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mamamittens · 2 years

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Myrrh and Sea Quakes

Day #8 of Spooktober

Fandom: One Piece (Old God AU)

Ship: OldGod!Marco&F!Reader&OldGodWhitebeard

Warnings: Implied sickness/mind break (it gets better but looking at old gods unprepared gets kinda screwy so whatever).

Word Count: 4,062

@secretsnailor

The train rattled softly as it curved around the picturesquely deep blue bay, steadily making its way to the sleepy coastal town you had marked as your destination over a year ago for casual study. Though quite humble, this town has, in one form or another, been here for over two thousand years. The fishing seasons rarely leaving the inhabitants wanting in all that time and the pearls harvested naturally here were unlike any other in the world. Though lightly Christianized several centuries ago, there are still remnants of the religion that used to dominate the area.

Caves with elaborate carvings. Stone monuments eroded with time. Strange folk tales that endured to this day, though undeniably warped from their true origins.

This place called to you. Has called to you for years. Mythology has always been an interest of yours. You consumed the sanitized accounts of gods, and later the much messier stories of their lives. The many cults and micro-religions that sprang up and died as the years went by. It wasn’t like you were a trained academic. You hardly had the money and resources to seriously pursue them. But you could… linger in academic circles. Listen to much better-informed people and follow the sources they eagerly shared.

Now, with over a month of vacation time from your normal but well-paying job, you could spent your time enjoying the sights and seeing where legends were born for yourself. Honestly, this wasn’t even the most impressive area you could have chosen but… it felt right. This sleepy town felt…

The train came to a stop and you prepared to disembark.

Your accommodations were sorted ahead of time. A tavern rented out rooms to travelers every so often and was more than happy to house you for the time being. For a nominal fee, you even had the option to eat there for ‘free’. Assuming you didn’t find somewhere else in the town you’d like to try instead. No formal obligations outside of ensuring you handed them the cash when you picked up your key. You could have used your card, it was the modern era after all, but you didn’t want to risk a sudden issue this far away from your normal reception area. While you were sure they wouldn’t leave you out in the cold, it was better to not need to ask at all.

The town was mostly updated brickwork with decorative thatch roofs to insulate heat during the winter. Right now, in the summer, the charming town was alive with a daily market and regular trips through the bay to the sea where fish was bountiful. One of the reasons it was still so idyllic and low tech was how troublesome it was to get here. The train line only went through once a week and rarely was it used for anything more than cargo. No roads lead this far out and it just didn’t stand out enough to be a stop in a cruise line.

People came here to disappear from modern life, the travel agent told you. And many had done so, though there was occasionally a few who decided to leave for more promising prospects. Still, you were here for a relaxing vacation and to explore the surrounding area to your liking. You smiled as you made your way to the tavern, eager to settle in and get a feel for the area.

The owner, a much older woman with shrewd brown eyes, welcomed you. She counted the money efficiently and stowed it away with a pleased expression when it was the needed amount.

“Thank God I don’t need to fiddle with that box. It’s been on the fritz but I’ll be damned if I call that damn service number again!” She crowed, handing you a key, “Room eight, dear. Feel free to let me know if you need anything. I aired it out yesterday and stocked up, but I’m not as young as I once was. There may be something I forgot.” You smiled and accepted the large, iron key.

The tavern was relatively empty when you left, your suitcase unpacked and room checked for anything ‘missing’ or otherwise wrong. There wasn’t, so you locked up and left, eager to explore the town. The locals were friendly but otherwise preoccupied with their own lives, which you didn’t mind honestly. Just walking around in the warm sunlight and fresh air, sea salt lingering on your tongue from the sea nearby, was satisfying enough for you.

There was a hill a somewhat short walk from the town. It crested over the horizon and provided a beautiful view of the ocean and bay. As well as the train tracks below. A stone monument about waist high sat there. Eroded with time, you thought it resembled a bowl. It was possibly a sconce to hold a fire as a sort of light house. Or maybe, you fancied, as part of an old ritual. Hard to say with any certainty given the lack of written works from the area. Hell, it could have just been a manmade nest for a bird. Odd to have just one, but birdhouses were a thing you supposed, though it was open to the air so maybe it wasn’t used often.

You still liked the ritual idea regardless.

You took a few pictures for posterity, particularly of the sunset. You lingered after it went down, leaning back against the stone monument. The smear of gold and orange slowly overtaken by the night sky. Stars coming to life as the milky way shined out over the sea. Though breathtaking, you still had to leave. Reluctantly, and a bit hungry, you turned on your phone’s flashlight.

To your surprise, something reflected back at you from the stone monument. Thick characters somehow preserved under a layer of moss that sparked with the light of your phone. Carefully, you poured water over it and tested the surface with your nail. It gave way easily and you barely had to do anything to clear it properly. Unfortunately, you had no idea what it said at all. A quick picture for reference and you caressed the side of the bowl with a smile.

You’ve barely been here a day and already you were finding such interesting mysteries.

As expected, the tavern was a lot more lively when you got back, the owner visibly relieved when she saw you.

“There you are sweetie! I was starting to get worried!” She sighed, sliding a bowl of stew and half a loaf of bread for you to enjoy. After another moment, she gave you a cup of tea.

“Sorry, ma’am. I was over on that hill with the uh… bowl? With the bowl on it. The sunset was beautiful, I couldn’t help but watch for longer than intended.” You explained sheepishly as you accepted the food and sat down at the bar. You dug in, happily enjoying the savory meal and fresh bread. The old lady chuckled.

“Yeah, the sunset is quite beautiful this time of year. You should see it in the winter! The bay freezes over a bit and all the colors reflect on the snow—oh it’s my favorite!” She paused for a moment, “Bowl you say? Oh! That old thing, why it’s been here since I was a little girl! We used to pour mud into it and pretend to be witches, but it was always empty the next day. Probably some old crotchety bastard cleaning it out but still… It’s a perfect place to watch the sunrise too, you know.”

You smiled, swallowing down your soaked bread.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind! Say, are there any other odd things like that bowl out here? I like looking at old stuff like that. Really catches the imagination.” You laughed, taking a sip of tea.

Before she could respond, someone sat down next to you with a chuckle.

“Oh, there’s plenty of old things like that around these parts, young lady. Are you sure you want to go looking for them, though? Instead of the handsome young men that like to show off for pretty ladies like you on the docks?” He asked, his face obscured under a raincoat. His voice low and rough with age. The old woman tensed and narrowed her eyes at him. He was quite tall and broad, but other than that, you could discern anything about him.

“Don’t you go encouraging that nonsense! Those boys get into enough trouble as it is! Always harassing every new face that comes around—no manners the lot of them!” She huffed, and you couldn’t help but laugh and shake your head.

“I’ll have to pass on that generous offer.” You declined with a smile. The stranger huffed.

“Well, in that case, you’ll have better luck on the shore. There’s a few caves down there with old carvings and whatnot.” You nodded thankfully and paused.

“Hey, do you know what that bowl says? It’s got… well, something like words on it and I wondered if it was still used or not.” You asked, getting out your phone. Your flash photograph caught the golden script unnaturally well and the old woman shook her head.

“No, I’m afraid not. Never noticed that in all my years or seen it’s like… how strange.” You frowned, certain that the buildup over the stone was thin enough it had to be new growth. Though, you supposed it would be long gone if it was obviously made with gold…

“Huh… well I’ll be damned! Let me see that closer, young lady.” The man asked softly, reaching out to tilt the screen towards him, “In cold light we call you, bearer of the sacred fire. Rise from the waves and begin anew… Now isn’t that something…” He looked at you, face still obscured in shadows. The tip of a white moustache peeking out from the hood as light reflected, finally revealing where his eyes were. You were caught in that gaze for a long moment.

The world fell away and you with it. It was like he was measuring you. Peering deep into your soul and peeling back the layers of your life with gentle hands. Something shifted in the darkness. A smile. Soft and kind. Eager.

The old man clapped his hand on your shoulder and left without a word. Somewhat dizzy, you turned back to the old woman to find her gone. The tavern was almost empty and your food gone but you felt full. When did you finish? You phone was tucked away in your pocket.

Despite your anxiety from the lapse of time, you went to bed and slept like a rock.

Only to wake up an hour before sunrise, completely unprompted.

You were completely baffled but unable to go back to sleep. Without anything better to do, you decided to watch the sunrise from the hill.

To your surprise, it was different now. Immaculately clean lapis lazuli with veins of gold. An old nest was settled in the bowl, bright blue feathers woven in the nesting material with scraps of fabric, but no eggs or bird in sight. There was, however, a gold dagger with an ebony blade perched within. The handle a fan of short feathers that resembled a peacock. The sun began to rise behind you, casting warmth across your back as you stared down in shock.

There was no way this was some weird, tourist prank. Who even has the kind of money to make this? It was all real, undeniably so. A village that could afford to commission this would be rolling in money. And to set it up for a single person unprompted? Ridiculous. How would they even know you would be here?

The sun rose higher and you turned to view it completely. Nerves shot as you took deep, calming breaths. The sun’s rays spread across the island, slowly illuminating the town as a few people started leaving their houses.

Someone grabbed your shoulders, their breath pushing past your ear as they whispered.

“Behind you.” But when you turned around? Nothing. No one was there, though the pressure from their hands lingered.

Something caught your eye, far below. A glimmer of light down by the shore despite the sunrise not reaching that far back yet.

You had to go there.

You needed to go there.

You didn’t even realize you grabbed the knife as you left. You could only think of that distant light and how you needed to go there. Your legs ached from the fast pace as you raced down to the beach. And when you got to where you saw the light, you found a cave, just barely illuminated by the rising sun.

It was naturally quite damp inside, stalagmites and stalactites littered the way as you pushed on. To where you weren’t sure. You just knew you had to go deeper. Until you paused, whispers crowding your mind as you looked over. The light from your phone revealing a narrow passage down with steps made from the cave. Your shoulders brushed the sides of the claustrophobic passage but still, you pressed on.

Just you, walking into the dark, damp passage. Drawn forward by voices just outside of hearing. Your breaths the only true sound as the waves of the sea faded away.

Eventually, after quite some time, the passage opened up. Revealing a grand cavern with glowing blue water and a path of floating rocks towards a statue on the far side. There were rings of rocks surrounding it, as though it was meant to accommodate an audience. The statue in question was made of the same materials as the bowl from on the hill. Lapis lazuli carved into a large bird, head cast down towards the large egg it held between it’s wings on a pedestal with rows of gold disks.

Golden break and mohawk glistened in the low light, carved features somehow watching you approach. Cautiously, almost. The egg in question was larger than your torso and almost too tall to reach when you approached cautiously. At the top of the egg was a tuft of emeralds carved into sharp angles. Water from the ceiling dripped down frequently, but despite this, there wasn’t any moss on the damp statue anywhere.

Breathlessly, you raised the knife and watched in amazement as it slipped into place seamlessly. The egg cracked open horizontally, mesmerizing light seeping through as it lifted just slightly. With a turn, the knife locked into place and you lifted up the upper half of the egg with some difficulty. Placing it carefully on the ground, you turned to find a small bird laying inside.

