously personal about taking a guy apart with a big stick. He keeps swinging until he’s sure Gavin and Jeremy have pulled the poor pup to safety. The bastard is curled into the fetal position, and his gun, which Michael had kicked away, lay just out of reach.

The horn of the van blares — one of his lads letting him know they’re clear — and Michael brings the bat down for a final strike. It makes a wet crunch against the back of the guy’s head. He’s not one hundred percent sure whether the guy is unconscious or actually dead. He doesn’t particularly care. He’s got no love for people who beat their animals, and, frankly, he’s killed for less.

His arms burn, and as he wipes blood from his face, he realizes that the lights in the surrounding houses are flicking on. The sound of an approaching siren kicks him into gear. He scrambles over the fence — a feat more difficult now that his limbs feel gooey with exertion — and books it across the street.

The engine revs as Jeremy puts the key in the ignition. Sirens are growing closer, and tired civilians are emerging from their homes to see what the fuss is about. The doors to the back are wide open, and Gavin, gently cradling the dog, yells at him to “Hurry up!”

Michael flings himself into the back of the van, and Jeremy takes off like a bullet, tires squealing against the asphalt, leaving behind the scent of burned rubber.

They fly out of the neighborhood, and Jeremy takes a few random turns, shaking any potential pursuers off their trail. All the while, Gavin is cooing at the creature in his arms. “Who’s a good girl? Who’s a good Bella?” he asks. “Who doesn’t have to worry about that mean old man ever again? Yes, it’s you!”

He pets Bella until she calms down, mindful of her legs, which rest gingerly on the seat. Slowly, her eyes drift shut, and she falls asleep under his touch. He smiles softly, and Michael can’t help but do the same at the scene before him.

Then Gavin turns to look at him. “Thank you, Michael,” he murmurs, barely audible over the hum of the engine.

Michael shrugs. “Don’t understand why you didn’t tell me why you wanted to steal this guy’s dog in the first place.”

“Ah, well…” Gavin pauses for a moment, trying to figure out what he wants to say. “Lil J and I kind of figured you riding out your rage would be the best cover in case we got caught. And that’s something that only really happens in the moment. So we needed you going in blind.”

Michael stares blankly for a moment, blinking slowly, trying to understand the reasoning. “You didn’t tell me,” he says slowly, “because you wanted me to be pissed off enough to attack a guy in case he caught you.”

Gavin presses his lips together and nods. “Yeah.”

Michael scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You two are fucking ridiculous,” he says. Then his gaze travels towards the peacefully sleeping dog. “What are you going to do with her?”

Gavin shrugs. “Gonna get our medic to take a look at her and see what he can do. After that…I dunno, try to find a nice place for her to live. Fredo’s been saying he wants a dog, so maybe he’ll be willing to take care of her.”

“So you never planned on her living in the penthouse, did you?” Michael asks.

“Of course not, Michael boy,” Gavin answers easily. His eyes sparkle with humor. “We’re not gonna make her ride the elevator every time she needs to take a leak.”

#somegrumpynerd #fake ah crew #fahc #rexie writes #SEE i didn't forget about the prompts in my inbox!!!!#i just saved them for when i need to write without thinking about making /good/ fic #to just turn my brain off and write something

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soudam-appreciation · 4 years

Text

Study... date?

Gundam sighed, shrugging his overweight backpack over his shoulder. He had not planned for today to become a social one, though he supposed it was not quite unwelcome. The mortal known as Kazuichi, Tamer of Automatons, had requested his presence here, though for precisely what ritual, Gundam did not know.

Kazuichi leaned back in his chair and rested his legs atop of the table as he inhaled the overwhelming (and honestly, kinda gross) scent of old and new books as he waited for Gundam to hurry the fuck up and get to the library, because he really didn’t have all day.

He perked up, though, when he saw a small flash of purple and black move by one of the bookshelves he sat next to. Souda stood, waving his hands frantically in an attempt to catch the goth boy’s attention, not wanting to call out and cause more of a scene than the literal highlighter waving his hands sporadically like he was at a concert.

The neon blur tugged at Gundam’s peripheral, and he crossed his arms before him. Facing the boy, he began a usual greeting. “At last, you have been found. Do you not fear this meeting, Fool?” His voice boomed and echoed through the stacks, inciting an annoyed rustle and collective whisper.

Kazuichi’s eyes went wide as he started rapidly shushing him, because if him basically jumping up and down trying to get Gundam to notice him didn’t draw attention to the two, Gundam basically shouting definitely did. Speaking as softly as he could considering how badly his heart rate spiked, he tried to get him to quiet down.

“D-dude! Shut- shut the- Don’t! Stop fuckin’....fuckin’ screaming like that! Jesus! Shudda’...shut the- shut the fuck up! Shhh!”

Recollection of the location at hand hit Gundam with a hell-strength impact. Clearing his throat, he hurriedly glanced around, mumbling fractured apologies for his forgetfulness. If there was one thing that would make even the Dark Overlord himself bow, it would be intense embarrassment as a direct result of his own foolishness- not that he would even say such a thing. To allow enemies access to his weakness?! Preposterous. He whispered a short apology to Souda as well, for the mortal seemed far more distraught than he.

Souda groaned softly, rubbing his face with his hands for a few moments before bouncing back almost as fast, a lazy grin plastered across his face. That didn’t stop the drop of malice and embarrassment showing through in his cheerful voice as he pushed out a chair next to the one he was leaning on before to invite Gundam to sit with him.

There were a lot of books, papers, pens and one lone computer scattered across the table. Souda easily pushed these aside as he sat down to take a sip of his…something.

Gundam followed suit, dropping his bag on the floor beside him as he took his seat. He was not entirely sure what they were to do on this day, although crawling deep underground was an option he prayed upon. Unzipping his backpack as soundlessly as he could, he retrieved a notepad and slid a simple message to his companion.

What, pray tell, have you summoned me for?

Kazuichi read it over before snatching the notepad from Gundam’s hand, as well as the fancy pen he had (despite there being many writing utensils of his own he could’ve used, he honestly just wanted to be a bit of a dick to his past rival). He scrawled something quickly on it and slid it back nervously, despite there being no teachers nor rules against slipping each other notes.

ok, well, i asked u 2 come here bc i am fucking failing math and biology and there r these 2 tests cming up i need u 2 help me study for. i thought u’d know a lot abt biology and u seem smart ig so-

He ripped another blank note out to write on more.

-so i thought u could help with, math too. hinata won’t help me he’s mad i spilt monster on his laptop still even though that was a whole day ago :(

The writing was barely legible and Kazuichi seemed to shorten words as best as he could, since he also wrote very large on the small sheet of paper. He slid the second note to Tanaka for him to read.

Squinting, Gundam managed to make out Souda’s print. He sighed, briefly wondering how incompetent Souda actually was, and where to even begin studying. Retrieving his pen, albeit a bit forcefully, he turned to a new page and began his transmission.

Where should we begin? Is there a specific field in which you have little expertise?

As Souda read over the note in the pretty cursive handwriting, he let out a small giggle. He couldn’t help it, reading Gundam’s dumbass Overlord-victorian speak was somehow funnier than hearing it out loud. Snatching the pen and paper back, he started writing.

uh um well i never ever got algebra the little letters always confused me and in biology kind of everything. man i’m not good with that kinda shit like u i’ve seen ur grades you don’t know how 2 whisper when ur flaunting them to sonia lol

Gundham’s ears got hot, and he fidgeted with the end of his scarf. Grabbing his pen, he scribbled out, I do no such thing. I simply share because I am asked, that should be a simple concept to grasp. His scrawl was messier, his haste blurring his senses. Deep breaths stilled his hostility, and he turned to a new page.

So shall we begin with variables, then? You may need to work exceptionally hard to recall these, as no doubt it will be of importance.

Once again, Kazuichi laughed as he watched Gundam get a little pissed at the Sonia comment. Even when they were slowly getting closer, messing with the guy still yielded hilarious results.

come on man!!!! why r u getting so pissy i’m just teasing u. u know i know that u know we aren’t rivals anymore so calm down!!!!! >:3

anyways uhh ya sure we can start w, variables ig. i don’t remember a lot of this stupid ass math lingo so ur gonna need to remind me some of it.

Variables are those “little letters” you spoke of. If something I mention confuses you, alert me at once.

Gundam chose to ignore all of Souda’s previous statement, focusing instead on the task at hand. There did not seem a logical reason to become so frustrated when Souda spoke of her. So why did it ignite a hellfire in his chest?

He shook off the thought, selecting a standard textbook from his oversized backpack and placing it on the table with a thunk. Opening to a page about Variables, the most annoying of unknowns, he slid the book across for Souda’s viewing ease.

We should begin here, page 28. Do you have a journal for notes?

yeah that’s fine also do u mind me keeping our notes or atleast yours please plz plsssss

Sure enough, the smaller boy was already making a pile of the discarded notes they had forgotten about. Mostly Gundams. It was the only neat thing on the table thus far.

Sighing again, Gundam ceded. He had no use for them, anyway. It caught his attention as slightly strange, but he chose to pay it no mind. Scratching out what information he could on such a small surface, he quickly realized that simply would not work. He slid a mostly-empty notebook from his bag and selected a blank page to share with Souda. It wasn’t as if he really needed the pages in this notebook either, so he added a small note at the top offering the torn-out pages for outside studying.

Souda took the page and studied it, before brightly grinning up at Gundam and quickly nodding. This was fancy shit, definitely not something extremely expensive (he knew Gundam definitely wouldn’t dare share that kind of paper, seeing the small slightly-faded stains of car oil on his hands that he just couldn’t scrub out) but Souda probably wouldn’t be buying these things, especially for every class, without at least a week of ramen dinners to make up for the waste of money working at his Dads mechanic shop.

Souda suddenly realized that ‘fancy shit’ to a slightly broke kid like him was definitely not ‘fancy shit’ to Gundam “I don’t know how to dress casually Ever” Tanaka.

Gundam continued to script line after line, attempting to explain these subjects in terms Souda would understand. The look in Souda’s eyes gnawed at him, such excitement on display over some math notes. He wasn’t certain what rubbed him wrong about it, so he brushed it aside. Reaching the bottom of the page, he printed a small question.

Do you still understand thus far?

Souda finally grabbed one of his own pens that lay discarded on the table instead of stealing Gundams.

yeah i get it u explain it a lot better than the teachers or chiaki despite ur little demon talk r whatever lol. chiaki use to help me like all the time but she kept falling asleep on me we never got anything done

Reading Souda’s message tempted laughter, and Gundam bit his cheek to silence it. Nodding sagely, he scrawled, As likely as you are to bend truths pertaining to women, this account does seem trustworthy. He knew just as well as anyone how exhausted Chiaki constantly seemed.

Tugging the newly completed page from its binds, Gundam offered it to Souda as well.

Souda looked almost offended by the note (he still took it, because of course he did) and hastily scribbled another and shoved it in Gundams chest with a grin.

WOW DICK i’m not gonna go after every girl that falls asleep on me!!! sonia hasn’t fallen asleep on me yet and you know!!!!! >:((((((

Gundam stiffened, bandaged hand safely out of sight under the table. If it had been visible, Souda would have a clear view of numb fingers folding against his palm before stretching into claws, over and over. Another deep breath was necessitated by his pounding heart, and he stilled his mind. There was no reason for this feeling. What possible purpose could this rush of adrenaline serve? Certainly nothing pertaining to math. He cleared his throat again, which ended up sounding a bit more like a growl, and took up his pen.

You say “yet”, as if there is even the slightest chance of such an occurrence in the future. This, I do know. A smug smirk crossed his face, daring to settle on his lips.

Souda pouted as he read the note, a somehow adorable sight as he quickly snagged Gundams pen again (once again ignoring his own) and scrawled something on a new note and shoved it back to him.

nuh-uh! u don’t know shit. unless u can see the future!!! tell me tell me tell me. maybe ur freaky demon shit is real after all ANYWAYS do i end up w miss sonia plz please tell me??!?? :3

Gundam tasted blood as he bit his lip hard. Why was Souda so insistent on her? No, he knew why. She was aesthetically pleasing to someone like him. This was not new information, but it still irked Gundam like hell. He pursed his lips. The last thing he was going to do was tell Souda his pathetic simpering dreams would come true in the end. Or perhaps, the last thing he wanted would be to admit to Souda that he cannot truly see the future? Grumbling, he snatched his pen back and tapped it against his knuckles. Neither option was preferred, though one was a clear admission of weakness…

He settled on a third choice. Of course not. I know precisely who you shall fall for in the end, although I cannot tell you. That is the Law of Causality.

actually it’s the law of cASSuaslity because ur an asshole who the fuck cares why can’t u just tell me!!! if i don’t get with miss sonia or whatever u say i don’t even know if i completely believe ur bonkers shit why can’t u just tell me their name or anything i just!!! want a hint. please

Kazuichi’s handwriting grew sloppier as he grew more desperate. Why the fuck was Gundam hiding it? It’s not like he’s gonna get suspended for some random ‘law’ or whatever he probably made up. He didn’t even know what the word Causality meant but it sounded exactly like a freaky word Gundam would say.