It was bright blue and fluffy, feathery crest a startling gold as it gave a weak chirp. Its eyes were unfathomably deep and bright blue with no pupil. Sucking you in as it struggled to stand. Carefully, you scooped it up, it’s body almost a liquid as what you thought was fluffy wavered in the air like fire. Something beneath it clutched your fingers, talons shaking from effort as a low note whistled from it.

“Oh no… how long have you been down here? You’re so cold!” Your voice slipped out uncertainly. A voice whispered in your ear with a sigh.

“…So long I’ve suffered in the dark… You are so warm, yoi. Show me the light and I may finally rest. Truly rest.”

You were breathless at the husky voice that came from such a small creature. You nodded, unsure what else there was to say, and cradled him close to your chest as you made your way back up the long flight of stairs.

With every step he seemed to get stronger, nuzzling into your shirt with pleased coos.

“You smell like father. He led you here, didn’t he? Clever old man… even reduced as he is, he could never fit down the stairs.” He chuckled, growing in your grasp until he was the size of a swan, curling his neck around your shoulders and nestling against your warmth. Despite his growth, he still barely weighed anything. His body barely solid in your arms as he illuminated the passage with a glowing blue light. His sigh ruffled your hair as you exited the passageway and walked out towards the sunlight. The ocean in view as he clicked his beak in excitement.

Once you both were in the sunlight, he squirmed free of your arms and smacked gracelessly into the sand, eagerly cooing at the sea. Musical cries slipped from him as he fanned out his wings and dragged his long tail through the waves, stretching out further and further. Growing until he was as big as an elephant, gold feathers erupting from his tail as he cried out in triumph. Then he settled down, talons sinking into the sand as he tipped his head down towards you.

He looked like liquid fire come to life in burning teal and gold. Solid but not, feathers moving like water with barely any heat as he brushed your body with his beak. It pushed you back a bit before you ran your hands over the smooth surface. He hummed, hunkering down somewhat before lifting his head and picking you up by the back of your shirt.

“Woah! H-Hold on! What are you doing?!” You yelped, startled as he walked into the cave, breaking anything in his way with his body. You, thankfully, were carefully kept out of the way, though you still dangled gracelessly as he walked.

“Resting. There’s a lot of work ahead of me… traditionally, the one that wakes me rests by my side as well. It is quite an honor, yoi.” He declared teasingly as the cave dipped down to a large, smooth bowl. “Father will likely join us too. It has been… too long since I last saw him.”

“Who?” You asked weakly as he made slow circles before settling down, dropping you under his feathers where you lost all sense of self. It felt like you were floating in a sea of glowing blue. Sparks of gold firing off in slow bursts. Pleased, he slipped his head over your lap, sighing in contentment as your eyes grew heavy. The sea sounded so close, the rolling waves easing you into sleep despite your frankly bizarre circumstances.

Ocean blue eyes watching you be dragged under their sway.

You woke briefly to movement, a complaint slipping from your throat as you were picked up by a warm hand before being settled back down. Beak pressing back over you’re your body as you looked up hazily. It was a massive man with a gentle smile and laugh lines. Gray eyes pleased as he tugged on the tip of his white moustache that curved over his upper lip like a crescent moon.

He looked almost normal, but something in his eyes made you feel like you were falling. Fading away in the face of something much bigger than yourself. Like looking up at the stars and feeling the weight of your humanity. He laughed and petted the back of the bird that rested beside you.

“I’m glad you listened, young lady. My sons and I are in your debt. Rest, Marco. I will watch over you both.” He spoke softly but his voice still vibrated in your bones. The ocean sounded overwhelmingly close now. “Sleep.”

Darkness swept over you.

The café was busy, as expected. You merely enjoyed your cup of coffee with an air of resignation. Late. As you expected, but still. He could stand to be on time every once in a while.

“Sorry I’m late, yoi!” You heard a voice call behind you. Marco walked up the path with a lazy gait, smile apologetic as he ruffled his hair. Gold in the sunlight and eyes an unbroken sea of blue.

You smiled.

“Better be. I ordered your usual.” You declared magnanimously.

“Thanks, yoi.” Marco paused as he took a seat, suddenly smiling brilliantly. “You’re here…” He whispered. You frowned, confused.

“…Yeah? Where else would I be?” Marco kept grinning, tears in his eyes as he reached over and grabbed your hands. Talons gentle as they caged you in. “You’re acting weird…” You muttered with a crooked smile.

“Sometimes… Sometimes if we’re not careful, people break. I was so weak and tired when you found me—but now you’re here.” Marco pressed a kiss to your cheek, whispering into your hair.

“It’s time to wake up, dove. We’ve all been waiting for you.”

You jolted awake on silk sheets; candles alight all around you.

There was a boisterous laugh above you.

It was the old man you met in the tavern and again when Marco slept. Still towering over you, bare chest covered in scars with pure white pants.

“Good morning, young lady. I apologize for my son. Marco usually has better control than that… hmm, you’re stronger now. You see more than before, don’t you?” He asked with a shrewd glance, smile still firmly fixed in place, “That’s good. Your dreams may be a bit… odd in the near future though. Not many can bear the full sight of our visage. Isn’t that right, Marco?”

A golden break peaked out from behind him as Marco walked closer to you. Feathers brighter than before, more distinct though still holding that unearthly floating quality. A low coo echoed in the chamber.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better. You developed a fever and was insensible for days. We—I—found better bedding for you.” You pat the plush bed beneath you and smiled.

“Thanks… who… what are you?” You asked hesitantly.

“Gods. Very old gods. Rough around the edges and debatably not good company.” Marco declared, to which the other man huffed.

“Speak for yourself, son. I’ve been wonderful company in the local town for decades now.” That earned him a side eye.

“Oh? Do any of them remember it?” Marco asked coyly.

The man scoffed but notably didn’t say anything.

“You’ve never been very good at appearing ordinary. I bet you wore that ridiculous raincoat and hid your face the whole time.” Marco muttered, absent mindedly running the tip of his beak over your hair.

“I made eye contact and the next think I know, all my food was eaten and it was time to go do bed.”

Marco clicked his beak and glared back pointedly.

“Well, there will be no more of that!” Marco reassured you. “I’ll have to make my rounds soon. Seas know how long it’ll take to track down Ace… How do you feel about a trip? I could use the company. And several of my foolish brothers simply wouldn’t be able to help themselves around a pretty young lady like yourself.” You frowned.

“Help themselves?” You blanched, certain very… colorful tales coming to mind. But Marco was quick to reassure you as the other man—who you still didn’t have a name for—laughed.

“They’re chronic showoffs. Thatch especially can’t resist a difficult customer. You’ll be perfectly safe, I swear. Some of them are just a little too comfortable in their disguises. But it’s time to wake up.” Marco huffed.

You were feeling a little overwhelmed but… well, you did want an interesting vacation.

“Alright. But! What do I call you?” You asked the giant man. He gave a soft chuff of laughter.

“I have many titles. Earned for great feats across the sea—”

“Call him pops. Or Whitebeard if you must.” Marco cut into the prideful boasting. “Anything else is just to boost his ego.”

Whitebeard huffed and muttered under his breath.

“…children these days…no respect…I’d accept Edward too you know…”

Laughing, you smiled and sat up properly, almost slipping on the smooth fabric.

“Well then, I suppose I don’t have anything better to do!” You beamed, eager to learn more from actual literal fucking gods, “What do we do first?”

Marco clicked his beak in approval.

“Thatch is already making quite a bit of noise. He’ll be upset if he isn’t one of the first.” Marco chuckled. “And if the others have anything to say on the matter well… then maybe they shouldn’t have hidden themselves so well.” Marco declared.

You had no idea where this was going to lead—or even how you’d begin to explain it all.

But you couldn’t wait to get started.

#spooktober #one piece #marco the phoenix #op whitebeard #it's kind of unclear but this is like a soft version of the apocalypse #old gods literally rising back from the deep #but it's the Whitebeard crew so they just wanna party lol #reader insert #sfw fluff #spooky old gods

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narislotus · 1 year

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love washed ashore

a kokosara drabble ( ~800 words)

- sailor sara x mermaid kokomi (hbd queen!)

- love at first sight

- no warnings (rated teen)

A flash of light across the sky.

The first sign of trouble and the last coherent memory in Sara’s head. The moments afterward were in a miscellaneous jumble of thunderous bangs and a sickening feeling in the pits of her stomach. Even in her unconscious state, the sounds of horrified screams rang into her ears and elevated her already-splitting headache. Along with that pain is the aching sensation persisting throughout her entire body.

All Sara could feel was pain.

Well, for the most part.

Combating the distant screeches was the sound of a hypnotic melody that got louder along with the awakening of her consciousness. The heat from the island sun was nothing compared to the heat radiating a particular part of her arm - a soothing warmth rather than an agonizing one. Despite her battle with the heaviness in her eyelids, Sara begrudgingly opens them and was immediately blinded by the scorching sun.

Just as Sara reached up to cover her eyes, another hand beat her to it. She didn’t comment on this at first as she focused on regaining her eyesight. But seconds later, she recognized the oddity of the situation. She noticed the hand when her vision was restored - or, at least, what she assumed to be a hand. The limb was slimy with webbed fingers and scales scattered across what would be the wrist. It was an odd combination of human and aquatic.

As the hand lifted, Sara turned to her left when she noticed something flapping at the corner of her eyes. She nearly jumped when she saw a large fish-like tail at her side, extending under her head. As peculiar as it was, the appendage was quite majestic. The ombré of pinks and blues sparkled under the sun’s reflection, finishing with a crepe-colored caudal fin. Sara would have had a stronger reaction if she wasn’t so dazed but was still curious regardless. Her unexplained questions and light pressure on her arm led her to immediately turn her attention to the right.

And just then - that was Sara’s fatal mistake.

As her eyes traveled up the pale torso and seashell-themed bralette, she faced what could only be described as eerie beauty. It all started from the neck, being altered by what appeared to be many gills slashed across. Her eyes journeyed upwards to rose-colored lips that sourced the sedative tune. Behind them, Sara could see the tiniest fangs sticking out before being masked behind a tight smile.

Sara’s eyes continued upwards and passed by rounded cheeks and a pointed nose - both flushed light red. Her travel paused as she met another set of eyes - a gradient of deep indigo to the lightest pinks. Despite the lack of a pupil, these eyes were anything but soulless. Rather, it was like a vibrant spread of paints being mixed along a canvas. The more you stared, the more you were unknowingly drawn into the masterpiece. With the aid of the tranquilizing music, it became difficult to turn her gaze away.

A gust of wind brushed past them, kicking up the creature’s pinkish-blue hair. A hand reached up to tuck the hair strands behind a finned ear. Pearls were decorating the oceanic being’s ears, neck, and head. Once the shock started to wear off, Sara could piece every new sight together to get a complete visual of the artistry.

“How long will you keep staring without a word?” the woman spoke delicately, complimenting her angelic image.

“I-I apologize,” Sara stammered, sounding unusually nervous. “You’re just so…”

“You aren’t the first. But you’re certainly the most notable,” the woman smiled, stroking Sara’s cheek. “Although, if you had stared any longer, I would’ve suspected some sort of brain damage. You were in quite the wreckage.”

Sara attempted to move but every limb felt like it was being punctured with needles. She noticed that parts of her limbs were wrapped with bandages, with a part of her arm still being tended to.

“Since we’ll be in each other’s presence for a while, we should at least become familiar,” the hybrid woman continued. “Call me Kokomi. And you are…?”

“Sara…”

“Sara? Simple but endearing. Then, let me ask - are you afraid of me, Sara?”

Sara immediately shook her head, being compelled not to think.

“Then we’ll get along just fine - even better than fine,” Kokomi giggled. “Now, rest. I’ll prepare food for you once I’m finished.”

Sara felt coerced into following her every word, already being swayed back to sleep. She didn’t know where she was, if anyone else had survived, or even if she would ever make it home again. But all of those worries felt distant - just like the sound of hypnotic humming in the background as she closed her eyes.

#genshin writing #writeblr #writing #genshin impact #kokomi #sangonomiya kokomi #sara #kujou sara #kujou sara x kokomi #kokosara

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kestrelvylbrand · 2 years

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FFXIV Write 2: Bolt

Master List (Coming Soon)

“You’re killing me with these prices!” Kestrel sighed dramatically. The store owner did not look impressed. She was a middle-aged elezen woman, her iron-grey hair tied up into a neat bun. A pair of half-moon spectacles perched halfway down on her narrow nose. Her clothes were immaculate, as one might expect from an upscale store in Ishgard.

“These are newly imported from Radz-at-han,” she said with a sniff, pushing the glasses further up her nose so she could look Kestrel up and down. Kestrel struck a pose, then leaned sideways against the table with the fabrics rolled out. The conclusion of the woman’s examination clearly didn’t come out in Kestrel’s favor.

“They are handmade, very exquisite. I try not to judge a book by its cover…” She tilted her head, giving Kestrel another look. “... But if the price is too high for you, I am sure we can find something more in your range.”

The woman’s tone had softened slightly, perhaps at Kestrel’s expression. “I have some rather lovely organza, how does mauve sound?” She left the bolt of clothes on the table as she turned to find the mauve organza. Kestrel played idly with one of the pearls of the delicate fabric that had caught her eye from outside the store. It was a delicate, translucent fabric, fading from soft blue into a deep purple, like the sky right after the sun has set, before it truly gets dark. Pearls of various sizes dotted the fabric like stars. She didn’t usually pay much attention to fabrics but this one, this one had caught her attention immediately when she passed by.

She flicked one of the pearls, then smoothed out a fold with a defeated expression. Normally, she would not have hesitated to just grab the cloth and bolt, and when the shopkeeper had first eyed her with that hawkish, disdainful expression Kestrel knew all to well, that was exactly what she had planned to do. But now, another feeling crept in, keeping her nailed to the floor as the woman fussed over various fabrics. Was it guilt? Despite her initial impression, the woman had not turned Kestrel away at the door, and had in fact barely hesitated to bring the bolt of pearl-studded fabric out to show her, despite the fact that Kestrel knew it was all too clear she didn’t have the kind of money one would need for this kind of store. And now, she was trying her best to find something else, something just as good, even if she wasn’t quite succeeding. The old woman turned around with a few bolts of fabrics in her arms, the mauve organza, a soft, cream colored fabric that looked somewhat silken texture. A spring green fabric with a delicate white pattern. She placed them all on the table next to the blue fabric. Kestrel inspected them. They all looked nice enough, and she honestly didn’t know much about this stuff anyway. She could patch a shirt if she needed to, or maybe hem a pair of paints, but that was about as far as her skill with a needle went. The real artist was…

Without even thinking, her hand had moved from the green fabric back to the blue. The woman sent her a sympathetic look. “Do you need it for something special?” she asked, her eyes once again inspecting Kestrel’s attire. From the bowler hat to the suspenders, to the worn, thigh-high boots, Kestrel wasn’t unstylish, but “delicate” and “pretty” was probably not words anyone would use to describe her, unlike the fabric she seemed so taken with. Kestrel glanced at the woman and pulled her hand back with a small sheepish nod. “Yeah, just a gift,” she mumbled with an apologetic smile. Why did she feel so awkward? The woman nodded. Then her brow furrowed, and with a surprising speed, she reached out and snatched Kestrel’s wrist, turning it over in her hand. Kestrel barely had time to react as the woman pushed the sleeve up to expose more of the tattoo that had peaked out under the white fabric. Crude, somewhat faded lines depicting a wolf in a stalking position appeared. The woman regarded it with an iron expression until Kestrel pulled her hand back and annoyed pulled the sleeve back down. She needed to be more careful now that she was back in Ishgard. In Limsa Lominsa or Ul’dah, the tattoo would likely have meant nothing to most people, but here, it was another story. “You run with the Ice Wolves?” she asked, her tone unreadable. Kestrel sighed. If the woman had hesitated to throw her out before, she probably wouldn’t for much longer. “Not anymore…” Kestrel’s tone was dismissive, her shoulders raising as she pushed her hands into her pocket. Maybe she should steal the fabric after all. Tonight perhaps, or another day. She blinked as the woman reached out and tilted her head up to look at her closer. “My... Graham’s sister, are you? Yes, I’ve heard of you.”

Kestrel blinked, surprised. They were well outside of the Wolves’ usual territory, and she doubted Graham would be able to demand protection money in this part of town. The woman’s expression softened. “Well, it was years ago,” she said. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen him. But you do look so much like him.” She let go of Kestrel’s face, inspecting her for a moment. “Tell you what. I owe Graham a favor, he was good to me once. Why don’t I give you a few yards of the blue fabric and you tell him to stop by for tea when you see him, yes?” Kestrel blinked again, stunned. This was not the kind of people she expected owing Graham favors, if that was what this could be called. She finally caught herself and nodded eagerly. “Of course. Thank you, if there’s anything I can ever do for you…” she rambled as the woman pulled out a pair of large, elegant silver scissors decorated with vines and flowers, and cut a line through the fabric. Then she folded it neatly, wrapping a piece of silk paper around it and putting it into a neat, rose-colored box before sending Kestrel a small smile. “Thank you, dear, I will keep that in mind, I am sure you are a person of many talents.” She handed Kestrel the box, and for a moment, Kestrel could have sworn she winked. She took the box with a sense of reverie, looking at it before sending the lady a wide grin and tipping her hat.

When she left the store, it had started to snow.

Fabric Source

#ffxivwrite2022 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #final fantasy 14 #kestrel #black cats and bowler hats

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ramblingkat · 2 years

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Tears of Pearl and an Ocean Heart

Look, chapter two. Also found on ao3(/archiveofourown.org/works/38731128/chapters/96896982)

Kuchiki Rukia, Kurosaki Yuzu, Kurosaki Karin, Kurosaki Ichigo

Tears of Pearl and an Ocean Heart: chapter 2

Chapter Two

Everything ached.

It took a long moment for Rukia to recall that she shouldn’t be feeling anything at the moment. She should, by all rights, be dead. Not rocking back and forth gently, head throbbing like the one time Renji had snuck her out for a night of drinking. Not feeling like something was tangled around legs that felt…odd.

Rukia opened her eyes.

The first thing she saw was great green leaves, floating as the water that held them flowed around. Far above, she saw the glimmer of light on the water surface, and Rukia choked as she realized she was underwater still.

That’s when she realized she could breathe. Stiil, the woman panicked a bit, struggling with whatever was wrapped around her as she fought to get free. Was having flashes of the mermaid caught in the net, and it made her fight all the harder.

“Hey! Stop freaking out” came a voice, strong hands catch hers. Rukia’s head snapped up, and she found herself looking into brown eyes, only to have her attention caught by the short orange hair that was rippling in the water as the man pulled her hands away from the stuff trapping her.

He looked familiar. Especially the scowl he was giving her. “Take a deep breath, I’m going to help unwind you.”

Almost automatically, Rukia did, some part of her distracted by the fact she could do so. The water that she pulled in didn’t make her body choke and fight to keep it out. Instead, it was just like breathing air.

The man in front of her moved slightly, and Rukia realized it was kelp she had been wrapped in. It only took a few moments for her to be freed from it, and that’s when she realized it wasn’t legs that the kelp had been wrapped around.

From roughly her waist down, Rukia had a strong, sleek tail shaded in shades of violet, black, and white.

Her vision went grey for a moment as she’s tried to process what it was she was looking at, and the woman realized she had stopped breathing for a moment.

“Hey,” the man was in her face again, and Rukia jolted back. She realized that he was a merman, his own tail shades of red, orange, gold, and black. It was a shock of color, though Rukai was distracted by the human half that rose from the tail. Slim waist, well defined muscles, he’d have gotten plenty of attention from girls back home.

Then Rukia realized that she was as topless as him, and shrieked, arms coming up to cover her chest.

The man jerked back, eyes going wide. “What?” he asked, looking around rapidly.

“Hey!,” and a new voice, a female one, and then the golden mermaid that Rukia had helped save appeared, along with another with dark hair and scales. The golden one was…pouting?

“You know that dry land people wear clothes,” the gold one protested, getting between Rukia and the man. “They’re shy!”

“Yeah, Ichi-nii,” said the dark haired one. “They get all weird about not having their extra layers.”

The man frowned more. “Why are you guys so sure about what dry landers do?” he asked suspiciously. “Getting too close is how you get caught.”

While his tone was scolding, Rukia could see the relief in his eyes when he looked at the golden mermaid. Then he looked at Rukia and gave a small bow. Which was strange, given that they were all floating in water.

“Thank you,” he said, looking up to meet her eyes as he bowed. “You saved my little sister, and I will always owe you for that.”

There was a giggle, and the gold mermaid turned and snagged Rukia’s hands. Rukia flushed hot and red, even in this cool water, as she was exposed again. “I’m Yuzu. Thank you for saving me. I’m glad you did. I hadn’t meant to get so close to the ship, but I was playing with the dolphins.” She pointed to the man behind her. “That’s Ichigo, and this is Karin.” That was to the dark haired girl.

Rukia was still trying to take in everything, mind whirling as she was trying to adjust to the fact she was naked and had a tail and was breathing water and…. For a moment, she felt dizzy, too much going on for her to do anything.

“Go get food,” Ichigo was saying, and she heard him distantly, her heart pounding in her ears as she struggled to think. There were other voices, even fainter than Ichigo’s, and sounded as if they were moving further away. Rukia wondered if she was going to pass out underwater. What would that be like?

Then warm hands cupped her face, shockingly hot with the cool water around them. She blinked, and found herself looking into Ichigo’s eyes. He was studying her, frowning a bit.

“Take a deep breath,” he said, and Rukia automatically did so. She felt water following into her mouth, but the panic she expected didn’t follow. “Hold it.” A few seconds passed, then Ichigo gave her a small nod. “Now let it out.” There were a few more cycles of that, and then Ichigo, still looking into her eyes, nodded with a small smile.