All I may tell you is that… Gundam paused, wiggling his pen between thumb and forefinger to come up with an excuse. …you have likely already made their acquaintance. All trace of smugness had dropped from his features, now replaced with stale indifference. He locked his worry deep in his chest, buried it. The last thing he needed was Souda to call him out on such a ridiculously big lie.

Souda didn’t know why, but he grinned at that. He grinned at a lot of dumb shit, and Gundam telling him some vague dumbass answer like that was apparently dumb enough to get on his list of Dumb Shit That Made Him Grin. He flicked Gundams note into his ever growing pile and chugged the rest of his drink, his eyes blown wide with the sudden rush of, apparently, sugar. He tapped the textbook again, trying to remind them both to stay on task. His hands were starting to shake too much from the sugar high to make writing any good.

Gundam nodded. They needed to focus on the task at hand.. Which was math. Boring math. Another sigh settled in his chest, and he thought fleetingly on how he would much rather talk about silly magic business. Shaking dramatically dual-toned hair from his eyes, he set to scribbling some more numbers. Stupid, boring numbers.

Kazuichi watched with interest as Gundam quickly drew out complex strings of numbers and occasional letters. However, his mind quickly drifted as well as his eyes. Higher and higher until he was watching Gundam’s facial expressions shift as he tried to help Souda. How he bit his lip as he hesitated before continuing to keep writing, how his eyes narrowed, Souda half-mindedly thought of how pretty Tanaka’s eyes were, he could get lost in them if he really wanted to, and he did. So he simply tuned out the sound of pen against pencil, rustling of paper and the occasional whisper between others in the library and just stared into his eyes.

Sliding another page across the table, Gundam glanced up at Souda’s face, before they quickly flicked away. On the quickly growing list of things he did Not Want to happen today, was for Souda to catch him staring. Or- he paused. To catch… Souda staring? He didn’t want to look again, even if he was right, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as if he could feel Souda’s gaze. Ears growing red, he scripted a small note back, faltering slightly as nerves made his fingers stiff.

Do you still understand well enough?

Kazuichi’s gaze didn’t move until he finally noticed Gundam actually wrote words down. He did a double take back at his face before he picked up his pen, his cheeks heating up. Shit, did Gundam catch him looking? His hands trembled slightly from the sugar and caffeine as he scribbled on the paper.

yeah i understand completely ur a good teacher i already said that didn’t i sorry

He slid the note over, now doing his best to keep his eyes on the table and not on Gundam.

Do not fret, I am pleased you understand.

Clearing his throat as quietly as he could, he returned to numbers. Gundam really tried to focus, he did. But he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering… Muscle memory served him well, and he continued to write, but his mind’s eye strayed from questioning Souda’s gaze, to wondering why keeping their notes tidy was so important, to the way Souda tapped his fingers on the desk ever so slightly, the sugar and caffeine running rampant through his veins. It soon became impossible to focus, and he started mixing up numbers and crossing them out. He shook his head, hard, mumbling apologies for scrambling up his figures.

Kazuichi easily picked up Gundams distraction and yanked an empty note from him to write on.

do u wanna stop for today

He slid it over, giving Gundam a small smile as he did. He wasn’t unfamiliar with his brain getting jumbled and melting into mush and before he knew it, the day was over and he hadn’t got shit done. So he didn’t mind giving up for today, starting again tomorrow or next week. He just liked being with Gundam, kinda. As weird as that was.

Gundam nodded.

My sincerest apologies, I seem to have lost my senses…

What the hell had gotten into him? This was highly unusual for him. Gundam mumbled another quiet sorry, sliding the incomplete and jumbled page across to Kazuichi just in case he needed it anyway.

Souda tidied everything up on the desk, sliding his books, computer and the notes into his black backpack. As he stood, he bounced on his heels, the caffeine suddenly taking full effect as he finally got out of the chair and could move around to his heart's desire. He slid his backpack over one of his shoulders and didn’t hesitate to start playing with one of the enamel pins of a vocaloid character that hung from the zipper, needing something to occupy his hands with.

Gundam stood as well, fumbling as he slipped the last notebook into his bag. Offering a hand, he gestured towards the door. He whispered, “Shall we meet again tomorrow, then? I swear I shall do better at my job.”

Kazuichi laughed softly at that, nodding. His hands fiddled with his jumpsuit pockets as he made his way over to Tanaka, a small bounce in his step. He would definitely blame that and what he did next on the overload of caffeine in his system the next day. He put his hands on Gundams shoulders, slightly dragging him down as he stood on his tippy-toes, kissing him sweetly on the lips before he was already skipping towards the door, waving him bye as he exited, most likely to his dorm on campus.

Blood froze in his veins. Gundam’s heart pounded, throbbing in his ears. His face was beyond red, and his stiffened fingers twitched in surprise. Mouth opening and closing like a fish, he could not even will his feet to carry him after the boy. What… What just… happened? His mind felt as slow and sluggish as if it was buffering through a torrented movie file.

Finally gathering enough control of his own limbs, he pulled himself through the door. He wanted desperately to give chase, to pull Souda into his arms and kiss him back, but he knew there was no possible way he would keep his courage. So he settled, simply deciding upon returning to his own abode. He would have to speak to Souda at their meeting tomorrow. Just thinking about it gave him… butterflies? Oh dear, what an unpleasant sensation.

. . .

Thank you @kazudam for writing with me! This was so much fun, and something I’ve always wanted to do :’)

#gundham tanaka #kazuichi souda #kazuichi x gundham #gundham x kazuichi #soudam #daily soudam #kazudam as souda #intentional-moss as gundham #mod 🌱

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plantvenuss · 4 years

Text

May the best man win | Mandalorian x black! reader

Summary: You and the Mandalorian have had extremely suffocating tensions for months that only seemed to be brewing past boiling point. With the both of you competing for best bounty hunter what will the Mandalorian do when he finds out that you’ve gotten his catch before he did?

WARNINGS: VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF BLOOD, MENTIONS OF ASSAULT AND MENTIONS OF SHOOTING.

“Grab her.” A tall man with dark blue slick back hair grimaced, as the girl he had targeted moments prior squirmed against the grip of his friend who had ripped her from her seat at the booth.

You watched as his muscles rubbed against the material of his clothes, you studied him carefully, making sure that he did not sense your darting eyes from the booth right across from the helpless woman's.

Two blasters and a hidden pocket knife in the pocket of his leather jacket. His boots were pointy and black and his trousers were rough and tight, you sat up straighter when his red eyes looked around to see if anyone else would try to challenge him, you wanted him to see you- you needed him to see you if you wanted this to work.

His bright red eyes caught yours as you slammed your empty shot glass against the wooden table, the sound echoed throughout the rest of the bar and people in other booths peeped out of their hidden corners to see what had happened, you kept your eyes trained on him, however. You needed to predict his next movements.

“and what are you lookin’ at?” he asked raising his chin to the challenge.

He strode over to your booth before shooting his friend who was still at the entrance a jokey expression, you slipped your eyes away from him, reaching over the table to grab another shot. He smiled lazily, thinking he had won this little game you were playing, his teeth were a dark yellow and the edges of his teeth were razor sharp- if you weren’t so confident that you’d catch this slug, you’d cringe at the sight of his confidence.

He grabbed your wrist, confidence still wrapping itself all around him. In a moment your eyes were back on him and your free hand hand grabbed the one that latched itself onto your wrist, tugged him forward and his grip loosened completely, setting your wrist free.

With your free’d hand, you reached up and grabbed a fistful of his dark blue hair and slammed his head against the wooden table. The table chipped under the forceful impact and the man fell backwards, blood spilling against the floor as he backed as far away from you as he could.

You took out your two blasters and pointed the both of them at his friend who was still at the entrance with the girl, trembling at the sight of what you had done.

You motioned toward the door with your blaster, and then back to him. He swallowed and sprinted out of the door when you nodded. The girl with wobbly legs sat in the booth and tried to calm herself down, thanking you with her eyes

You snatched the last shot from the tray and downed it, the strong liquid burned furiously against your throat and you had to clear it to subside the pain. You scattered enough credits on the table and made a move towards the exit, making sure to drag the unconscious man by the hem of his leather jacket.

When you had made it less than two steps out of the bar, a blaster clicked beside your head and you sighed at the familiarity of the presence behind it.

“Not so fast, [Y/N].” He said, his voice crisp and clear from behind his helmet, you felt tempted to move your head to look at him, but by the tone of his voice you could tell that he was already agitated and far from wanting to play this game that the two of you had been playing for the past few months.

“you just never give up, do you?” You asked, pressing your own gun that you had drawn against the amour that covered his stomach.

All you needed to do now was get to your ship and you’d be free.

With one uneasy glance toward your ship you could see that it was less than twenty feet away, It sat glistening in the hot sun of Tatooine, waiting patiently to be whirred once life again.

He remained silent, pressing the blaster deeper into your temple. You rolled your eyes at his pathetic attempt to bestow fear on you, you would’ve thought he knew better by now.

Much to his surprise you tucked your blaster away and continued to walk forward, uninterested in wasting anymore time with him, you needed to exchange this person for credits before he could take him from you, again.

“He’s mine.” You called out behind your shoulder as you continued to walk to your ship, you were much closer to the ship now but the feeling that grew in your stomach the closer you were getting toward it made you feel extremely unsettled.

You opened the latch to your ship and hid the man where you were sure he couldn’t see him, you could feel that he was hot on your tail so you got off the ship and stood in his way before he could take him away from you.

“That’s my catch and I’m not playing games, today.”

You were punching in the code to securely shut the latch so it would be harder for him to get on the actual ship, when you caught sight of something shiny against the leg of your ship, you smiled to yourself before standing face-to-helmet with him, your arms crossed.

“Well, then today’s your lucky day because I’m not playing any games either, Din.” You said very matter of factly, drawing out your blaster and shooting at the space just below the tip of his toes.

Caught by surprise he jumped back, quickly pulling out his own blaster and wasting no time to shoot you.

The sound of both your blasters firing off filled the market and people around you scattered hurriedly to escape the chaos. Jumping on board as your ship lifted on its own you sat dangerously close to the edge of the opening of your ship and continued to fire at him as you watched his figure reduce to a small dot. His shot pierced the side of your ship and air hissed out the exposed opening of metal. You shot the shiny latch that was on the leg of your ship and watched as it fell on the ground beside his own ship which was now ascending to ride right beside yours.

You scrambled to get to the cockpit, once you did you prepared to jump to light speed when your radio started buzzing.

“..[Y/N],” He said firmly, you pressed your lips together and fumbled with the radio before answering him.

“You’re causing a scene, did you know that?” you asked as a form of distraction, you fiddled with the controls preparing to jump to light speed, when his ship collided with yours with such force that you found yourself spiraling out of control.

You had lost complete dominance over your grip of the ship that you were sure that you were done for, sounds were blaring, things were hissing and the sound of metal was popping furiously from outside your ship.

He was firing at you.

When you had gained control of your ship, you had found that your ship was directly positioned above Din’s ship, if not a few centimetres from it. If you were to jump to light speed now his ship could crush under the force of the jump or explode to pieces, but after the damage he had done to your ship you could care less.

That and you knew he'd make it either way, because he always did.

So you pushed forward and jumped. It went as quick as it came and you waited to hear something from the other side of the buzzing radio. A static buzz filled the air as your fingers clenched and un clenched.

“I’ll find you, [Y/N],” He finally said, and you let out a sigh of relief, you sped to your destination with firm smile at his promise.

“Yeah, you work on that while i exchange my catch for credits.” you hummed shutting off the radio.

When you were less than a mile away from your dropping point you felt a whiz that brushed your ship to the side, you smiled knowingly and looked out the side of your window to see Din gliding right beside you and staring at you from behind his mask.

“May the best man win.”

#the mandalorian #mando x you #x black reader #x black!reader #mandalorian x reader #star wars #black reader x mandalorian #pedro pascal x black reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #star wars x reader

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merryfortune · 3 years

Text

Saving the Best for Last

Relationship: Asuka/Manatsu

Fandom: Tropical Rouge Pretty Cure

Word Count: 2.1k

Tags: Canon Compliant, Missing Scene Fic, Fluff, Pre-Slash, Pining, Coda

Synopsis: Manatsu wants to thank Asuka for inspiring her to try something new with her eating habits.

Manatsu could almost feel her reflexes fighting against her as she moved her chopsticks towards the simmered pumpkins that she had prepared over her usual selection of eating her favourite meat patty first. It was so incredibly tempted to switch back to her normal habits but Manatsu was strong and it was totally worth it. Both for Asuka’s sake, of trying something new, but also for the sake of her mother found it amusing but welcome to see Manatsu change things up.

Her mother delighted to enjoy the simmered pumpkins between them both first. She beamed as she enjoyed them; they were a little wonky regarding flavour and texture but as Manatsu’s mother, Aoi couldn’t have been prouder that her daughter wanted to take up more responsibility around the house and was even taking so much initiative. It made her heart swell and so, she happily ate the simmered pumpkin. Seeing how much hard work Manatsu had put into making it all made it all the tastier.

Very quietly, to herself, Manatsu was aware of the flaws in what she had prepared for herself and her mother, but she ate eagerly regardless. It mightn’t have been her mother’s cooking, but it was her own and she was proud of that. Not to mention, when she had finally eaten through all her side dishes – the cherry tomatoes and the broccoli and even the omelette – the hamburger patty really did taste fantastic at the end of it.

Manatsu couldn’t believe it. Asuka’s advice was unreal. Maybe patience really was a virtue after all. She had been a little bit worried that her meat patty might have cooled down too much but she guess that wasn’t really a problem given how she had devoured her side dishes in preparation of her main course. And it really was worth it. It was a little bit burnt on the underside but Manatsu ate it enthusiastically, nonetheless. It was super tasty with all the other merged flavours of the previous side dishes on her palette.

She just had to thank Asuka later. Her smile permeated the whole of her demeanour as she swallowed down her meat patty.

“You look happy with yourself.” her mother chipperly piped up – and interrupting her reveries.

Manatsu’s eyes went wide and she could have choked on her own spit. She could feel the warm blush in her cheeks and now her ears and it was just getting worse as she realised, she was daydreaming about her friend before her mother had spoken. Aoi, however, only laughed.

“Nothing wrong with enjoying your own food, it’s a good skill to have, believe it or not. Especially when you’re just starting out and experimenting, you don’t want to waste food after all.�� Her mother made blithe conversation.

Manatsu giggled awkwardly, pinching tightly onto her chopsticks and tried desperately hard not to think about the fact that she had been thinking about Asuka. She very much wanted to believe the hot blush she felt was because she had been interrupted daydreaming and nothing else. And its not like it was a weird daydream or anything.

She was just thinking about Asuka. Asuka and her pretty, shiny, long, red hair. And her pretty purple eyes which were always so sharp and intense. It was intruging. But enough of that. What Manatsu was really thinking about – and definitely not Asuka’s nimble hands or her tall, fit physique – was that she wanted to practice saying thank you to her very friend. It was kind of important, after all as Manatsu wasn’t exactly the most patient person in the world so Asuka being that anchor of serenity meant a lot to her. She hadn’t enjoyed a meal like this in so long and being so busy, especially with her own family, which was so much bigger than Manatsu’s, she just had to say thank you.

“Thanks for dinner, dear,” her mother said to her – Manatsu blinked, when had her mother cleared the table like that?! – having finished her plates, “I’ll wash up, if you like, it’s only fair.”

“N-No way!” Manatsu rebuked her, rocketing to her feet, making the dinner table tremble and rock in her wake. “You clean up all the time after all the tropica-shining dinners that you make so its only fair that I clean up after tonight!”

Her mother blinked. She hadn’t expected being roared at but given that Manatsu was offering to do chores, she didn’t mind too much. She laughed and let Manatsu go about to the kitchen to do the clean-up.

Manatsu grabbed all the crockery and cutlery off the table to all but immediately dump it in the sink. She all but ripped the faucet out as she tried to turn it on and was incredibly aggressive as she scrubbed them down with hot, soapy water. But at least the job got done quickly and more surprisingly, thoroughly. Her mother was very impressed to see the various plates sparkle once Manatsu was done with them.

“Good job.” she praised her.

Manatsu sighed. She drooped with exhaustion. “Thanks, Mum.”

“Off to bed now, I take it?” she asked.

Manatsu nodded.

She had wanted to do more but scrub the dishes clean, she wanted to scrub her mind of all her over-thinking. It was totally unlike her, but it was really frazzling her. It was bizarre just how thinking about and daydreaming about thanking Asuka for something so cosmically insignificant in the grand scheme of things was doing this to her. So, just as exuberantly as she had marched to the kitchen, Manatsu marched to her room to go to bed.

Even Laura found it strange.

Manatsu tore off her evening clothes and got into her pyjamas, trying to force her head through her sleeve before realising that she had it around the wrong way – and also inside out.

Laura sighed. Humans were a different species to mermaids, and she found them rather incomprehensible and then there was Manatsu. Manatsu, Laura was fairly certain, was another species against compared to the other humans that she had since had the mixed pleasure of observing since emerging from the depths of the ocean in search of the Pretty Cure.

So, rather than flopping out of the Mermaid Aqua Pot to have some quality time with Manatsu who had finally, blessedly, figured out that her head was not supposed to be going into the sleeve of her sleep shirt, Laura settled back down into her own, clam shell-like bed with Kururun who yammered aloud with happy snoring. Laura felt the same. It had been a long day filled with good food and there was nothing better than going to sleep after a day like that.

Even Manatsu, for all her vigour and boundless enthusiasm, had to agree.

Though, she did wrestle with her sheets and her pillow a lot that night as she tried her very best not to think about how she was over thinking something as simple as wanting to say thank you to Asuka.

To no surprise at all, Manatsu woke up the following morning looking like a visible wreck. She had bags under eyes and the usual pep to her step wasn’t quite there. Fortunately, unlike most people who had had a horrid sleep the night before, Manatsu had the advantage of being Manatsu and by the time she had her breakfast, drunk some water, and brushed her teeth, she had more than perked up.

With little resistance, Manatsu was ready for school so she grabbed the Mermaid Aqua Pot from atop her desk and bolted out the door thereafter. She heard Laura shrieking in protest of being manhandled so carelessly Manatsu hardly cared. It was far too important that she arrived at school early so that she could catch Asuka before classes.

With the Mermaid Aqua Pot stuffed in her schoolbag, Manatsu came flying past the school gates and in the blur of the wind and the scenery, she caught a glimpse of red. Shiny, sparkling red. And her heart leapt to her throat. Asuka.

Manatsu smiled a wriggling smile as she cooled off her hot heels. She swerved hard at the tip of how straightforward careening through the quadrangle so she could catch up to Asuka who was still standing by the gates, looking bewildered and gobdmacked at the tornado that had just past her by.

Manatsu smiled wonkily as she ignored Laura’s complaints about her royal chariot was treating her this morning as she approached Asuka. Stiff-legged and eyes wide.

“Okay…. Someone’s acting a little strange this morning,” Asuka said in lieu of a greeting.

Manatsu laughed, straightening up her back and toying with her hair, all shoddily putt up in her usual ponytail but there was bubbles and streaks amid it. “Good morning, Asuka.” Her tone was dragged on.

“Good morning to you to, Manatsu,” Asuka replied, and she folded her arms, her brow quirked, “I have a feeling you want something from me? Something that can’t wait until club activities, it seems.”

“Yep!” Manatsu chirped. “I, er, wanted to say thank you. For yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah, no worries.” Asuka said and she flashed a simmering smile. “I had fun too, teaching everyone to cook.”

“Oh! Um, not that specifically but thank you again for doing it.” Manatsu said. “I tried it last night. Saving the best ‘til last, that is. And it was super-duper delicious. More delicious than usual. Thank you.”

Asuka’s eyelashes fluttered as she was thanked for such an unusual but small thing. She smiled shyly.

“Thanks, Manatsu, and, um, funnily enough…” Her voice trailed off, so she had to clear her throat. “I tried your style of eating last night too.” She confessed quietly.

“No… way…” Manatsu gasped.

“Yes, way.” Asuka laughed awkwardly. “And it turns out, I do prefer my style of eating my favourite things last but its really cute how you put your passions first rather than making them last. I feel like I understand you a bit better now.”

Manatsu blinked. “Really?”

“Really.” Asuka smiled.

“Thanks…” Manatsu smiled too. A big and huge smile that made her eyes truly shine – and that almost detracted from the fact that her cheeks had gone a bit red too.

“Anyways, I was going to help out with the soccer club this morning, they wanted an extra hand to re-pump up some balls and, well, I couldn’t say no for some reason so if you would excuse me but you did catch me at a good time.” Asuka said.

“Yeah, sure go ahead.” Manatsu replied.

Asuka’s arms slipped down from in front of her, she put one hand on her hip and said, “See you later at club activities. I’m looking forward to them more and more.”

“Me too.” Manatsu agreed eagerly. “See you later.”

Asuka smiled and she nodded her head. She sashayed off and Manatsu watched. She felt her heart throb in her chest and was becoming all too aware of just how red her face was getting. Almost as red as Asuka’s hair, she would reckon.

Sighing, Laura poked her head of both Manatsu’s pocket and the dimensional window of the Mermaid Aqua Pot, “You are behaving rather irregularly this morning, Manatsu, just what has…?” Laura’s voice trailed off as she took note of Manatsu’s demeanour. She nodded her head sagely. “Oh, I see now. Someone’s been pinched by the crab.”

“Huh? What crab?” Manatsu asked, all but jumping out of her skin. She didn’t feel pinched by a crab.

Laura just laughed knowingly. “You know… the crab. The one that makes people behave irregularly, even people like you, Manatsu.”

“I don’t get it.” Manatsu whined.

“In due time,” Laura said, “now don’t you have a classroom to get to? Perhaps some homework to do, I don’t recall you doing any last night and didn’t you mention, the day before, there would be a pop quiz today?”

From one extreme – tomato red – to another – white as a piece of paper – Manatsu’s face changed. She had totally forgotten about that pop quiz; she was originally planning to study last night but then things changed because of the Yarane-da and, of course, because she couldn’t stop thinking about Asuka. Manatsu groaned and felt all her energy deflate.

“Let’s go to the library and study there, yeah?” Manatsu suggested.

“It’s your test, not mine.” Laura pointed out before disappearing back into the depths of her mobile home.

Manatsu then wandered off, just hoping she wouldn’t fail if she threw everything that she could at that test but it sure was weird these past couple days. She was happy too though. She had tried Asuka’s way of eating and apparently Asuka had tried her way, even if it did fail her a bit. It still got her heart racing, perking her up even on the brink of scholastic disaster.

She still didn’t get what Laura meant by being pinched as Manatsu most definitely did not feel pinched. Even in a pinch like this one.

#femslash #tropical rouge pretty cure #precure #tropical rouge #cure summer #cure flamingo #asuka x manatsu #manatsu x asuka #manatsu natsumi #natsumi manatsu #asuka takizawa #takizawa asuka #writing tag #saving the best for last

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lovingmyselfcore · 3 years

Text

this is me trying in 3 acts

This is the longest fic I’ve ever written and published! This has been huge in my brain and now that it’s done I’m really proud of it :)

Act 1 is Asterin after her baby. Act 2 is Morrigan in Hewn City. Act 3 is both in mismatched scenes as they heal etc.

And shoutout to @the-love-yourself-journal who I very randomly updated on wordcounts and everything when I’ve been writing this

Act I; Asterin Blackbeak

I've been having a hard time adjusting

I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting

"You slept with a human man, you whore," She spat, "And you couldn't even give birth correctly."

"What?" The world around Asterin was hazy, and all she could feel was the relief of having her child out of her, but also fear for that same reason.

"You are pathetic,"

"What happened to my baby?"

"He was dead once he was born." A small witch Asterin didn't know murmured to her. Asterin felt her heart shatter.

"No, no, it cannot be true," She could barely get her words out, she choked over her sobs and words, like the pieces of her heart had lodged in her lungs.

If it was even possible, the world went even darker and hazier.

All she remembered after that was the smell of burning flesh and the Matron Blackbeak spitting insults at her, "Whore, filthy, broken, worthless,

Unclean.”