That was dangerous, that smile. Rukia did not need to be flustered by an attractive man on top of her other crisis that were going on at the moment. It wasn’t fair that the smile brightened up his whole face, making his eyes appear almost amber. Completely not fair.

“I’m sorry for shocking you like that,” he said, still cupping her face in his hand, thumbs rubbing gently against her skin. “I’ve never given a pearl to anyone, so I forgot how shocking it is for humans to suddenly become a merewif without warning.”

He looked at her eyes again. “You okay?”

Taking a moment to calm herself, Rukia nodded. Though she was still covering her chest with her arms. “I’d like a shirt,” she admitted, and Ichigo frowned for a moment.

“I can do that,” he said after a moment. “But clothing doesn’t do well under the water here. It slows us down. And we’ll only have so long to get you back to shore before the pearl wears off. Though I have a bag with your things. Yuzu insisted we save them for you.” He paused, considering. “I guess a shirt won’t slow us down too much.”

“Pearl?” Rukia asked, though she felt better when he said that they had her things.

Ichigo nodded. “All merewif make a pearl, and we can feed it to a human to change them. Temporarily.” He finally let go of her, backing off enough that Rukai didn’t feel quite so self conscious about the fact they were both rather nude. “I fed you mine when I realized you were drowning. After you saved Yuzu, I couldn’t do anything else.”

“So if I hadn’t saved her, you would have let me drown?” Rukia winced as the question escaped her. She was supposed to be better trained than to be so blatantly rude. But she was pretty sure that almost drowning and ending up in a completely new form were good enough reasons to forget that bit of training.

There was a shrug from Ichigo. “If you hadn’t saved her, you wouldn’t have fallen overboard,” he said. “So either you would have survived to make it to land, or drowned when we brought the ship down, like the others did.”

Her skin felt cold now. “You killed them?” she whispered, not sure why she cared. They would have killed her, and did try to kill a helpless girl.

“They killed themselves,” Ichigo answered with a shrug. “The storm was already born. They were not prepared for it. I had more important things to deal with than to kill a group of humans that were going down with their ship.”

There were shouts as Karin and Yuzu swam back to them, Karin holding a net of fish, and Yuzu holding a wrap. Karin shoved the fish at Ichigo, and then she and Yuzu pulled Rukia to the side.

“Ichi-nii’s friend Orihime showed us how to do this,” Karin said, helping wind the cloth around Rukia in a way that it covered her, but didn’t bind. Rukia felt a great deal better when she was covered, though she was flustered as she realized none of the siblings had any real clothing on. Some decorations, but that was all.

So it was a still blushing Rukia that was given a fish, already sliced thin by Ichigo.

“I know humans don’t like raw fish generally,” he started, then blinked as Rukia pretty much inhaled the offering. He didn’t hesitate to give her a second piece as Rukia laughed softly.

“In some places, they may be strange, but this is a delicacy where I am,” Rukia said. She didn’t know the name of the fish, but it looked similar to others she had eaten, and they had always been delicious. And she was apparently hungry, putting away the entire amount he offered her.

Once they had eaten, Ichigo nodded. He swam away, coming back after only a few moments with a pack. It was fastened around him, as flat as could be, though her blade was strapped to the outside. Rukia despaired over the amount of cleaning she was going to have to do in order to keep the sword in decent shape. Even spell blades were not made to be in salt water for long.

“You two, stay here,” he said, ruffling up the girls' hair, much to both of them flailing. “I’m going to take Rukia back to land. No going up to the surface until I’m with you. Okay?”

There were some grumbles from Karin, but given the way she latched onto Yuzu’s hand, Rukia got the feeling neither girl was going to risk the surface for a bit. Yuzu smiled at Rukia, but it was clear to see that she was not eager to challenge her brother on this.

“Thank you again,” Yuzu said, swimming as quickly as she could while dragging Karin, and wrapped around Rukia in a full body hug. “Thank you so much.”

It sounded like the girl was crying, though there would be no way to see tears in the sea. Rukai just hugged her back. “I’m glad you were able to get away safely,” she said, petting the paler hair. “Watch out for humans. We’re dangerous sometimes.”

Yuzu nodded, face pressed against Rukia’s shoulder. Then she unwound and gave them space. “Nii-san, you need to go.”

Ichigo nodded. “I know. Rukia, follow me.”

He started away, then instincts that Rukia didn’t even know she had allowed her to follow him with only one false start. It didn't take long for her to figure out how to move smoothly, and she quickly caught up with him.

“What happens if we’re still in the water when I change back?” she asked, suddenly realizing that might be an issue. Ichigo, tail moving him strongly through the water, shook his head.

“Not anything good. Your lungs will expel the water you inhaled while one of us, but if you aren’t on the surface, it would be drowning all over again.” He glanced at her, a teasing grin on his face. “Let’s try to avoid that.”

He hummed. “Do you have any distinctive beaches you remember? It’ll help me get you close to home. So you have to do less once you are on land.” He glanced at her again. “I assume you are from Seireitei. They are the only ones who have these sort of distinct swords, if I recall.”

As she thought about it, Rukia grimaced. She knew the laws that the city had over mermaids, and likely Ichigo did as well. Though he was still trying to get her close to home. That was kind of him, and Rukia hoped that nothing bad came of this.

“A tumble of rocks from a cliff face. The rocks were reddish brown, but they exposed white chalk behind it,” she said after a moment. Had seen that while on a ship with her brother, him showing her the extent of their lands.

“I know that spot,” Ichigo said, sounding pleased. Then he picked up the pace. “Come on. It’s a bit of a journey. And the faster we get there, the better. I had a lot of magic in that pearl, but I’m not a sea witch. But it should be enough to get you home.”

Not feeling like drowning again, Rukia closed her mouth and focused on swimming. It was tiring, and she knew she was going to crash once she got another chance to rest. But sooner than she expected, the floor of the sea was starting to rise up to meet the sunlit surface. Ichigo was taking quick looks above water regularly, and then finally stopped.

“There,” he said, and Rukia rose up to look as well. It took a moment for her to blink water from her eyes, her vision blurring a moment as she adjusted. But there was a familiar cliff, gleaming white behind the red rocks.

Ichigo looked at her. “You will never know how much I appreciate what you’ve done,” he said, voice solemn. “My sisters are more important to me than anything. If I can ever help, I will try to do so.”

As he spoke, Ichigo was peeling himself out of the pack, then shoved it at her. “Swim to shore. Once you are on dry land, the spell will break automatically. You can dress and make your way home.”

Taking the bag, Rukia nodded. “I…” she started, then stopped, unsure of what she might say. Ichigo grinned, then flipped backwards with a flash of brilliant tail. Scowling a moment, Rukai took that for the signal that it was, and she swam towards the shore.

The waves helped bring her in, and once damp sand was under her, she did change. There was a great, wracking cough as water was forced from her lungs, but the air was sweet afterwards.

Standing, wobbly for a moment, Rukia quickly dressed. She looked ragged, and felt it as well. Already, she could imagine the chaos that would be the result of her staggering home after surviving a shipwreck.

Glancing out at sea, Rukia saw a flash of vibrant hair and scales as Ichigo surfaced, waved, then dove back into the water.

She’d almost miss that, the feeling of freedom that swimming like that had given her.

Then she turned and headed inland.

#fanfiction #Bleach #Tears of Pearl and an Ocean Heart #Kuchiki Rukia #Kurosaki Ichigo #Kurosaki Yuzu #Kurosaki Karin

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radarrider87 · 1 year

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The Seven Year Sleep (Chapter 5)

Seven years ago...

A cold wind’s blowing through my office window. Most of the time, you can’t really feel the chill, not when your mind is burning and you’re waist deep in another case. Most of the time, I can ignore it, but not tonight.

Tonight, I feel that wind and all the cold promises it can keep. It spurs me on, telling me to take one look outside and see just how high up I really am. And then, when my back’s turned, it’ll sweep in and push me out and show me just how far I have to fall.

“So, Mr. Masters, will you take the case?”

I lean forward, just to be safe, and snatch the newspaper from my desk. There’s a nice group photo headlining the front page, a bunch of moneybags playing host to some charity ball. And there, standing center stage and cutting that fancy ribbon, is a woman, blonde and beautiful and bedecked in jewels. She’s the top, the golden goddess. She’s the reason they even came at all, hoping to see and be seen with the heiress herself.

I take a hard look at the picture, then glance up at the dame in front of me. No doubt about it—it’s her alright, in living color. Fine clothes, fine jewels, and the sleekest wolfos furs that rupees can buy. The dark furs outline her fair weather face, smooth skin to match the pearls around her neck, blue eyes the color of sapphires. Yessir, Zelda Fitzgeralt, daughter of the richest tycoon this city has ever seen, came all the way downtown just to see me.

When you’re that high up the social ladder, how desperate do you have to be to pay a visit to the bottom rung? But I wasn’t about to turn down the golden goose. Chances for a big break are few and far between.

When she saw me nod, Ms. Fitzgeralt breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I know you’re a man of few words, Mr. Masters, so I’d like to get down to business, if I may. How much do you know about the man who calls himself Ganon?”

Sure, I knew about Ganon. He was a local legend, after all, the rags to riches kind of story that every immigrant and street urchin loved to hear. Too bad he traded in those rags for a trident gun and a gangster’s three-piece, doing the dirty work of the big bosses until he became the biggest one of ’em all. Folks chalked it up to his origins, claiming Ganon had a weird sort of desert magic that he brought over from his homeland. They claimed he put a hex on his enemies and that’s why he was in charge now, but that was a load of bigoted bullshit.

Ganon is smart, the scary kind of smart, and that’s why he’s in charge of the criminal underworld.

“You know your stuff, I’ll give you that.” Ms. Fitzgeralt leans back, smoothing the fabric of her siren gown. The purple silk shimmers under the desk lamp. “Seems like he wants to sweep all that history under the rug, though. Take a look at the evening edition.”

She hands me the fresh newsprint. A shot of the big boss graces the front page, decked out in his finest pinstripe suit. The headline reads like so much journalist trash.

CRIME LORD OR BENEFACTOR? GANON GIVES BACK TO CITY.

“They say he’s changed his ways, turned over a new leaf and all that jazz. I never would have believed it, but he’s actually giving his fortune away. Even the mayor wants to shake his hand, but no one gives that much without expecting a little power in return. Trust me. I grew up watching my father do the exact same thing.”

No doubt about it, she’s right. Ganon’s up to something. You don’t flash that many greenbacks in broad daylight for nothing, but something had to give. This man was notorious, a no-good leader of the Blin gangs. Everyone knew it. There’s no way people are gonna forget about Ganon’s past, and I tell her as much.

“Yeah, well, good luck convincing the people in charge,” she says, pulling a slim cigarette holder from her purse and lighting a gasper. “Ganon has them eating luxury pie outta his hands. They seem pretty willing to forget the man’s past so long as he pays for their future.”

She takes a good, long drag on that cigarette, tilting her head to one side and blowing a puff out the window. “Me? I believe in second chances and all, but now he’s resorting to slander. He’s telling everybody that my family is sitting on a big pile of gold while others starve, and it’s only getting worse. Just yesterday, he started spreading some cockamamie story about my father, who he says tortured folks to gain his fortune.”

I raise an eyebrow in her direction.

Ms. Fitzgeralt purses her lips. “Which isn’t true! Lies and slander, all of it... but it’s working. First, they wanted my father to release his tax papers, which he made public in good faith. Never mind that everything’s in order and the charity rupees are generous. They only saw the sums, and they’re holding that number over his head like a curse.”

She turns her eyes away, and the fear in her voice is easy to pick out. “And now we have to deal with these horror stories. My father already has a weak heart. If anything ruins his good name...”

I expect the waterworks to go off any minute now, but it turns out she’s no ordinary dame. There’s a toughness to this Zelda Fitzgeralt, a touch of old world grit that surprises me. When she looks my way, you’d never guess that hard set mouth of hers had ever been touched by a silver spoon.

“It’s only a matter of time, Mr. Masters. Ganon is throwing us to the wolves. He wants the city for himself.”

She pulls a checkbook from her purse. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where this is going. “I want you to stop the lies. I want you to dig up the dirt and expose him for what he really is. Stop Ganon, and I’ll pay you three times the amount you see here.”

She draws out a figure and tears out the check, slipping it across my desk. I stare at that figure, appreciating the elegance of the first whole number and the curves of every zero that follows. And of course, I take the case. We shake hands and seal the deal, this uptown heiress and the downtown private eye, an unlikely pair if ever there was one.

I walk the lady down to her car, of course. When a client offers that much in advance, it’s usually a good idea to be polite.

There’s a classy Model Z parked near the curb, which I can only assume belongs to her. As I open the back door for Ms. Fitzgeralt, I get a bit of the side eye from her driver, a strong, dark woman with white hair and a fine suit. She watches closely as I hold Zelda’s hand, just playing the part of the gentleman, but I get the feeling this woman would end me if I took matters any further than that.

They drive off into the night, the glowing marquees of the red light district gleaming off their car. I watch them weave in and out of the traffic, feeling the weight of the deal for the first time, the doubt that creeps into your mind whenever you take a case.

I try to shake it off, like usual, when I realize someone else is watching Zelda leave the scene. He’s surrounded by goons, barrel-chested types ready and willing to defend their boss, but he doesn’t need the hired muscle. It’s all a show of power, and this guy’s got plenty of it.

He’s a colossus in a black trench coat, his eyes hidden in shadow. If I was smart, I’d make myself scarce before the boss caught sight of me, but that damn curiosity grabs tight and won’t let go. So there I am, out in the open, when he turns and looks my way.

The white fedora rises, crimson headband flashing, and those eyes burn like fire.

###

The sun rises, burning high over the skyline.

I feel the new day come alive, warm and real outside Malon’s window. I also feel her delicate fingers stroking my chest, running softly over the bullet scars that pepper my shoulder.

“Is this why you disappeared, my love?” she asks. “Did they hurt you so bad?”

It ain’t easy to turn my eyes away from her, her gorgeous figure covered in nothing but a sheet, but I somehow manage. Malon pulls me back, like she always does, gently touching the side of my face and looking into my eyes.

“I saw the headlines, but I didn’t believe any of it. I knew you would never slander the Fitzgeralts like that. I know you wouldn’t let Ganon take over.”

There’s a lot she doesn’t know, but whose fault is that? I throw off the sheet and sit on the edge. Malon comes up behind me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “You don’t have to say anything until you’re ready. I just wish you would stick around. You left so quickly after getting Dad out of that jam. I never had a chance to tell you...”

I hold her hand, as if that’ll reassure her that I’m back for good. But how can I promise anything, when I might find myself at the bottom of Lake Hylia next week.

Still, I hold her hand.

We get dressed in silence and make our way downstairs. It’s far too early for a drink and besides, the bar’s not exactly in working order, but someone knocks on the door anyway. Malon opens it to find the bouncer, silent and reeking of danger.

I step between them, glaring at the Lynel, but Malon just puts a hand on my shoulder. She looks up at the bouncer and crosses her arms, ready for the business.

“Aren’t you gonna run off to Ganon, Silver?” she asks. “Go squealing to the big boss?”

Silver grunts. “The way I see it, ma’am, this is the only place I have left in the city. And now you’re in charge. Lynels follow the strongest, and you bested your uncle good and proper.”

Malon smiles. “Damn straight. The Lonesome Ranch is mine now, and I’m gonna need a few good men to run it. Do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Think you can convince some of the others to play wise? I know you won’t win them all, especially the Blins, but I’ve got a feeling that a storm is coming. I want us to be ready when it gets here.”

The Lynel grins, a hint of fang showing. “It’s a tall order, ma’am. I’ll make a few calls, if that suits you.”

Malon waves him through. He stands next to me and flicks a lingering piece of glass from his shoulder. And then he reaches into a secret place behind the bar, pulls out my revolver, and hands it to me. “You’re a good fighter, silent one. A death at your hands would be an honorable one.”

I take my revolver and nod, not exactly sure how respond to that compliment. He grunts, apparently satisfied, and heads for the back office.

Malon stands at the center of the place, her place, hands resting on her crimson robes. Even now, she looks like the woman in charge, and she looks good.

I can see the pride in her face when she turns to me, the promises she wants us to make. It doesn’t take long for reality to set in, though, and she almost looks relieved to stick with the honest facts. “I know. You have to go.”

She walks up to me, hands touching my chest, smoothing the creases from my shirt. “You have a job to do, and life isn’t fair. Here I am, ready to see the last of my uncle, and yours was taken away too soon. You’ve gotta do something about that, and I can’t stand in your way.”

We kiss, deeply, like the world’s gonna break when we pull apart. In the end, she’s the brave one, like always. Her lips lift away. Then her eyes lock on mine, and she means every last word. “Find the killer. Find the truth. Put an end to this nightmare. And come back to me, Silent. Come back, so I don’t throw away another chance to say I love you.”

With nothing left to say, I grab my coat. I check my revolver. There’s a good chance I’ll be needing it soon. I set out with a purpose, to track down this one, good cop.

I want to tell Malon that I’ll be back soon, that everything’s gonna be alright, but I don’t like wasting a single word on a lie.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39944304/

#legend of zelda #zelda #noir #crime noir #noir au #fan fiction #fan fic #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #fanfic #link #malon #ganon #ganondorf #radio drama

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haadeswrites · 3 years

Text

Elysium

god this fic took forever i’m so sorry!! but hey, first fic on the new blog! <33 also y’all should really thank @iwaasfairy who listened to me complain about this fic for a solid month, she’s the reason it got finished

Cult leader Oikawa Tooru x female reader

tw: indoctrination, extremely dubious consent, blood, yandere themes, religious themes, minor character death, implied abuse & drug use, mild smut, nsfw

The island itself is breathtaking

Pristine beaches with gleaming white sand, vast swathes of lush, green rainforest and waterfalls that cascade into shimmering pools of crystal clear water. Untouched, undisturbed; a paradise. At least, that’s how Ryuji had described it.

Paradise, but only in the sense that a gingerbread cottage in the middle of the woods is paradise to a lost and hungry child.

He hadn’t been wrong. Bare feet sink into soft, white sand as you climb from the boat - the warmth just toeing the line between pleasant and burning. Gentle waves ebb and flow behind you, and there’s a light breeze that kisses your skin, the taste of seasalt carrying in the wind. Home, it seems to sing.

A laugh sounds somewhere in the distance, yet the only other figure on the beach is a man walking steadily towards you. He smiles when he sees you’ve noticed him; friendly, non-threatening. It’s a far cry from the swarming welcoming committee you’d been dreading, and you wonder if that’s somehow intentional as well.

As the boat pushes back out to sea he comes to a stop before you, “I’m Makki,” he says, pushing the fringe of his hair back and giving you a not-so-subtle once over. Whatever he sees must meet approval, because his grin only widens, “Welcome to the Commune.”

Ryuji wasn’t wrong; the island is a beautiful, deadly thing.

—

You’d never heard of the Commune before the phone call.

And maybe that shouldn’t be so surprising. You’ll be the first to admit you’re hardly an expert, but from what you do know, groups like the Commune – cults – don’t spring up out of thin air and start broadcasting their mistreatment and systematic abuse.

They’re not the kind of people that have sweet old ladies clutching their pearls and mothers shepherding their children away – at least, not in the beginning. Not entirely. They’re not out to recruit extremists to further their cause, they choose to prey on the vulnerable, the lost and the disillusioned. Those easily manipulated. You suspect that’s why when you google the Commune, all you find is a website for what essentially looks like a long term luxury wellness retreat.

‘The Commune is about healing and harmony, about returning to nature, supporting one another to forge a brighter, more holistic future together… a self-sufficient community living apart from technology and other evils of modern society.’

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you scroll through. There’s a whisper of philosophical teachings woven throughout, a page dedicated to their founder, Oikawa Tooru – smiling handsomely in every single picture, because what would a burgeoning cult be without a charismatic leader – but there’s not enough.

So here you are, on an island hundreds of miles away from home living amongst strangers; because Ryuji wouldn’t have sounded so terrified if this was just some alternate, free-loving bunch of hippies.

And even with all that he’d told you, everything you thought you’d be prepared for, the Commune is like nothing you could’ve imagined.

Makki introduces you to Asuka, a woman only a few years older than yourself, dark haired and stunningly beautiful, and winks as he tells her to take you under her wing. She smiles brightly, eyes twinkling, and pulls you into a heartfelt hug – as if you’ve known each other your whole lives.

“We’re so glad you’re here!” she beams.

You’d like to hate her.

It feels like you're supposed to, sometimes; when she gets that dreamy look in her eyes and starts talking about Oikawa and the Commune and how lucky everyone here on the island is. Yet there’s something about her – the genuine warmth she emanates maybe, or the kindness in her eyes – that makes it difficult for you not to like her.

“You should come to the gathering tomorrow,” she hums idly one afternoon, maybe a week or so after your arrival. The two of you are sitting on the edge of the pier, legs dangling down into the water, tangled fishing nets to be repaired strewn between you.

“I always go,” you reply.

She laughs, fixing you with a knowing look, “And sit right at the very back, all but running off the moment we finish?”

And your traitorous heart skips a beat.

“It’s okay to take things slowly,” she says. “We understand that being a part of the Commune is a big change from the life you knew, and that not everybody is able to see what we see and embrace those changes.”

Asuka sets down the knot she’s working through and reaches for your hand, a gentle smile on her face, “But you shouldn’t be afraid. You’re meant to be here, I can feel it. You just need to stop fighting against it; surrender yourself to us, to the island, and everything’ll make sense, I promise.”

It’s dangerous territory. One wrong word could set off alarm bells, yet you can’t help pressing just a little.

“Do you ever miss it, then? Life outside the Commune?”

Your family. Friends. The life you left behind before you came here to be brainwashed like all of the others.