I didn't know if you'd care if I came back

I have a lot of regrets about that

"Asterin," Manon was staring at her with narrowed eyes. "Where did your mind go? I need you sharp."

Asterin apologized, trying her hardest to act like nothing was wrong. They all fell for it, and in a way, she hated them for it. She wanted to scream.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The Thirteen were camped out in a mountain on a mission from Manon's grandmother. They had to rise before dawn, so the other witches had retired early. Asterin, however, laid awake, thoughts and nightmares plaguing all her attempts at rest.

Nobody knew.

Nobody knew but Asterin and the Matron. Since what happened that witch that had broken the news was nowhere to be found. The Matron had probably disposed of the loose end.

Asterin pushed herself into an upright sitting position, looking around at the other witches, all asleep.

She had to be careful, they were trained to wake at a disturbance that could be antagonistic, so she had to maneuver carefully, taking her broom with her.

Pulled the car off the road to the lookout

Could've followed my fears all the way down

She wasn't sure how long she flew, but it wasn't very long.

She tossed her broom to the side and jogged up to the cliffside, falling to her knees.

Only a single tear escaped.

She looked over the side. It was quite a distance, meaning if she fell, it would likely be the end for Asterin Blackbeak.

At the bottom, she saw a figure walk out of the woods. Her shoulders tightened until she saw her hunter walking towards her cliff. He cradled a child carefully in his arms. They stopped directly under her. She couldn't hear him, but somehow she knew what he was saying.

"Come on, please. We miss you. We need you."

She leaned over the edge even farther, but she paused.

"Asterin!" She turned to find the source of the yell and saw Manon pushing her way through the crowd. Manon threw her arms around Asterin and buried her face in her neck. "Your grandmother?" Asterin asked softly, patting her cousin's back.

She felt Manon nod and led the girl into a sitting position on the floor.

She sniffed, smelling alcohol.

"So that's why you're being so physically affectionate," Asterin mumbled to herself, running her hands through Manon's hair.

When Manon's breathing deepened, Asterin lifted her into a nearby cot, knowing that Manon would tell her what happened with her grandmother if she wanted to.

~~~

“Hey, Asterin,” Faline and Fallon were both grinning at her, teeth sharp. Asterin was immediately on edge. The Demon Twins never smiled unless they were about to cause extreme bloodshed.

“Yes?” She asked carefully, never taking her eyes off of them. She had no idea what they were doing and what they had planned.

“Come with us,” Faline said, her voice like a silk noose.

“Why?”

“We noticed you’ve been off lately,” Fallon said, resting her hands on her hips where she knew knives were concealed.

“Have some fun with us!” Faline was at her shoulder now, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

Fallon was at her other shoulder, “We’re going to take our brooms and some knives,” She produced one, twirling it expertly in her hands before flipping it, handing it hilt-first to Asterin.

“And attack some people!” Faline finished with what sounded like a disturbing giggle.

Asterin took the knife warily and took a deep breath looking at both of them.

This was what they knew, she realized, they didn’t know what was wrong but

this was their way to fix it and she felt a piece of her heart warm.

“Why not?” Asterin conceded.

The twins had glee in their eyes that Asterin knew would never come out in any form of honest laughter, but she was okay with that. She loved these demonic weirdos.

~~~~~~~~~

Ghislaine was sitting in a small corner of the room. The fireplace was crackling next to her and she sat on the floor like it was a throne. Her back was straight, her feet tucked under her as she balanced a book precariously on her lap while she took a sip from a mug.

“Is that tea?” Asterin asked, knowing full well it wasn’t.

Ghislaine just grinned, her lips too red to be simple paint.

“Who’s?” She asked, keeping an eye on Ghislaine’s book - which looked ready to tumble into the fire.

Ghislaine shrugged, “I did not ask his name.”

Asterin nodded and the pair lapsed into silence. Ghislaine was just about to continue reading when Asterin broke the stillness.

“This is going to sound,” She hesitated. “Childish, perhaps. But, will you read me a story?”

Ghislaine stared at her, only showing a single flash of surprise. “Why?”

“It’s too quiet,” Asterin mumbled, gesturing to the window. The night was still and quiet, the hum of insects and birds had ended hours ago. Normally, Asterin fell asleep next to her window, comforted by the sounds of a never-ending storm, but not tonight. “I can’t fall asleep.”

Ghislaine was silent for long enough for a flush of humiliation to spread across Asterin’s cheeks, but finally, she gestured to the small cot in the corner of her room.

Asterin laid down wearily, but already her mind had begun settling.

Ghislaine gently brushed her hair back in an uncommon motherly gesture.

She curled up on the floor by Asterin and started reading her book. It was nothing Asterin understood but she had soon been soothed enough that her eyes grew too heavy to ignore.

Somehow, she knew Ghislaine would never share what happened that night unless Asterin allowed it.

Never.

~~~~~

Vesta was the witch Asterin was closest to, aside from Manon. They loved to wreak havoc together.

She would always match Asterin’s energy. If Asterin was quieter, more tired then they wouldn’t go out for as long as they normally would, if Vesta requested they go out at all.

If Asterin was ever hesitant, Vesta would never force her to do anything or question why she was hesitant.

On the other end of the spectrum, if Asterin was aggressive. If she wanted blood instead of harmless pranks on the coven, Vesta would oblige her and they would hunt down any man hurting anyone. And then they would rip him apart.

She wouldn’t question when Asterin flinched at the sight of a mother and her child, and then that would lead to a particularly bloody evening for them.

~~~~

Briar and Edda never talked to her but on days they suspected she wasn’t well they wouldn’t leap out at her in the way they would with everyone else. The two of them, witches who took their pleasure in scaring the others, would back off

Asterin if they observed her and felt that they should.

They would distract the others while Asterin snuck off to fly and cool down, or when Asterin’s breathing became irregular and she needed the attention taken away from her.

They’d never mention when she woke suddenly in the night and escaped through the shadows when they were on watch.

They never brought it up, and she loved them all the more for it.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Imogen and Linnea were never as close with Asterin but, same as the others they never questioned her on her weird behavior. They would often back her up in her constant struggle against Matron Blackbeak.

If they were at an encampment and either of them were on watch they would allow Asterin to take off into the night on her broom.

None of them would question her if they assumed it would make her uncomfortable. They helped her if they could, all of them.

She didn’t deserve their loyalty. Their love.

She didn’t deserve them.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Those women don't even know what your grandmother's done to you," She

heard her hunter's voice in her head again.

She looked down at them and let out a dry sob, "I'm sorry my loves but I'll join you eventually. Manon and the thirteen need me now."

She could almost see her hunter’s face. His broken expression, his mouth tight as if to stop himself from asking her one final time to join them. If it was really him, which Asterin doubted. She knew he understood. He didn’t like it.

But he understood she had to leave. She would see them again, someday.

Her voice was heavy and she was just tempted to leap off the cliff and not give it a second thought, but her coven's faces just kept appearing in front of her.

So, with heavy limbs and tears streaking down her face, she left her hunter and child once again.

~~~~~~~~~

And maybe I don't quite know what to say

But I'm here in your doorway

She jumped off her broom before her feet touched the ground, it was already dawn and she saw the thirteen spread out across the mountain, but not too far, apparently searching for her.

Vesta saw her first, relief apparent on her face, and she called out to the others.

Asterin clapped Vesta's hand and pulled each other close until they were touching foreheads. The rest of the thirteen did this with Asterin too, aside from Manon, who was standing with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"Where were you." Her voice was gruff.

Asterin bowed her head, "I apologize,"

Although it wasn't an explanation Manon apparently thought it was good enough because she surged forward, pulling Asterin into an uncommon hug.

"Whatever you did, I hope you're okay now," Manon whispered.

I just wanted you to know

That this is me trying

Asterin's heart was still fractured, but she hoped that slowly she could heal, maybe not completely. Never completely. But enough.

Asterin pulled away, slinging one arm across Manon's shoulder, the other over Vesta. The others followed suit.

"We are the Thirteen, from now until the Darkness claims us," Asterin said, the echoes of the others not far behind.

She'd lost a family. But she wouldn't forget the one she still had.

I just wanted you to know

That this is me trying

Act II; Morrigan

They told me all of my cages were mental

"I just want you to be happy, sweetheart!"

"No! No, you don't! You want me to get married and have children and never do anything other than care for my kids! I want to be someone!"

"You have so much potential!"

"Yes, I do. I could be a legendary warrior, I could live my life the way I want to. But all you want is for me to rear children."

“I know you know that I am more powerful than anybody in this family.” Mor snarled at her mother. “I know it.”

Her mother raised her chin, her eyes going hard. A stark contrast to the previous desperate passion.

“You’re still a virgin. And you’re so powerful. It’s going to be very valuable for this family when your father and I find you a powerful suitor.”

Mor went silent, her mouth slightly gaped. “No. No. NO!”

Her mother didn’t flinch, in fact, she rolled her eyes. “Sit down, Morrigan. This is your duty.” When Mor didn’t sit her mother put her hands on her shoulders, digging her nails in enough to draw blood, and forced her to sit at the vanity.

Her mother grabbed her brush and roughly pulled through Mor’s hair. “You will make us proud, Morrigan. You will not be a disgrace.”

So I got wasted like all my potential

Mor knew she needed to get out but she couldn't. She couldn't and she hated it. She hated herself. She hated her father. She hated her mother. She hated the damn Court of Nightmares.

She curled into herself on her bed, fighting tears. They all wanted so much from her. So much that she couldn't give them. She couldn't wear the dresses she wanted, lest she tempts any of the men that aren't her husband.

Her breath came out in short gasps. She needed to be numb. She couldn’t do this alone.

She hunched over and let herself become smoke and shadow.

There was a party going on in the main room, everyone was drunk or high or otherwise distracted.

Mor allowed herself a small smile as she swiped a bottle of some of the strongest liquor she knew her father had. She winnowed back to her room and allowed herself a one-woman party, stripping down to her underwear. Destroying everything she could get away with, slamming her fists into the mirror. Tearing apart the dresses her mother forced her to wear. Throwing things against the wall hard enough they broke.

Needless to say, she downed the bottle quickly.

And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad

I have a lot of regrets about that

“It’s your seventeenth birthday,” Her mother said, brushing her hair into an intricate style. Her mother wasn’t looking at her but Mor was staring at her in the mirror. “Is there anything you want to do to celebrate?”

“No.” She said, her voice stiff and shoulders tense.

Her mother sighed and a flash of pain crossed her face before setting down the brush.

“Well. I’ll see you for dinner then.”

Mor nodded.

The night of her seventeenth birthday was the same as her other nights.

Sneak a bottle, strip down, destroy everything possible. Nothing different, the same mind-numbing act that made her believe, for only a short time, that she had some kind of control over life.

Only when she would wake up, would she remember she didn’t.

A few days later she jolted awake in her bed, sharp pains in her lower abdomen. She launched herself off the bed to see a small puddle of blood where she’d been laying.

A single trickle of blood made its way out from beneath her nightgown and down her leg, hitting the floor with deafening clarity.

“Oh, mother save me,” She whispered.

Suddenly the mountain seemed to shake, Mor lunged for her bed, gripping the frame as terrible convulsions wracked through her body. The world flashed white then went still as if nothing had happened, but Mor knew the truth.

Her true power had been awakened with such intensity the mountain shook.

The realization of what this all meant washed over her like cold water, dispiriting the excitement of holding such intense power.

“Oh, cauldron.” Tears streaked across her face. “I’ve bled.”

She sunk to her knees and buried her face in her hands. “I can get pregnant.”

I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere

Fell behind all my classmates and I ended up here

She stared at her hands. They were starting to tremble. She could see the tips of her fingers shaking.

“Eris Vanserra, he’s the oldest son of the Autumn Court. He’s going to be a wonderful investment for this family. Just like you will be for him.”

The rest of her fingers.

“You’re so powerful, Morrigan. And you are pure. You will be the perfect wife. Especially if before we hand you over that attitude of yours is fixed.”

Her palms and wrists.

“How long?” She heard herself ask. She was seated at the table, her food uneaten in front of her. Her hands rested in her lap. Modest as ever dress.

Hair styled exactly like her mother always styled it.

It started as a normal dinner until her father had told her they’d found a man with the highest price to offer for her.

It had been done. She’d been sold.

“Soon, Morrigan, soon.”

She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t. Mother above.

Eris Vanserra!

Mother above.

Her breathing came out in choked gasps, her chest was tight.

“With a few extra lessons,” Her mother said, imperious to her plight. “I can make into the perfect wife.”

“Do you know how many kids the lady of autumn had?” Mor asked softly. Her parents didn’t respond. Good. It was rhetorical. “Too many.”

“Too many,” She whispered to herself, rocking back and forth in her stiff, stone chair.

“You’re always so concerned about the children.” Her father spat. “It’s an honor to bear a High Lord’s child.”

“He might not even become High Lord.” Mor spat back.

Her father shoved away from the table and strode over to where she was. She braced herself seconds before his hand collided with her cheek.

He didn’t say anything else to her, just stood there, breathing heavily.

“Start those extra lessons immediately.” He snarled at her mother.

“Of course,” She said quietly.

Mor looked back at her hands.

Pourin' out my heart to a stranger

But I didn't pour the whiskey

“Mor?” Her cousin knocked on her bedroom door.

She threw it open and leaped into her arms. He gripped the doorframe to not fall over, wrapping his arms around her.

“Are you ready to go?” He asked softly.

She made an affirmative noise. She pulled away just enough to grab a bag with all she needed while they were in the mountains.

He wrapped an arm around her again and winnowed to the mountains.

“Thank you,” She whispered to the smoke. She didn’t think he would hear her but his arm tightened around her.