“Why would I?” she answers without missing a beat, and it’s hard to ignore the bitter flicker of disappointment you feel at her answer. “The island provides for us, we don’t have to spend our days selling off tiny pieces of ourselves just to make ends meet. It’s paradise here, and we have Oikawa to thank for that. Why would I ever want to go back?”

Silence falls between you as you struggle to think of something to say to salvage the situation. Yet Asuka isn’t even looking at you, instead staring out at the water with a strangely pensive expression.

“Did you know I was married once?” The words seemingly out of the blue, you can only shake your head. For a moment, she doesn’t reply, watching as the waves rise and crash offshore. And then;

“I was young, eighteen or so, fresh out of high school and he was a small town cop.” Her eyes flicker to yours, and your heart clenches at the sadness and pain echoing there. “I thought he was a good man, once upon a time.”

A chord strikes deep, your chest tightening involuntarily at her words. It’s not the same, of course it’s not the same, and yet…

No. You stop the errant thought in its tracks. Groups like the Commune prey on the vulnerable, you know this. People like Ryuji, like Asuka, like–

Her fingers squeeze around yours, pulling you back to the present. “Come to the gathering tomorrow. Listen to Oikawa, it’ll help.”

—

She doesn’t give you a choice in the matter – dragging you by the hand to sit right at the front of the gathered crowd that very night.

Oikawa’s handsomer up close; tall and dark haired with pretty eyes and long, sweeping lashes that frame delicate cheekbones, it’s not hard for you to see how a man like him has amassed such an impassioned following.

Once he starts actually speaking, however, you realise that his good looks and charming smile are just the tip of the iceberg. Oikawa’s utterly captivating as he preaches about the cycle of life and death and the paradise that awaits his faithful. Passionate and engaging, he speaks like he truly believes every word of the lies he’s spreading.

And Asuka, her friends, the others gathered, they eat up every word like it’s gospel truth, resounding cheers and thunderous applause deafening around you. In the midst of the rapturous din, Oikawa’s eyes flit to yours.

Slowly, he smiles – a dazzling grin that makes your stomach flip – and everything; Asuka, the noise, the others swarming around you, it all fades away.

For one electrifying heartbeat, you’re frozen in place. Just you and Oikawa, trapped in the pull of each other’s gaze.

—

You can’t forget the reason you came.

But it’s… difficult, in a way you struggle to understand. You only have one purpose for being here, one goal; find Ryuji and bring him home.

And yet, some days it’s like there’s a fog in your mind, and you have to focus to remember why you’re here at all. You catch yourself laughing with Asuka and her friends, the days passing by in a blur of endless, easy distractions.

It barely feels like work when you’re sitting under the shade of the trees, eating the fruits you’ve picked by hand – ripe and sweet, unlike anything you’ve ever tasted – diving off waterfalls into the crystalline water and meandering down the shore collecting seashells. Even when you are working, mending clothes or cooking with the others, it fills you with a sense of contentment you can’t quite explain.

Like you’re a part of something bigger. Like you’re doing something that matters.

Ryuji becomes a distant thought. A whisper in the back of your head, a niggling in your gut, easily brushed aside and ignored until there’s a moment of quiet. In the dead of night, the balmy summer night’s breeze kissing your bare skin, you lie awake, lost in memories of the last time you’d seen him.

Fists angrily pounding at your door, the yelling that gave way to sobs and the hoarse, desperate pleas that followed. Ryuji’s face; pupils blown wide and eyes rimmed in red, darting restlessly around as he held you too tight and begged–

Rolling over in bed, you gaze out your window at the star flecked sky, the shadows of the forest that lie at your doorstep, and wonder what it is that scares you more; that you’ve lost track of the days you’ve been here, and saving Ryuji is starting to feel like an afterthought, or that you could so easily forget all of it, find a place here in the Commune and be happy.

‘The island, it–it fucks with your head.’

Ryuji’d told you that, and you’d brushed it off as paranoia. You need to find him. Find him and get the hell outta dodge.

You can deal with the fallout later.

—

Kiyoshi.

He’d mentioned the name a few times amidst his rambling – a friend of his on the island. You’re annoyed with yourself for not thinking of it sooner, however much like Ryuji himself, trying to focus and remember the name is like wading through thick mud.

Once you do, though, finding him amongst the hundred and fifty or so inhabitants is the easy part.

There’s no strict division between genders within the Commune, however Kyoshi, despite his somewhat lean stature, is among the builders of the island and his path doesn’t often cross with yours.

From Asuka you find out that he’s been a part of the Commune for years now, before even she joined, and that he mostly sticks to himself, though you’ve seen him chatting quietly to a few of the other men, a perpetually angry looking blonde in particular.

It’s the last part that piques her interest, “Why’re you so curious, anyway?” she asks, her face lighting up as a sudden thought occurs. “Do you want me to introduce you two? To be honest, I didn’t think he’d be your type, if you’re interested, though…”

Cheeks aflame, you’re quick to shut her down. “No, no, nothing like that. I’ve just… seen him around and we’ve never really spoken, I guess.”

A lame excuse, though mercifully she lets the subject drop without too much prodding.

Therein, of course, lies the problem. Walking up to Kyoshi and casually trying to drop Ryuji into the conversation without raising red flags is risky, but what other options do you have? You’ve already spent too much time on this island.

Although, maybe Asuka has the right idea.

While you hadn’t been lying when you said you weren’t interested in Kyoshi in that way, nobody else knew that. Who would really look twice at the shy newbie striking up a conversation with the quiet, easygoing man? He wasn’t unattractive per se, and from the brief interactions you’d seen of him, he seemed kind enough.

You have enough patience (barely) to wait for dusk the following night. There’s a celebration, something about the full moon and a blessing on the island and the Commune– you hadn’t really been paying attention when Oikawa had spoken about it. Still, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. With the fire pits crackling, and the dancing and music and the sweet honey wine flowing freely, nobody will be paying too much attention to what you’ll be doing. Hopefully, the alcohol will also serve to lower Kiyoshi’s guard, and perhaps if you’re really, really lucky, loosen his tongue as well.

Of course, you’re not banking on him telling you exactly where Ryu is or what happened to him– and that’s assuming he actually knows – but at this point you’ll take anything over the nothing you currently have. A tiny slip up, that’s all you’re asking for.

As the sun descends beyond the horizon, you play your role well, laughing and chatting amongst friends, sipping carefully at the cup of wine in your hand as you wait for an opening. And perhaps it’s your nerves working against you, but you find that it’s not just Kiyoshi your attention is drawn to.

Up on the shore, away from the rabble, Oikawa lounges back with a cup of the same honeyed wine you’re pretending to drink. For the most part he seems deep in conversation with Iwaizumi, his right hand, but every once in a while he glances up, letting his gaze roam over the crowd of his followers.

Every inch a king and his general.

And it would seem benevolent, if not for the strange smile he wears – the one that widens when his eyes catch yours.

Swallowing tightly, you force yourself not to dwell on it, to ignore the odd sensation curling in your gut and the way your skin prickles under his attention. Now is not the time to lose focus.

Pushing all thoughts of Oikawa aside, you subtly scan the beach once more, only to find that Kiyoshi’s moved, sitting now on a piece of old driftwood near the bonfire. Alone for the first time tonight.

Your legs are moving before the thought even fully registers.

“Do you mind if I sit?” you ask, gesturing to the empty space on the log beside him.

Kiyoshi smiles, the laugh lines at corners of his eyes crinkling pleasantly, and shakes his head, “Not at all.”

“Thanks.”

Taking another sip of your wine, you will your shoulders to relax, your racing pulse to slow. This has to seem natural, and so you force yourself to hold your tongue, let your head loll back and breathe deep, soaking it all in. You can hear the others in the distance, the music and the dancing, the happy laughter and shouts that beckon – you want to go join them. Even your blood seems to hum, a call of something other pulsing through your veins.

But you pay it no mind. There are more important things to worry about tonight.

Indeed, steel blue eyes have been appraising you curiously for a while now. “This is your first Lunar blessing, isn’t it?” Kiyoshi asks after a moment.

You nod, humming in agreement. Less than a month; you’ve been here less than a month. Is that a good thing?

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

A harmless enough question, and again you nod your head. “Yeah, it’s…” you pause, searching for words that won’t sound hollow. “It’s paradise. I feel like I need to pinch myself just to make sure it’s real.”

He smiles gently. “But?” he probes.

Grimly, you wonder whether Kiyoshi’s usually this perceptive, or if you’re just a really terrible actor. In a way, you suppose it really doesn’t make a difference; you’ve come too far to turn back now – at least not without raising suspicion.

So you lie with a truth, and pray that it works.

“I had a friend I was supposed to meet here,” you confess quietly, gazing not at him but the crackling flames of the bonfire, the burning embers carried off into the night. “He was the one who said I should come, but now I’m here and he’s not and every time I catch myself enjoying this–”

“You feel guilty,” he surmises, cutting you off. “Because he’s not here to enjoy it with you.”

Wordlessly, you nod – and maybe it isn’t so much of an act when your eyes begin to glisten, your smile wavering.

Kiyoshi’s silent for a moment, and you take another sip of the honey wine to hide your nerves. “You shouldn’t, you know,” he says eventually. “Feel guilty, I mean. You belong here, with the Commune. You’re happy here. Paradise… isn’t for everybody.”

He doesn’t say it to be cruel, more like he’s simply stating a fact, and somehow that makes it all the more unnerving. And it’s nothing you haven’t listened to Oikawa preach about time and time again. The Commune is for the devoted, the faithful – the lucky few – and you’ve never thought too hard about what he’d meant by that.

The Commune’s small, maybe a hundred and fifty or so people on the island. There’d been no initiation, no test of faith or trial period you’d had to pass when you arrived – at least, none that you’d been aware of. You simply stepped off the boat and they’d welcomed you with open arms.

An uneasy sensation settles into your gut, goosebumps prickling at your skin despite the heat of the midsummer night.

That… doesn’t make sense. It can’t. Absolute control’s too important in groups like this, they couldn’t just let anyone–

Kiyoshi speaks again, his calm voice pulling you from your thoughts. “What was his name?”

You blink at him slowly – stupidly. “Sorry?”

“Your friend,” he clarifies. “What was his name?”

“Oh, um- Ryuji.”

Kiyoshi’s brow furrows in thought for a moment, but he merely shakes his head, “Doesn’t ring a bell, but like I said, not everyone who arrives stays with us for long.”

He looks you right in the eye as he says it.

You don’t understand the cold, foreboding that seeps through your veins, because he’s lying. He has to be.

Ryuji was here. They were friends, Ryu’d told you that–

Why did you think this stupid plan would work anyway? That he’d tell you anything, much less the truth when this whole fucked up island is full of liars and those too indoctrinated to know the difference?

“You alright?” he asks when abruptly, you shoot to your feet beside him.

And it takes every ounce of willpower you have left to force an easy smile to your lips, raising your cup just a fraction, “Yeah, just gonna go get a refill. Thanks for the talk, Kiyoshi.”

Whether he notices that your wine’s barely touched or not, you don’t care – not as you turn on your heel without another word and head back up the beach.

Your head is pounding, your body trembling – you don’t hear the call of your name until a hand reaches out and grasps at your wrist, spinning you around.