~~~

“Cass, Mor,”

Mor looked up at her cousin, her aunt, and Azriel next to him.

“It’s time for us to leave. Watch her, alright?” Rhys said to Cass, his face full of mock-seriousness.

Her aunt wrapped her arms around her and Mor felt herself melt. Rhys’ mom had always been more of a mother to Mor than her own was.

“You be careful.” Her aunt pulled away and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

The full meaning of that statement wasn’t lost on Mor.

“I’m trying my best,” She murmured back. Her aunt brought her in for another hug.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. You’re so strong. Keep fighting, okay? Always keep fighting.”

Rhys hugged her next and kissed the top of her head. “See you later, oh cousin of mine.” Mor laughed.

Azriel didn’t hug her, but he nodded in her direction and she smiled back. “All three of you come back alive, okay?”

When they were gone, Cass sat back down. “So,”

Mor sat next to him and raised her eyebrows. “What do you do for fun around here?”

A few hours later they were both sprawled haphazardly on the couch. He’d suggested they drink but she’d turned him down. Somewhere in her mind she already knew where this was going to end.

Mor was ranting to him about her problems with Eris, her father, her mother, and the entire court. And, in response, he was talking to her about what had happened to him to lead him to Az and Rhys.

When they had lapsed into silence a thought came up with Mor and she didn’t think it through before she spoke. “What if there was a way for me to escape being married to Eris?”

Cassian looked at her, intrigued.

“The only thing he wants-they want-that I have control over is my virginity.”

Understanding started to dawn in his eyes, “Morrigan, I’m not sure if-”

“Please, Cassian. Please.” Her voice was desperate now.

He looked at her. “You are just going to find someone else if I say no, aren’t you.”

She didn’t respond and he sighed.

“Well?” She asked finally.

“Come here.” He responded and she smiled, moving across the couch until she was on his lap.

He took her face in his hands, keeping her a distance from his face. “You’re completely sure about this.”

“Neither of us are drunk, Cassian. I’m completely clear-headed.”

That was all she needed to say.

I just wanted you to know

“Do you know what this is going to do, Cassian? Did you even think before jumping into my cousin’s pants?”

“It was completely consensual on both sides.” He said carefully.

“So? This is going to destroy her! This decision will cause much political scandal!”

“That’s all you care about? She is being forced into many things she doesn’t want to do, and all you care about is your political chess game.”

Rhys snarled a warning. “I am trying my damned best to help her. I love her.”

“You’ve sure got a bad way of showing it.”

Then all talking stopped and when Mor finally pushed her way out her cousin and Cass were fighting in the snow.

“Guys!” She called but she might as well have been yelling at a brick wall.

They didn’t stop.

For days, they didn’t stop.

They were at ends for so long, Az bouncing between them occasionally in arguments but mostly just looking tired.

“Please,” She whispered. They both looked up at her. “You two are brothers. Come on, I don’t want this to be the reason you two never speak again. Besides, what I do,” She glared at Rhys, “Is none of your business.”

They stared at each other. Rhys was the first to offer an olive branch. Cass grudgingly took it.

They talked animatedly for hours, working out why Rhys was so wound up about this, and very quickly began acting like they hadn’t been fighting at all.

Mor breathed a laugh as she watched them from her perch in the makeshift kitchen. They were brothers, and she was very glad she hadn’t caused the end to that. She knew her cousin needed him and from what she could tell, Cassian needed him just as much, if not more.

Later that evening the four of them (Mor, Cass, Az, and Rhys) were sitting in a circle on the floor, drinking and talking and laughing but a shadow hung over them all, putting a damper on the conversation. Mor had to go back to the Hewn City soon, and none of them were looking forward to it.

~~~~

Later, Mor was sitting on her bed in the cabin, fighting sleep. Falling asleep meant the new day would dawn sooner. Which meant she would have to leave. She was staring out the window, the reflection of the moonlight on the mountains should have taken her breath away but it was dampened by the sight of the tents which held the other Illyrian warriors camped out at this camp.

A gentle knock on her door startled her and she looked over at it with hesitance before remembering it couldn’t be her father.

“Come in,” She called.

Rhys pushed her door open and stared at her. She stared, unflinchingly, right back. He seemed awkward and uncomfortable in the doorway.

“I’m sorry.” He said finally

She didn’t respond but gestured him in.

He sat stiffly on her bed. “I know what you do isn’t my business. I know that. I do.”

She nodded her acknowledgment.

“I worry about you, Mor.” His voice was edging desperately. He wanted her to understand. “I love you and I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“Do you think Cassian will hurt me?”

He hesitated then shook his head, “Cass wouldn’t do that, I know that too. But everyone else might.” He whispered.

“I know, Rhys. But I can’t. I can’t get married and bear children to a man I don’t love. I can’t do that. That’s not who I am!” Her voice was rising above the necessary levels.

“I understand,” He murmured, tucking her into his side. “I do.”

“I love you too,” She whispered finally.

“You are too powerful and beautiful and smart to be contained. I will do anything I can to help you. I promise.”

She started crying and wrapped her arms tighter around him.

“I promise.”

That this is me trying

Mor and Eris were standing in the woods in the Autumn Court. She had her arms crossed over her chest, her braid whipping around behind her wildly.

Somehow Eris had found out about what Mor had done with Cassian, she had a feeling her cousin had reluctantly let it get around.

“I can’t.” Eris shook his head, backing away from her, “You’ve been ruined.”

Mor fought to keep her face impassive, and if she showed emotion she was miserable but her heartbeat quickened. She was so close. So close to her freedom.

“You’ve been sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie.” Eris snarled, spitting into the dirt. “We can’t be married.”

Mor watched him carefully, she had no idea what he was going to do.

He shook his head, almost like he couldn’t believe it. “Why?”

Mor knew he wasn’t asking because he cared about their marriage, he only wanted to know why Cassian. Why an Illyrian. Honestly? She had no idea.

She stayed silent, raising her chin.

He rolled his eyes, “Right. Well. I break the union.”

And then he just walked away. He didn’t make sure she got home. Not like she wanted him to watch her winnow away but it was rude anyway.

She made a vulgar gesture at his back before leaving, grinning to herself.

He’d reacted so much better than she thought he would, then he could have reacted.

I just wanted you to know

Her mother hadn’t come to her rooms that morning, it was a serving girl who had helped her dress and was now braiding her hair. She’d known this servant for a long time. She’d grown up in the court, near Morrigan, and had been sent to assist her on many occasions. They weren’t close, necessarily but Mor felt she could talk to the girl.

Today her nimble fingers weaved through her blonde curls, her hands were steady, a stark contrast to her face which was bleached white. Her eyes were tracing the room as if she was scared something-or someone- would jump out and attack her.

“Should I be afraid?” Her voice broke the brittle silence.

The girl- Aine- didn’t stop her braiding but her lips moved though no sound came out.

“I’m not sure,” She said finally, “But I am scared for you, mistress.”

Mor’s fingers twitched, it wasn’t a great answer.

She finished with a small flourish and Mor stood. She looked herself over in the mirror, Aine fiddling with her hands behind her. Mor took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back, raising her chin. She had done this. She had saved herself from marriage and was now going to be facing consequences.

But she had freed herself from the terrorizing grip of Eris Vanserra.

Now she had her father to deal with.

~~~~~~

“Good luck, Mistress.” Aine’s voice echoed as Mor exited her room with a sinking feeling she wouldn’t be back.

When she entered the throne room, her mother and father were both waiting for her.

Her mother’s face was something she’d never seen from her before. It was more than the disappointment she had on her face when she found her only daughter hungover or sneaking out of the kitchen at night. It was a bone-chilling disappointment. The kind of disappointment that lingered for longer than an hour. She wasn’t disheveled, her mother had most likely never been disheveled a day in her life- but her shoulders were heavy, her eyes rimmed with dark circles and her fingers twitched from their place resting in her lap.

Her father, however, was more than disappointed. He was angry. His eyes were dark with a rage that chilled the room. He wasn’t sitting like her mother was, he was standing, hands clenched at his sides, feet planted into the ground as if he was seconds away from breaking into a run or spontaneously bursting into flames. Or both.

Morrigan froze in the doorway and they both looked her up and down, both of their gazes filled with something that definitely wasn’t good.

“You’ve disappointed us.” Her mother’s voice was calm. No, calm wasn’t the word to describe it. It was careful. Calculatingly undisturbed. Mor often forgot that her mother was Hewn City thorough-bred, she was manipulative. She was dangerous. “Are you sorry?”

“No,” Mor said after a pregnant silence. “No, I’m not sorry for wanting to live my own life.”

Keir laughed but it was filled with that same anger.

Her mother stood up, resting a hand on Keir’s arm briefly before walking over to Mor. She met her eyes but didn’t reach for her.

“Mom?” She asked, fighting to stop her voice from shaking.

She reached up and caressed Mor’s face before dropping it. Then she brought it back up so suddenly Mor didn’t have time to react as her mother’s hand met her cheek. Her head snapped sideways in response. “Mom,” Her voice was a whisper of agony.

Her mom shook her head in disgust. “You are not my daughter. Not since you whored yourself out to someone so lesser.” She stepped away from Mor, “You couldn’t have even done it with another high fae. You’re disgusting.”

“Mom.”

“How dare you. How dare you! My only daughter, disgracing herself and me and especially your father in the process. You’re so powerful, you could have had powerful sons.”

That spurred her into words, “I could have had powerful sons? Not that I could use my power, just pass it on to my sons.”

“Yes.”

“The fact that you see nothing wrong with that,” Mor said meeting her eyes again, “Is so wrong. I’m so sorry for you.”

Her mother made to slap her again but Mor was expecting it this time, catching her wrist.

Her mother yanked her hand away from her and walked back to Keir, she murmured, “Do what you will.” Then turned and left, not looking at her on her way out.

Keir walked across the room to her, taking her shoulders in a tight grip, “My wife doesn’t have the stomach to watch what I have to do to you.”

A curl of fear, “And what’s that?”

“I have to teach you a lesson.” His lip curled upwards in excitement that made Mor’s stomach churn. Stepping away and motioning for her to be restrained allowed for multiple of his best warriors to enter. She was good, but there were too many. She did land a few blows of her own but her power was untrained and wild so she had to rely on her physical capabilities alone. She thought she was winning, that she was going to make it out of this with only a few cuts and bruises when one surprised her. Her legs were swept out from under her, followed by a swift kick to the ribs

“And then,” He lifted one shoulder casually as his only child was restrained in a standing position. She wasn’t against a wall, allowing him to circle her, “If you survive what I must do to you, then you become Autumn’s problem.”

One of the warriors handed him a knife, and her hell began.

She prayed to the Cauldron for her to blackout, to not feel the pain her own father was inflicting, to not hear her own screams echoing, her own blood dripping onto the marble floor.

The Cauldron, apparently, wasn’t on her side.

That this is me trying

She wanted death. She hadn’t ever wished for death like she did right now. Part of her knew she was free now and celebrated that. However, the rational part of her. The part that currently felt the blood leaving every possible place in her body, knew that she wasn’t going to be ‘free’ for very long.

She shifted, almost imperceptibly, and felt the nails in her womb shift. She pressed her lips together to contain the pained groan that attempted to escape.

She dug her nails into the soft earth and scratched futilely. She didn’t know what she wanted to happen, her legs were numb so unless she could gather enough upper body strength there was no moving from this spot.

Her father hadn’t even had the gall to take her and dump her himself. He’d had some of his most trusted soldiers leave her at the border to the Autumn Court. As soon as they’d left and her heightened senses stopped being able to pick them up she’d allowed herself a single scream.

It had torn through her with enough force to make her entire body shake. She didn’t know if she was screaming from the blinding agony she was currently in or how quickly everyone she’d ever known turned on her with an undeniable eagerness that hurt to think about.

The damp earth around her fingers was all she could think about as her mind faded in and out of consciousness. The earth seemed to be getting damper and with a horrified whimper she knew why.

Her head, her neck, her upper arms. The cuts and injuries her father had inflicted on her. They were open. That seemed so obvious in hindsight. The soil wasn’t damp from the rain. Her blood was soaking into the ground, and fast.

Another whimper escaped her lips as she dug her hands in harder, attempting to pull herself somewhere.

She yanked herself along, the sounds of her shattered broken bones shifting made bile rise to her tongue. She couldn’t see, the pain so horrible it was not even registering in her mind but it was registering everywhere else.

She pulled and pulled, inching carefully along the grass, slick with what should be running through her veins.

The birds, undisturbed, chirping above her. What she would give to be up there with them, no worries, just a simple purpose, and a simpler life.

The tears running down her face made knowing the difference between what part of her was slick with blood and what part of her was slick with tears difficult.

“Morrigan.”

Hearing her own name, knowing she wasn’t alone here to die any longer made her cry out. But, when her brain finally recognized the voice, her smile died before it began.

Eris Vanserra crouched over her, running a slender finger down her torso, beginning at her neck until he reached the note. She saw him pause and read it.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, lips curling in distaste. “My problem?” He ran a hand through her bloody hair with enough mock-tenderness to make her shiver. “No.” He pulled his hand away, wiping it on seemingly the only patch of grass not wet with her blood.

When he stood up and walked away there was a single moment where he looked back at her, something like regret shining in his eyes and in the tightness of his lips. However, since the world started fading not a minute after, she chalked that up to her imagination.

At least I’m trying

She thought she was dead when she was picked up. She was numb all over, not feeling pain and unable to move any part of her. With more desperation and strength than she’d ever used she forced her eyes to open. She blinked quickly at the flash of light that sent shocks through her body.

“You’re free. You’re free.”

Azriel.

He seemed to recognize she couldn’t speak and cradled her closer, taking care to not bump the nails still embedded in her stomach.

“You’re out, Mor. We’re going home.”

You’re free.

Act III; The Finale

And it's hard to be at a party

When I feel like an open wound

Her cousin tried to fight her battle with her. Azriel, Cassian, and even Amren did the same. They all worked relentlessly to help her heal. She knew she had to fight her battles on her own. It was working, albeit slowly.

The group of them were stumbling down the streets during a calm night. The moonlight stretched through and reflected off the beautiful and colorful streets and buildings of Velaris. The gentle sound of the Sidra flowing sent calming waves through Mor.

The liquor in her stomach warmed her body which still confused her mind.

She’d been drinking at Rita’s with her cousin and the others this evening. In the beginning, she’d drank with them to not bring down the mood. She knew she wasn’t entirely fun to be around, not anymore or yet. But now she felt free if she didn’t stop to think much. Speaking of thinking, she was still able to do too much of it still. Rhys had an arm around her shoulder and she moved just enough to pluck the half-full bottle out of Amren’s hand. She felt Az’s eyes on her as she took a heavy swig out of the bottle and shuddered.

She flashed a small smile at him and he quickly looked away.

She took another drink before Cassian snatched it.

She didn’t know what they were talking about but she could tell she was responding. Her dress, red, low-cut, caught on her heels and the cobblestones and she flew forward. Rhys let out a startled laugh as he caught her and righted her.

She flinched then giggled drunkenly.

Amren reached over and tugged lightly on the strap of Mor’s dress. Mor thought she was going to scold her. To say she should’ve not worn such a slutty dress, she couldn’t have gotten that drunk. Stumbling was a sign of weakness. She was weak. All Amren said though was, “We need to smooth out this road, right Rhysand?”

Rhys laughed, “I’ll do my best.”

“Or you could just chop the bottom half of all your dresses off,” Cassian’s voice was slurred.

“Nope,” Az said simply.

Amren nodded her agreement, “The long dresses look amazing on her. She’s gotta keep them.” She grinned, all teeth.

Mor smiled up at the sky, the moon shining off her eyes and blonde hair like she was some kind of goddess.

She’d found her family.

A single tear whispered its way down her face and she wiped it quickly before the other noticed.

She loved these weirdo misfits, but despite that, she heard her mother whisper in the back of her mind. You may love them but they won’t stick around very long, you know that. You’ll disgrace yourself even more.

She reached for the bottle again.

It's hard to be anywhere these days

When all I want is you

When she was flying she was free. Flying with her coven, or flying alone, it didn’t matter. She was free.

The mountains were beautiful in the soft light of the dawn. She twisted through the snow-covered peaks. She was high above where anybody could see her and there, the young light warm on her face and the mountains at her sides she reached up and took her hair out of the braid she’d hurriedly threw it in not even an hour earlier.

Her hair whipped around her face, her movements throwing soft snow up from the peaks into her hair and face.

The contrasting temperatures and feelings were enough to clear her mind, she took a breath, deep enough to rattle her chest, and focused on the sensations. The ice and snow prickling her skin, and making her hair damp. The sun taking its daily trek through the sky and illuminating the snow with colors of orange and yellow and red. It was so early that even the bravest birds were asleep, and no lions or similar creatures were up this high. The silence was loud, filling her head with a warm buzzing sensation. She gripped the wood handle of her broom tightly attempting to focus solely on the feel of the wood beneath her calloused hands.

She failed miserably to say the least.

She leaned forward, bringing herself and her broom closer to the snow. She leaned down, running her hand through the smooth blanket, undisturbed by animals and humanoids alike.

It was so simple up here, so calm against the raging war constantly happening below. She wondered what it would be like to live a life like that.

If you’d stayed with him, you would know.

Him. Her hunter.

You would have raised your child, and he would have lived a life like this. Your reality wouldn’t be a constant power struggle between the witches and everyone else. Your reality wouldn’t be a permanent scar reminding you of your failure. Your reality wouldn’t be fighting to survive your own mind. Your reality wouldn't be so filled with people, yet so alone.

She allowed herself to slip off her broom into the welcoming pillow below her.

She lay still, listening to the silence of the dawn around her, and closed her eyes.

She was letting herself breathe, if only for a moment.

You're a flashback in a film reel

On the one screen in my town

The blade was a part of her, an extension of her pain. Her beliefs. In some ways, it was her. Following through on her desires, on her desperation. She had to help the humans. That was the only thought running through her brain. Slash, dodge, flip, stab, parry, disarm, kill.

She was a mindless machine, not allowing herself a flicker of doubt as she ended the lives of her own people. No. These weren’t her people. The only thing she had in common with them was being the same species.

The blades, the one in her hand and the ones strapped along her Illyrian armor, once gleamed gold in the dying light, now shone with blood. Fae blood.

She felt a warm liquid trickle down her face and wiped absent-mindedly with her upper arm.

Her senses were confused with the havoc around her but she focused, sending her mind through the throngs of people, fae and human alike. After moments of careful concentration, she found them.

Rhysand. Cassian. Azriel.

They were okay.

But she was about to not be.

She sensed the Spring Court foot soldier lunging just in time. She spun, winnowing for just long enough to appear behind him, snapping his neck.

She spared a glance around her seeing the bodies littered all over the field.

The blood ran like a river and her brain flashed to another moment where blood ran over soil.

She lifted a hand to her stomach absently.

Her ears twitched as she heard it. Screaming, human screaming.

She blindly called out to an Illyrian she passed by and paused only to see him nod in response. She took off, flying through the people, the soaring arrows and the sharp blades. It was one of them. One of the people on their side.

She lashed out frantically, dropping her sword and thrusting her hands through his chest. All the way through.

She looked down at the humans. Two of them, a father hunched over his daughter, as if protecting her.

She pulled him off of her, he was limp. Dead before she got there. The girl though, she looked to be about sixteen, her breaths coming out in short gasps, silent tears running down her face. The scratches and blood covering her proved she’d fought back.

Mor knew she had to get back to the battlefield but she kneeled anyway, pulling the girl closely against her. She gradually stopped shaking and pulled away. Looking Mor in the eye. She was afraid, but still, she looked at her unflinching. She’d just seen the barest example of what Mor could do but regardless she spoke. Her voice was hoarse, “You’re beautiful.” She ran her hands along Mor’s cheekbones carefully.

“I’m going to get you home,” Mor told her.

“I think I’m going to draw you.” She whispered.

Mor smiled, “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

The girl smiled brokenly, taking Mor’s face in her hands and pulling her close.

“Don’t stop fighting. You are a warrior princess.”

Mor smiled again, “So are you.”

The girl looked at her for a beat longer, as if checking her message got through. Finally, she broke away, tearing off into the woods.

As Mor sprinted the other direction, towards the battlefield she hoped that girl would live long enough to draw her.

Spoiler alert: She didn’t. Later, Mor found her. Her heart ripped clean out of her chest. Not even a mile from her father’s body.

And I just wanted you to know

That this is me trying (maybe I don't quite know what to say)

One day Rhys came home, his shoulders heavy, burdened by his new responsibility. Mor took a single look at him and knew. His mother and sister were dead. And he was now the High Lord of the Night Court.

She wrapped her arms around him and he fought so hard to not melt but it was only shortly after that he did, silent tears soaking through the sleeve of her dress.

Not long after she was named Rhysand’s third in command. She was third in command to the Night Court.

Sometimes, when the days got bad, she would run her hands all over her skin, where her father had cut her, where he nailed the note into her stomach. She felt unworthy, dirty. She was a slut, a whore, a monster. But then. Then she would remember a simple fact.

She outranked her father.

So she distracted and busied herself, focusing solely on her duties when she was required to go to Hewn City, not facing her father unless absolutely necessary. Her family fought hard with her and she finally worked up the courage to wear her favorite dresses when visiting Hewn City.

She’d always been scared to do it but when she finally did the look on her father's face and seeing her family get defensive on her behalf made it worth it. No, scratch that. Seeing herself stand up to him, knowing there was nothing he could do to hurt her? Worth more than every insult he spewed at her that night.

~~~~

Asterin had bad days. This was an undeniable fact, something she couldn’t outrun no matter how much she tried.

There were days where she would be incapacitated from the pain, doubled over at the idea and memories of her child, her hunter. She would trace her finger over the word engraved over her damaged womb and repeat it to herself.

“Unclean. Unclean. Unclean.”

But then she would hear her name being called. So she would pull her shirt down and go meet the thirteen for whatever adventure they were headed on.

She would take every possible opportunity to stand up to Matron Blackbeak, despite the consequences from Manon.

She would look that old bitch dead in the eyes as she did whatever it was. Asterin would make sure she understood. She understood that this wasn’t completely about whatever trivial offense she’d committed. This was about the pain the matron had put her through. Had put what had to be countless witches before her (and possibly after) through.

She would curse, spit, even attempted a slap once or twice but it never made her feel powerful, or strong because it never stuck. The Matron was still in complete control, and Manon wouldn’t fight back against the Matron, never anything to upset the scales at least.

I just wanted you to know

She was healed. Not completely, she doubted she would ever be rid of the lingering trauma lovingly gifted to her by Hewn City. By her father, more specifically. But every time she put on one of her favorite dresses, she didn’t hear her mother’s voice in the back of her head.

She partied at Rita’s without inhibition, drinking as much as she wanted, spending her nights with whoever she wanted. She had control over her magic, she could fight (and she could fight really well, ask Cassian), and she loved herself. Meals were always filled with laughter and witty banter, something that before Velaris she’d never known. She had hit her peak in life, she had never been happier.

Mor fastened the jewelry to her pointed ears, smiling at herself in the mirror.

“Mor!” Cassian’s voice carried up the stairs. “Hurry up, I’m hungry!”

“Poor baby!” She called back.

“Stop taking your sweet time and get your ass down here!”

“Don’t talk about a lady’s ass, you heathen.” That was Amren. Mor couldn’t stop her very unladylike snort.

She heard vague crashing noises and then Rhys’ voice called, “Mor, you know I’m all for spending time on appearances but please before the entire Night Court gets destroyed because Cassian pissed Amren off.”

She couldn’t see them but from the noises, she could assume Rhys had Cassian by the arms and Azriel had placed himself in front of Amren, both of them fighting to stop the carnage.

She ran her fingers through her hair before backing away from her vanity and sauntering out of her bedroom.

She was right, her family was in a stand-off in the sitting room.

“Come on, you uncontrollable monsters.” She pushed her way to the front of them, met with grumbles from Cassian and Rhysand.

After dinner they were walking the streets of Velaris, stumbling along the bank of the Sidra.

“Morrigan?” A small voice asked. They all turned to see a girl, who must have been only five, standing there. She looked nervous as all hell and clutched between grubby hands was a white rose. She held it out to Mor who crouched to be eye-level with the girl.

“This is for you,” She whispered, her voice barely audible above the rush of the Sidra.

Mor’s heart warmed and she took the rose, and with painstaking care, she tucked it into her hair, “Thank you, sweetheart. What’s your name?”

“Beline,” She tucked her hands behind her, face red from the attention Mor was giving her. “I want to be like you when I grow up.”

“I have a feeling that you’re going to be better, Beline.”

A woman’s voice called Beline’s name. “Is that your mother?”

Beline nodded.

“Well, I guess you’d better run home, honey. Thank you very much for the flower, I’ll treasure it forever.” She swore, a hand over her heart.

Beline went crimson and giggled before racing off in the direction of her mother’s voice.

Mor did keep that flower, she dried it out and pressed it between the pages of her favorite novel that was always on her dresser. She was glad she had a reminder of that evening. The last peaceful and happy evening she would have for fifty years because it was very shortly after that everything went to hell.