Asuka greets you with a wide grin, Makki and a tall, broad shouldered man you think is called Mattsun standing either side of her – the former’s arm slung casually over her shoulder. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you,” she says. “Come on, we’re gonna go swimming, it’s so pretty out there!”

You glance out towards the ocean. Moonlight bathes the inky blue water, light shimmering off the rippling tide; some of the others are already out there, splashing amongst the waves.

“Clothing optional, of course,” Makki laughs, and Asuka tugs on your wrist once more.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

But you shake your head, slowly pulling your hand from her grip, “I’m not feeling great, I think I’m gonna head back.”

Asuka frowns, concern marring her pretty features. “Are you okay? Do you need us to call Mizo–”

“No,” you say, cutting her off. Healer Mizoguchi is the last person you need to see right now. “I just– I just need to go lie down for a bit. You guys go have fun – enjoy the blessing, I’ll be fine.”

Makki and Asuka share a fleeting look, but it’s Mattsun who interjects before either one of them can speak, “I’ll walk you back, then.”

Your stomach churns. It doesn’t sound like a suggestion.

And the smart thing to do would be to accept his help; the walk from the beach to your villa isn’t far, and while you’re not as familiar with Mattsun as you are with Makki or Asuka, it’s not like he’s going to hurt you or anything, but–

“Really– you don’t need to, it’s fine,” you smile weakly, shuffling back as he reaches to offer you his arm. “Go swim, I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Mattsun shrugs easily enough, falling back into line with the other two – yet there’s something in the way he grins and holds your gaze for a beat longer. A glimmer of amusement, as if there’s some joke you're not a part of. “I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.”

The heat that floods your cheeks clashes uncomfortably with the cloying heaviness in your stomach, but somehow you manage to stutter out one last goodbye before turning back to scamper off in the direction of your room.

–But not to lie down.

There’s not a cloud in the sky, and the full moon’s bright. No need for a torch, not unless you decide to venture into the heart of the forest.

You’ve been a fool. Kiyoshi, Asuka, Makki, Mattsun; you can’t trust any of them to help you, even unwittingly. Ryuji’s here on the island – somewhere – and every second that slips away, every second that you allow yourself to forget puts him in further danger.

And so you cling to your discomfort, ground yourself in it. The prickling sensation at the back of your neck, the tightness in your chest as you slip past your villa, keeping low and quiet – they’re a reminder that there is something insidious here on the island, that you have to get out.

You and Ryuji.

He’s here. Away from the others, kept under lock and key as punishment, or maybe being forced to undergo whatever kind of glorified brainwashing they’ve got going on, but here. You need to be smart about this, because while you don’t intend to stop until you find him, tonight will be your best shot – while everyone’s distracted down on the beach.

For the first time in a long time, it feels like you have a clear head.

Creeping through the underbrush, you steer clear of the well trod pathways that lead towards habitation. You’ve been there, and to the docks, and the river.

If they’re still keeping him here (and they are, you refuse to entertain the possibility that it could be otherwise) then it’s not somewhere out in the open. A bird cries out in the distance shattering the calm of the night, and you flinch – but it only serves as another reminder that your time tonight is limited; you cannot afford to delay. You wrack your brain, trying to dredge up memories of the last few weeks, surely you must have seen something–

“Lost?”

The single word, spoken in a deep, gruff voice has your blood running cold.

Slowly, you turn.

Iwa stands behind you in the thicket, his face utterly impassive. Briefly, you contemplate whether it’s worth trying to bluff your way out of this, but Iwa’s eyes narrow, flashing in the dim light and you think better of it.

A sigh escapes you, your shoulders deflating. “Where is he– Ryuji?” you ask; a whisper rather than a demand.

Iwa’s expression gives nothing away. Did he know, or have you handed him the smoking gun of a crime that’d fallen through the cracks? Does it even matter anymore? You’re just–

You’re tired.

Exhausted. In the space of a few moments all of that shining determination and resolve; it fled, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. This has to end, you can’t keep fighting against them forever. You can’t keep drowning in this guilt, feeling torn every second that you spend here on this stupid island. You just want to find Ryuji and go home.

… Right?

A tense beat passes as Iwa appraises you, and then; “Come with me.”

The hand he places on your shoulder doesn’t give you much choice. His grip isn’t what you’d describe as gentle, yet he’s careful enough to make sure you don’t trip or stumble as he marches you north.

In the thick of the forest away from the beach, it’s eerily quiet. Every twig that snaps underfoot, every ragged breath you draw; it feels too loud. Out of place amongst the stillness of the midsummer night.

And isn’t it ironic, that for the first time since you set foot in this paradise, you feel like you’re trespassing?

A bead of sweat trickles down from your temple and your mind unwittingly drifts back to Mattsun and Makki. Are they still swimming with Asuka? Probably, you reason. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly how long it’s been since you left them on the beach, but surely no more than an hour.

And strangely, like water drawn from the depths of a well, an image comes to mind; the four of you standing in the waves, you perched atop Mattsun’s shoulders, screaming and giggling in delight as Asuka tries to knock you down again, two sets of eyes watching from the shore…

You should have stayed on the beach.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask,” he replies drily – humouring you, you suppose.

Your lips quirk upwards for the briefest of moments. “What happens on the Lunar blessing? Asuka, the others– no one told me what it was.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer you immediately, but you feel his fingers reflexively tighten on your shoulder. Likely it wasn’t the question he was expecting; surely there were others that you could have asked – but you don’t really want the answers to those.

If you’re being led like a lamb to proverbial slaughter, what good would it do you to know it?

And yet as the seconds pass and no answer seems forthcoming from your captor, you resign yourself to the fact that your curiosity will remain unsated. You don’t even know what prompted you to ask in the first place; knowing Oikawa it’s probably some grand, meaningless spectacle. Pretty, hollow words spoken only to–

A heavy sigh draws you from your thoughts, and you falter in your step, almost tripping over your own feet in the process. Iwa’s quick to right you, urging you forward with a less than gentle nudge. “Walk straight,” he grunts, yet it lacks any true heat. Anticipation flutters through your veins, and he mutters a soft curse behind you. “Fine. It… it’s an exchange.”

An exchange? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Your eyebrows draw together, mouth opening to press the matter, but Iwa beats you to the punch.

“You’ll find out for yourself soon enough, now shut up.”

You have no response to that, so you do.

—

The two of you walk in silence for what feels like hours. Eventually, the terrain becomes steeper, the worn path you’re treading twisting and winding, and you realise you must be close to the mountains at the heart of the island.

As your breath comes in heavy pants, your legs beginning to ache, you can’t help but be lost in the beauty of it all.

The flora’s different here, unlike any you’ve seen before. Flowers bursting from the bark of towering trees, blooms of vibrant hues; reds and purples and soft, baby pinks. Even the vines at your feet curl amongst pretty white buds that gleam invitingly under the moonlight. Your jaw falls open as you gaze around in wonderment.

You forget why you’re walking, where it is that you’re heading. Iwa’s grip relaxes as a quiet gasp escapes you, and he doesn’t stop you when you stray from the path to take a closer look. You can’t resist reaching out to touch the silken petals, leaning in to smell their perfume. Soft and light and sweet, your eyes flutter shut, a smile creeping across your visage.

It reminds you of home. Not your actual home – the rundown, tiny shoebox apartment you gave up before you came here – but something deeper.

Home, like the long summer days spent playing in your parents’ backyard. Home, like afternoons curled up by the window, watching the rain come down in sheets outside.

Home, like the comfort of arms wrapped around you; two hearts beating in sync.

“C’mon,” Iwa interrupts after a minute or so, his voice a touch less gruff. “We’re almost there.”

Dazed, you find yourself nodding, allowing him to guide you back to the path. This time, he doesn’t grab you by the shoulder, seemingly content enough to walk by your side.

True to his word, it’s only another few minutes before you see it; a wooden villa, four times the size of your own and far, far grander, set amongst a clearing of trees on the mountainside. Confused, your eyes flicker from the villa to Iwa and back again. Gossamer curtains billow lightly in the breeze, a warm, inviting glow spilling from the open windows. Surely this cannot be where he meant to lead you… and yet he merely stands at your side, arms folded across his broad chest, watching you expectantly.

“You gonna make me carry you up there?” he asks, not unkindly.

Swallowing tightly, you shake your head.

Another glance, and you catch a shadow lingering by the window. Your heart skips a beat, apprehension curling in your gut as you begin to walk, every step feels less steady than the last. You’re almost glad when Iwa takes you by the arm; if only so that you have something to focus on other than the growing tightness in your chest. The villa, with its pretty flowers and airy, elegant grandeur is far from the isolated cell you’d been afraid of, yet the uncertainty of what you’re walking into eats at you all the same.

Is this where they’ve been keeping Ryu, or has he brought you here for another reason?

Nothing, however, can prepare you for what you find inside. Warm light emanates from lanterns that bathe the room, and your eyes widen as you stare around you.

Strange, gold carvings inlaid with mother of pearl decorate the thick, woodens support beams, a pot of incense burns on a table overflowing with fresh fruit. There’s a jug of the same honeyed wine you’d drank earlier in the night and two cups set on an ornate stand nearby – just within arms reach of one of the chaise lounges.

Iwa affords you little time to gape, drawing you further in. Silken tapestries hang from the walls – you’re pulled along too quickly to truly take note, but the brief glimpses you get hint at a story; a divine being cast from his home, lost and wandering.

It tugs at something buried within you, and uncomfortable, you tear your eyes away.

The two of you reach a closed door at the end of the hall, and Iwa pulls you to a stop, knocking once.

“Come,” a familiar voice calls.

You stiffen, though perhaps you should have foreseen this outcome. Who else would Iwa bring you to but to him? Distantly, you register his grip relaxing, the sound of the door sweeping open and his voice at your ear.

“Go on.”

And it’s funny, you think, how two halves of yourself can be so at odds with each other. Because while your stomach twists itself into knots, goosebumps prickling at your skin, your legs stumble forward of their own accord.

Two steps forward, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s a bedroom, that much you can deduce from the decor, but that’s not what captures your attention. Nor is it Oikawa, leaning against the bureau with a genial smile – at least not at first.

No. In place of a back wall, there’s open space, not so much as a panel of glass obstructing the view before you. And what a view it is; from this height you can see the sprawling forest below, the coastline dotted with bonfires and the moonlit ocean shimmering beyond. Where the floorboards end, there are steps, you realise as you unwittingly inch closer, leading to a cascading spring – likely fed from the waterfall you can hear rushing nearby.

How easy it would be to brush aside your worries, you think, to shed your clothes, slip into the cool, calm water and lose yourself entirely. Even amongst all you’ve seen and experienced on the island so far, this is incomparable.

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Oikawa murmurs, coming up behind you.

His voice startles you, yet when you turn, you find him not gazing out at the scenery but rather at you, that same strange, knowing smile curling at his lips.

“Some days, I admit, it’s hard to tear myself away,” he continues, unbothered by your stunned silence. “But even I can’t neglect my duties for too long.”