~~~~~

Asterin grinned at Vesta, teeth sharp and bloody. Vesta grinned right back. She heard other coven members cackle behind her, and Asterin knew their grins were just as bloody.

Asterin threw her arms out with a laugh, her nails were caked with blood and dirt and who knows what else.

The Thirteen were standing in a field, ankle-deep in remains. A trickle of blood made its way down Asterin’s cheek.

Manon was picking her way through the piles of bodies toward her.

“Gods, that was fun!” Vesta exclaimed.

Asterin spun to see the other members of the coven. Thea and Kaya were shoulder to shoulder, talking in low tones, they weren’t grinning or cackling like the others but their eyes were shining.

Ghislaine was shoving her way through the bodies and looking distastefully at the blood covering her clothes.

Faline and Fallon were crouched over a few fresher bodies and when they looked up at Asterin, their chins and teeth were coated in blood, their grins were maniacal.

Imogen was wiping the blood from her face, Linnea was picking what looked like skin from her teeth, and Briar and Edda were kicking and prodding the bodies, making sure they were dead.

Manon finally reached Asterin’s side and threw an arm over her shoulder. She licked her lips, surveying the bloody field. “This was fun, but you know we have a lot of concerns back home. My grandmother’s pissed at us for something.”

Asterin looked at her and sighed, “Yeah. But come on, Manon. Live a little! Enjoy this!” She swept her arms out wildly.

Finally, a grin broke across her face, “We did good.”

“Hell yeah, we did!”

The two of them were standing at the top of the hill together, washed in moonlight and blood, watching the coven below them.

“This one’s still alive!” Briar shrieked.

“Live a little, Manon,” Asterin repeated. Manon grinned at her then shoved away and sprinted down the hill.

That this is me trying

Mor opened the library door with her hip, holding two mugs tightly in her hands.

Feyre Archeron was sitting in an armchair that seemed to be swallowing her whole. She had her arms crossed over her stomach and ribs, hunched over painfully.

Mor made her steps louder to not completely scare the girl who looked like at the slightest disturbance she would disappear.

Feyre didn’t move at Mor’s entrance but her ears twitched and her nose flared slightly.

She felt herself smile and catch her breath, Feyre wasn’t afraid of her. She knew it was Mor and she hadn’t gotten defensive at her entrance. That was all she and Rhys wanted. They wanted her to know she could trust them.

She lowered herself into the chair next to Feyre, setting one of the mugs on the coffee table in front of her. Only after Mor had relaxed into the chair and taken a sip did Feyre straighten, just slightly, and reached with shaky, emaciated hands for the mug.

They sat in comfortable silence, snowflakes fluttering outside the window in the dark, watching the fireplace crackle and spark with life. The only light in the room.

She was determined to help this girl, even if it killed her.

~~~

Asterin hung back, watching Elide Lochan carefully.

The girl held a laundry basket against her hip, keeping her weight off her bad ankle with a skill that came with years of practice. That idea sent a jolt of protective anger through Asterin. If he didn’t get what was coming to him soon, Asterin was going to give it to him.

Elide was talking in low tones to another servant girl. After they resolved the conversation Elide smiled kindly to the girl and walked off to take her basket where it needed to be.

She was about to walk up the stairs when something made her stiffen and turn. She scanned the corridor until her eyes landed on Asterin, who was half-hidden behind a column.

Elide visibly relaxed and smiled. The look in her eyes was so uncommon to be directed at an Ironteeth witch that Asterin’s breath caught.

She was so relaxed with them, she knew she was safe with them and that was what caused a smile to bloom across her face.

Surprise flashed in little Elide’s eyes and they stood there, watching each other until, “Elide! I need that dirty laundry!”

Elide called up the stairs, “Of course, I’m coming!”

Elide nodded at Asterin, still smiling, and walked up the stairs out of sight.

It was a small moment in time, fleeting compared to the centuries Asterin had lived through and insignificant when compared to what was going to happen, but that moment stuck with her.

She was going to protect that girl, even if it killed her.

At least I’m trying

13 notes · View notes

rhyswhitethorn · 4 years

Text

Steel and Fire [3]

lmao I WAS SO TEMPTED TO POST THIS 5 DAYS AGO. thank God I didn’t or else I’d have to speed write the rest of the chapters (?) as usual, any ideas to this would be very much appreciated! and should i start a taglist for any of these chapters/upcoming stories?

AO3 version: Steel and Fire [3]

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2

Nesta was lying on her bed, reading, when a knock sounded on the door.

She placed the book down after marking the page and walked towards the door. Unlocking it, she swung it open and her mate stood there. Cassian held up a half drank coconut shake in one hand, and a mango shake in the other.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got you two shakes that I like.”

Typical.

Nesta held the door open for him and he walked in, smelling of the streets below. Did he walk here?

“In case you were wondering, sweetheart, I decided to take a stroll on the streets you usually take. Quite a scene, I would say. So unlike the mortal Nesta Archeron I had known earlier on.” She tried not to dwell on the thought that he was learning her routine. It was actually nice to know that. Nesta just nodded and grabbed the mango shake from his hand, which she had to admit, she absolutely adored. Nesta was already a regular for the vendor who sold this particular shake.

He smiled as she said thank you, and took a seat on one of the chairs at the small dining table. She took the one on his left. Genuine surprise coloured his face for a short second before he made it neutral again.

“I met Amren. More like caught her on the dining table. She mentioned you. . barged into her.” Cassian looked at Nesta, waiting for her to continue. Did he know about her dilemma? It would make so much sense to him if she told him. About why she couldn’t accept the bond yet.

Nesta wouldn’t burden Cassian with the pain her heart had felt. Feyre and Rhysand were both broken, but they climbed out that abyss together. As far as she was concerned, Cassian didn’t have any emotional baggage with him.

“I have unfinished business,” Nesta said. That was all she would allow him to know.

Cassian took her by surprise, however. “With that mortal.”

She blinked at Cassian, who looked worried. “Look, Nesta, I know you won’t accept the bond yet. I know why you won’t accept it. And I’ll damn well keep my promise about him, if that’s what you want. Hell, I’ll be glad to do it. But as your mate, I’m giving you the choice. We can go to the Mortal Lands together, and you can get closure, or, you know, skinning him alive would be fun,” he smirked at that. Trust Cassian to get a joke out of everything, even if it annoyed her at first. Now, that’s exactly what she needed. “That aside, you need to confront him. Your acceptance for the bond is not a priority now.”

This winged Fae was putting her needs first. The Cauldron must have been pranking her, because no way in her forced immortal life did she ever deserve this. She got up, prompting Cassian to get up as well.

“I’m sorry, I think I overstepped with what I said.” Cassian was rumbling now, his face red. The Illyrian Commander was embarrassed. “I think it’s better if I—”

He cut short as Nesta pulled him into a hug, taking care not to touch his wings. Her time at the camps has taught her to never touch an Illyrian’s wings without permission. He wrapped his arms around her, his wings stretching to cover the both of them. She breathed in his scent, the scent that reminded her of the times her father had come home from his business travels. She never realized it until now.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and Cassian’s only reply was to hold her tighter.

“If you want, we can go tomorrow. I’m not trying to rush the bond, but I don’t want you to suffer any longer.” She nodded. The bond was calling to her now, especially when she’s with Cassian. The longer she held out, the stronger its call. Nesta looked up to Cassian and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. He stiffened and smirked.

“What?”

“Can I have another one?”

Fucking prick.

“Are you serious?” Nesta felt her temper rising, and it didn’t help that he was still smirking at her.

Cassian just leaned down and kissed her nose softly, before letting her go. Her temper died down at the softness of his kiss, his lips and his face. A year ago, she would’ve slapped him.

Things were different now.

Nesta turned away and headed to the front door, hiding her blush. She opened it, motioning for Cassian to leave. She needed the time to compose herself for tomorrow.

Cassian walked towards where she stood and winked at her. “See you, sweetheart,” he said, leaving. She half wondered if he’d fly back or take to the roads.

Closing the door, she walked to her bed, placing the mango shake on her bedside table and picking up where she left off. Cassian was a prick, but maybe having him as her mate wouldn’t be so bad. It’d definitely spice up her long life, and she wouldn’t have a dull day of burying herself in novels anymore. And if Feyre was right about the wingspan. . then her nights wouldn’t be boring either.

She smiled at that.

Nesta woke slightly before dawn to get ready. Confronting Tomas Mandray meant that she would finally end whatever ties she had to her mortal life.

With Cassian at her side.

Cassian had always been there for her—when the King of Hybern, who had taken her innocence and mortality away, was about to tear her world apart. When she needed help getting into the bathtub at the Illyrian Camps, still struggling after being forced into the Cauldron. And now, with confronting the man she was supposed to marry.

The Cauldron had truly planned all these.

Nesta picked up a deep blue gown, much like Azriel's siphons, before she did a double take. She had always donned dresses and gowns, and it was one of her favourite gowns that was ripped under Tomas' hands when he had attempted to rape her. She had worn that gown and met Tomas in hopes that he would propose, even after Feyre had warned her not to. She thought that she could keep him in check, but clearly not. Nesta placed the gown back down, and picked up something else she had been accustomed to wear.

She hoped the Illyrian leathers she began to strap up made a statement, not only to Tomas, but also to Cassian.

Cassian was staring at Nesta at the doorway.

Nesta was lounging around, waiting for him to pick her up when he knocked. The look on his face?

Fucking priceless.

She took the mango shake from his hand before asking, "What?"

He kept gaping at her, coconut shake forgotten in his other hand. She had to hold his arm before he snapped out of it, the easy smile coming back. "You look hot," Cassian said.

"Is that all you could come up with? Five hundred fucking years of living and the only adjective that's swimming in your head is hot?"

Cassian laughed before saying, "Sweetheart, I can tell you how I think you look with my tongue, if you'd prefer. Or I can fuck you well enough so you'd get my point." Nesta stumbled at that. She had fallen right into his bait. "Wearing that is going to make the mortals talk, you know. We're twinning now," he continued and added a wink.

Nesta surveyed his outfit. Illyrian leathers as well.

"Let them talk," she crooned, closing the door behind her and walking down the street towards the townhouse.

Cassian grinned. She could tell he liked that idea very much. "Feyre's going to winnow us to the Mortal Lands," he said, taking a step behind her. Thank the Cauldron. Nesta had learnt to winnow between short distances only, and there was no way she was taking flight across Prythian. Not with Cassian pressed against her. Nesta nodded, continuing the rest of her journey keeping quiet. Cassian had caught up to her and the citizens of Velaris kept looking at them.

Scratch that, they were staring at them in awe.

Cassian smiled at everyone once in a while, greeting some he personally knew. Nesta plastered a smile, but soon it became genuine. Anyone who walked by Cassian and Nesta waved or said hello. Nesta knew the city loved their High Lord and High Lady, but it never occurred to her their love extended to the Inner Circle. To the Illyrian Commander standing beside her.

Her Illyrian leathers weren't the only statement. Walking beside him in the City of Starlight was a whole other statement on its own, both for Nesta and Cassian. And he was proud to wear this one. The war Cassian had fought in for this city, the stakes he would go against for his court, he truly deserved this.

She could see the townhouse now. There were less faeries in the residential area. Nesta walked silently, Cassian still at her side when he placed a hand on her lower back. She turned to look up at him.

"Nesta, before we go, I want you to know that when we meet Tomas, I'll be by your side. If you need help, just say it. No questions asked. Alright?" Cassian said softly. She continued looking at him, his hazel eyes shining with understanding and determination. Deep down, Nesta knew that Cassian would do anything she asked for. If she decided not to go on with this confrontation moments before, he'd listen. He'd bring her back here. Home.

Home? Was Velaris her new home?

She never felt that way. Her old house in the Mortal Lands didn't feel that way either.

Standing underneath Cassian, however. . she felt more at home than she ever did. She unconsciously placed a hand on his cheek, feeling the rough start of a stubble underneath.

"Thank you," she whispered. He brought his hand up to hold the hand on his cheek, pulling it away slightly to kiss her palm. She shivered a little, feeling the bond shine faintly. She could tell he felt the same by the way he was staring at her, his lips still brushing her palm. Maybe she should accept the bond now. Confront Tomas as a mated couple. She could just turn back to buy him a kebab, or she could ask if there was a more Illyrian tradition he'd prefer to—

“Ready to leave?” Feyre called from outside the townhouse. Cassian whipped his head towards his High Lady, slowly dropping Nesta’s hand. Nesta gradually turned her head, unable to get her eyes off Cassian.

Rhysand walked behind Feyre and sighed. “Look what you've done, Feyre, darling. You've ruined their moment.” Feyre looked up sheepishly to Rhysand, muttering a sorry to the both of them. Cassian just smiled and sauntered towards them, unaware of the choice Nesta almost made.

Rhysand, however, knew. He gave her an apologetic look before she heard his voice in her mind. Feyre has told me never to tell you things in your head, but Cass would have more pride in accepting the bond after your confrontation. Don't feel obligated to accept the bond now. Nesta’s only reply was a slight dip in her head. She and Rhys had a tough relationship at the beginning, but she soon grew to like the High Lord. Trust was what the foundations of his court was built on, and she had no reason not to believe him.

Feyre gave a knowing look to Nesta, which resulted in Cassian demanding a “What the hell are you two saying?”

“Do you really want to know, Cass? I could show you what Rhysand plans to do —,” Feyre started, only to have Cassian waving his arms in the air to not know, Rhysand chuckling behind. Nesta was grateful for that save.

She walked towards her youngest sister and looked at her. “I’m ready.”

Feyre nodded, kissing Rhysand on the cheek before holding Nesta and Cassian’s hand. “I’ll winnow both of you to Lucien and Jurian’s house. It’s near enough to Tomas,” she said, eliciting a grunt from Cassian. Approval in his language of grunts.

“Don’t kill him, Cass. Let Nesta do it,” Rhysand said, winking at Nesta. Shadows consumed them before she could answer.

The house Lucien and Jurian lived in was cosy.

Warm colours bedecked the house, curtains and rugs of varying oranges and browns painting the home.

This was where the so-called “Band of Exiles” lived at. Nesta knew it was more of an official home, but the atmosphere in this house was lively. She let go of Feyre’s hand, who was unfazed with winnowing them this far, and turned to admire the house, finally setting her eyes on a waiting Lucien by the chimney.

“Hello, Feyre. Nesta. Cassian.” Lucien nodded at each name he listed out, striding over. Feyre merely looked at him before enveloping him in a hug.

“Lucien! Cauldron, I missed you. Why don’t you ever visit?”

Lucien just laughed while Cassian and Nesta awkwardly stood beside each other. “I have other matters to worry about, Feyre. I’ll visit soon, I promise,” he said, glancing towards Cassian towering behind his High Lady. “Um, I’ll let the both of you get on with the things you need to do. I’ll keep Feyre safe.”

Cassian grinned at that, holding Nesta’s shoulders to turn around, pushing her towards the door. Feyre and Lucien broke into laughter at the fact that Cassian had accomplished doing that to Nesta without her snapping at him. But with Cassian, Nesta didn’t seem to mind. She let him lead her out, opening the front door.

It was the middle of spring, and there were flowers blooming everywhere. She recognized most of the flowers that grew here, but with her Fae eyesight, the colours were more extravagant, making her appreciate them even more. Was this what Elain saw in flowers since the beginning? What beauty could she see now? Nesta breathed in, savouring the floral smell. Elain’s garden in Velaris was better, no doubt, but the flowers here reminded her of her mortal life. When all she knew was how to be human.

Twigs crunched under Cassian’s feet, pulling Nesta out of her thoughts. She realized he was waiting for her.

“This way,” Nesta said, turning west and trudging on. Cassian followed silently.

Throughout the walk, she thought about all those times she had walked to Tomas’ house, excited to meet him. She’d take an hour to get ready, putting effort into what she wore and how she did her hair. All that went to shit the moment he crossed the line.

Now it's her turn to give him shit.

It was a fifteen minute walk to his house. Did she really take the time to come to him last time? It felt like forever, but each step she took towards his house only fueled her need to look him in the eye and square up to Tomas.

Nesta reached a familiar brick home, spotting a woodpile on the lawn. She walked up the pathway to the front door and stopped, turning to Cassian. It was then she realized he did not bother glamouring his wings away. He grinned at her acknowledgement.

She grinned back at him and knocked on the front door.

Moments passed before a woman opened it. Tomas' mother. There were faint bruises on her face and arm, hastily covered up with powder. It may fool the mortal eye, but Nesta and Cassian could see it as clear as stars in the night sky. His mother looked at Nesta, recognizing her yet not in her otherworldly Fae beauty, fear striking in her eyes at Nesta's pointed ears and Cassian's wings.

A small smile tugged at Nesta's mouth before she said, "I'd like to see Tomas, please." His mother nodded before closing the door. Through the brick walls, Nesta heard his mother say, Tomas, Nesta's here. Nothing else. Good. A great day to get someone shitting their pants.

Nesta turned to Cassian and motioned him to stand beside the pillar, obscuring him from the view at the front door. Let Tomas think she came alone.

Two minutes went by and the door opened. Out walked Tomas.

"Nesta Archeron. What pleasure do I owe—" Tomas started, cutting short when he took note of her pointed ears. Her predatory stillness. The promise in her eyes.

"It's true then," he whispered, running an eye over Nesta and noting the warrior clothes she had chosen to wear in place of her usual dresses.

Nesta didn't care what was true and what wasn't as she smiled at him. The feline smile she had seen Amren use, one that would get someone running in the opposite direction.

"Tomas Mandray," Nesta just said, side stepping and forcing Tomas to turn, right into Cassian's view. Tomas had paled at the sight of Nesta, but he blanched as he beheld Cassian's towering height and massive wings. Cassian took a step closer but Tomas held his ground, either from his ego or because he wasn't in the right mind to step back.

"What do you want?" Tomas spat out, his heart racing fast.

Oh, she was going to enjoy this.

"Remember that night you came after me in the barn? When you tore my favourite dress and tried to rape me?"

Anger flashed in his face. "I didn't try to rape you. You wanted it as much as I did."

Men and their ever changing stories.

"You know I didn't want it. I said no, yet you still came after me."

"What do you want?" he repeated.

"I want you dead." His eyes were filled with terror now, but she had to give him credit for attempting to keep a neutral face. If it weren't for his eyes, his scent definitely gave it off. "But I'm not that kind of person, so an apology would do." Nesta had settled on that. No good would come if she were to kill him, and attempted rape had no closure. So yes, an apology.

Tomas laughed darkly. “What makes you think you deserve that? You were meant to marry me. I was allowed to take whatever I wanted from you.”

Nesta had to stare at him coolly and take a few seconds before answering, only so she wouldn’t explode. She could feel the waves of rage coming off from Cassian, yet he remained still, unspeaking, out of the respect he had for Nesta’s wishes.

Only when she asked for help would he interfere.

“As far as I’m concerned, a woman is not yours if she has not been legally married to you. I was still under my father’s care, and I remember our laws as clearly as you do.”

Tomas smirked as he said, “I may not have gotten what I wanted from you, but I’m certain half of Prythian had.”

Before she could register the sentence, Tomas slapped her. Pain sparked through her cheek, shock keeping her in place.

And that was when Cassian striked.

Tomas was pinned against the brick wall in seconds, both their faces red with rage. He clawed at Cassian's hand around his throat, but Cassian was far stronger than him. The Commander was snarling at his face as he gritted out, "Apologize."

Nesta sighed. "He can't apologize if you're blocking out his airway."

Cassian realized the science behind that and loosened his grip ever so slightly. Tomas turned his head towards Nesta, still trying to claw his way out, and spat at her feet.

No apology then, not when there’s no remorse. She had suspected as much and had kept a back up plan. Time to do this her way. With threats. Just like what she did to the King of Hybern.

She walked to Cassian's side and pulled out an Illyrian dagger from its sheath on his thigh, angling it right between Tomas' legs. He began to struggle against Cassian's hold to no avail.

"If I hear you attempt to rape some other poor girl, I'll cut your piss poor favourite part and feed it to the crows. If I hear you raped someone, I'll skin you alive with this very blade, and feed you to the many, horrifying creatures we have in Prythian. Understood?" Tomas only stared at her, so she pressed the blade harder against him. "Understood?"

Tomas nodded, keeping his body rigid underneath the sharp dagger. She released the hold she had on him, prompting Cassian to do the same.

Tomas held his throat, red from Cassian's iron grip. He quickly opened the door and ran in, but not without whispering, "Cunt," at Nesta. The door was shut quickly and she was sure Cassian would burn down the house with the entire Mandray family in it, seeing that he was about to grip the handle. She reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Cassian. It's fine. It's settled." As good as it can get. Some people will never change, she's learnt, but she truly hoped her threats had scared Tomas enough so no one else would fall victim to his flirtatious smiles. Nesta walked down the patio, Cassian falling in step. She fingered the blade before declaring, "I'm keeping this."

He stopped and watched her strap it to her thigh, just like he had done before. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't I be?" Cassian nodded and walked towards Lucien's house, Nesta following closely.

They had dinner at Lucien's, Jurian nowhere to be seen.

He's at the continent, checking up on Vassa's curse, Lucien had claimed.

After a good laugh about Nesta's threats, and many promises between Lucien and Feyre about visiting each other, Feyre winnowed the both of them and herself back to Velaris. Cassian had only bade them goodbye and flew off to the House of Wind, mumbling something about seeing Azriel regarding his reports.

Nesta stood in the sitting room, dumb founded at Cassian's abrupt leaving.

"What's that all about?" Feyre asked Nesta, and she shrugged. Nesta felt like the trip to Tomas had been eventful, and she felt more at peace than she ever did. She had enjoyed Cassian's overprotectiveness, but never had the chance to thank him. Not when dinner had circulated around Feyre and Lucien’s antics.

She smelled the faint scent of rain and citrusy salt before she saw Rhysand come through the doorway.

"How was the trip, ladies?" Rhysand said, walking over to kiss Feyre on the top of her head. He surveyed her from the top to bottom, and then moved on to do the same to Nesta.

His eyes stopped at the Illyrian dagger strapped to her thigh.

"Did he give you that."

Feyre turned to look at the blade, then back to her mate. "Why? What's wrong?" Rhysand stayed quiet, until Nesta quietly said, "I took it from him."

"He let you do that?" She nodded and his breath hitched.

Feyre's face whitened as Nesta knew Rhysand was explaining everything to her through the bond. "Well, spit it out," Nesta said, patience running thin.

They glanced at each other before Rhysand said, "In Illyrian traditions. . mating bonds are accepted when the female takes an Illyrian weapon from a male." Nesta understood before he finished. "And he let you take his."

Fuck.

She had accepted the bond without knowing.

“Didn’t Azriel lend his blade to Elain last year?”

Rhysand knew what she meant. “There’s no bond between them and she gave it back.”

Nesta unsheathed the dagger and looked at it. The rare steel, the craftsmanship and design, and most importantly, the intricate words of a forgotten language written into it. She wondered what it said.

"And what is supposed to come next?" she dared ask.

It was Feyre, this time, who answered.

"The actual mating."

Trailing her fingers along the sharp end, Nesta knew. She knew from the bottom of her heart, she wanted Cassian. The confrontation with Tomas only gave her more reason to want Cassian by her side. To face their fears together.

The faces of the High Lord and High Lady lit up when Nesta said, “Take me to the House of Wind. I want to see my mate.”

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