You swallow, tongue darting out to wet your lips. Confusion twists through you at the conversational tone, surely he hasn’t brought you here just to chat about the impressive views, yet there’s no hint of disapproval on his face, no indication that he’s anything less than pleased with you.

It’s unnerving to say the least, but you’ll play along with his game if that’s what Oikawa wants.

“Beautiful,” you say, though the words feel woefully inadequate even as you speak them.

He hums in agreement, something akin to pride flickers in his eyes at your assessment, “A labour of love, I suppose. But… everything you see here, everything I’ve built, it comes with a price. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry?” you stutter.

“Paradise,” he elaborates, his smile widening. “There’s no give without take. Those people down there,” he nods down at the beach, the tiny, ant-like figures still milling about, “the lost, the beaten, the abused – I gave them what they so desperately sought; a sanctuary. A life without struggle, without suffering.” He pauses for a moment, reaching forward to take your hand. You almost flinch, almost skitter across the room to put as much distance between you as you can, but you don’t–

His palm is warm as it envelops yours, a pleasant heat that seems to spread through your veins, easing your tense muscles. There’s nothing to fear from him, you’re safe with Oikawa.

“Aren’t you happy here?”

Yes.

“What about the price?” you ask instead, though it takes more concentration than it should to force the words out.

Oikawa’s thumb sweeps along the back of your hand. “I never said it was your price to pay,” he soothes.

There’s something wrong with that sentence, but another sharp knock at the door draws your attention before you can think too hard about it. You turn out of instinct, barely aware of the way his hand tightens fractionally around your own.

A single finger at your jaw coaxes your attention back to him. “If you built a paradise, wouldn’t you give whatever necessary to ensure it flourished?”

Oikawa stares at you expectantly, deep brown eyes searching your face as he waits for an answer. Agreement would be the logical choice – the one he seems to want from you – but even as your lips part, the only sound that escapes is a breathless, confused noise.

When you were a kid, maybe six or seven, your parents took you to the beach one day and you waded too far out into the water. The waves were bigger than you expected; all it took was one mistimed jump and you were dragged under.

It wasn’t for long, probably only seconds, and ultimately you were fine – but you remember those few seconds so vividly. The feeling of helplessly tumbling through the water, fighting to break the surface but not knowing which way was up. Your lungs crying out for oxygen, the disorientation and dizziness, the panic.

It feels like that now – like the floor’s dropped out from beneath you and you’re just hurtling through empty air, desperately trying to slow yourself down with nothing to grab onto.

None of this makes any sense. Your emotions are shot to pieces, too many parts of yourself being pulled in different directions and you’re not sure which ones you can trust anymore. How can you be? Oikawa’s still holding your hand, smiling at you, and you just want everything to stop for a second so you can right yourself and breathe–

The door opens.

Iwaizumi appears in your field of vision, dragging a bound, hooded figure behind him. And because this is all some big, cosmic joke, you get your wish. Both of them, actually.

Time slows.

Even with a burlap sack pulled over his head, you recognise the man Iwa shoves to the floor and sneers at.

Hundreds of miles, weeks of uselessly traipsing around this fucking island, and finally–

Finally, you’ve found Ryu.

There should be relief. Fear, considering his current state, yes, but Ryuji’s here and he’s alive and as the hood is ripped off his head Oikawa squeezes your hand and the only thing you feel is… anger.

Not a heated flash that surges through your blood. It’s slow and seething, insipid. You look at him, locked in place as empty, pleading eyes meet yours and all you can think is that all of this – everything – is his fault.

“Asuka told you why she came to me, didn’t she?” Oikawa asks.

Your brow furrows, why–why is he asking you that now, how did he even–

He slips closer behind you, letting your hand go in favour of your shoulder, his spare dragging lightly along the bare skin of your arm. “She was lost, in so much pain. The physical wounds, they heal after a while,” his voice is right in your ear, a low murmur that sends a shiver rippling down your spine.

It isn’t an unpleasant feeling.

“But the scars inside, well… sometimes those fester.”

Gagged and bound, kneeling at your feet, Ryu doesn’t even try to make a sound.

He’s thinner than you remember. Face gaunt and bruised; there’s a half healed, mottled yellow one painted across the left side of his jaw, one eye purple and swollen. You glance at Iwa, standing stoically behind him, muscular arms folded across his chest. His work, you wonder, or others as well? You notice the tear tracks running down his face, catching the light of the lanterns, but it’s as if you’re seeing it all through a thick pane of glass. None of it reaches you, there’s nothing but that simmering, ugly feeling in your gut.

Oikawa hums, “I told you that Paradise wasn’t for everyone. It’s a haven, yes, but there are those who simply… don’t belong.”

His body’s so warm, pressed up against yours. Fingertips graze along your side, and this time you don’t bother biting back that tiny, breathless moan. Iwa briefly smirks at it, but there’s no embarrassment. Why should there be? Your eyes flit back to Ryu, bowed on the wooden floor.

Another memory resurfaces; A sharp crack and a ringing in your ears, Ryuji, eyes bloodshot and glazed, falling to his knees, clutching frantically at the leg of your pants as endless apologies spill from his lips.

It wasn’t him. It was never him.

“He hurt you,” Oikawa purrs. “He kept hurting you, I saw it.”

The words wash over you like waves breaking on the shore, but you find yourself nodding anyway. It was the truth, wasn’t it? A thousand tiny hurts, piled up on one another until you finally broke.

And you’d still come when he’d called.

Listened to him when he’d begged you not to hang up the phone.

“Iwa.”

The brunet moves towards a grand chest of drawers pushed up against the western wall. An ornate dagger sits atop, strange and beautiful; the blade isn’t steel or any metal you’ve seen before, but some kind of black stone, the handle intricately carved ivory. You hadn’t even noticed it before, Oikawa’s room filled to the brim with odd trinkets and treasures, but now that you have, it’s hard to tear your eyes away.

Iwa takes it and carries it over towards the two of you, holding it with the utmost care.

“Obsidian,” Oikawa informs you as he accepts the blade from his friend, bringing it in front of you both to show it off. “Pretty, isn’t it?” And while you can’t see his face, you can hear the smile in his tone.

He isn’t wrong though.

Ever so carefully you reach out, the soft pads of your fingertips running along the obsidian surface, surprisingly cool to the touch. The razor sharp edges – wavy and asymmetrical, leading to a tapered point – you’re careful to avoid, almost positive you’d draw blood with the slightest touch.

“Take it,” he urges, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

Obediently, you turn your hand over, your fingers wrapping around the hilt when he presses it against your palm. And as long fingers curl around yours, you idly wonder how old the dagger is – there’s not so much as a scratch on it, yet there’s something about the weapon in your hand that feels ancient. It thrums under your combined touch.

Oikawa jerks his chin at Iwa, and with a short nod and one last, lingering glance cast your way, the latter exits once again.

Leaving you and Oikawa alone with Ryuji.

“It’s almost time,” he remarks – though time for what, you’re not entirely sure. His lips press against your hair, his arm dropping from your shoulder to your waist, drawing you flush against him. “I know why you came to me, the lies that led you here.”

Both of you turn your attention back to Ryuji at that, the bound man now shaking with the force of his muffled sobs, snot dripping from his nose. That bitter resentment rears its ugly head again, soothed only by Oikawa’s pacifying hum, his thumb now rubbing slow circles at your side. “Shh, I’m not angry – none of that matters now. You’ve found a home here, no? You want to stay on the island with me.”

You swallow, nodding your head rapidly. The thought of having to leave now, of being forced out after everything you’ve seen and felt and experienced here, you– you can’t fathom it. You don’t want to.

Ryuji’d wrought so much damage, but even before he’d swept through your life… had you ever been happy? Were you ever truly accepted – or loved, for that matter?

You can’t go back to that life. You won’t; he’ll have to drag you kicking and screaming from the shore. The Commune is your home, this is where you belong. Here, with Oikawa.

“Good girl,” he croons, another kiss pressed to the crown of your head. You beam at the praise and Ryuji crumples a little further. “Death begets life, you understand now, don’t you?”

You glance at the obsidian dagger in your hand and then at Ryu, beaten and bruised, bowed in forced supplication before you, and nod.

His fingers tighten around yours, “Then do it.”

Leaning forward, you reach for Ryu, fingers lightly trailing down his ruined cheek, curling at his chin to coax his head upwards. He squeezes his eyes shut, pain and regret etched over every inch of his face, but he doesn’t fight you.

Baring his throat to your dagger, Ryuji’s pleas take the shape of your name.

Muffled, thanks to the gag, but unmistakable. And for one single moment, you falter.

This… this is wrong; for all his faults, and god knows there were plenty, Ryu didn’t des–

A wave of calm washes over you, allaying your fears, your doubts. Your breath leaves you in a heavy gust, taking with it the tension in your shoulders, and Oikawa’s voice, smooth and honeyed, reaches your ears once more, “Nothing comes without a price, doesn’t he deserve to be the one to pay it?”

With your hand still tucked inside of his, your arm moves with a will of its own; slashing with inhuman grace.

The dagger cuts deep, Ryuji’s eyes snapping open in shock as a spray of warm blood hits you both. He chokes – a horrid, wet, gurgling sound – wide, pleading eyes frantically shifting between you and Oikawa. Every beat of his failing heart sends fresh blood spurting from the gaping wound. It drenches his front, splatters across your dress, your face, crimson pooling at the wooden floorboards at his knees. His mouth falls open and shut, trying and failing to form coherent sounds and you just stand there and watch, the dagger hanging limply at your side.

It doesn’t take long; seconds at the most.

Ryuji’s slumps to the floor, his body finally growing still as the light fades from his eyes. There’s a beat of absolute silence, and then–

Oikawa shudders behind you, a strangled, drawn out moan leaving his lips. You try to turn, but his arms lock around you, every muscle tensing, his back arching. The dagger in your hand grows hot, burning the soft skin of your palm, but with his fingers still tightly entwined with yours you can only whimper and endure it.

With a hoarse, guttural roar, a pulse of pure energy surges through the room like a shockwave. Every cell in your body lights up, electrified, buzzing; a dizzying euphoria unlike any you’ve felt before coursing through your blood.

Across the island, voices cry out in delight, a symphony of life. The trees tremble and shake, invigorated and renewed, fresh buds bursting from the forest floor, blooming under the light of the full moon.

The harvests flourish, even the river swells in response to the call.

Death begets life, just as he promised.

And with every inch of your body alight and singing with pleasure, you can barely think much less protest (and why would you want to?) as Oikawa roughly yanks you around, hungry lips crashing against your own as his fingers pull and tear at your bloodstained dress. He wastes no time with foreplay, and you suspect only begrudgingly takes a moment to hoist you up against him and carry you to his bed.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he hauls your hips to his, sheathing his cock inside of your warm, tight cunt with one savage thrust, but you don’t care.

Not as you cling to him, fingernails raking along his shoulders as he presses your thighs further apart so he can fuck you deeper. It’s hard and rough and brutal, yet you moan for him all the same, his name a prayer swallowed up by feverish, claiming kisses.

Tonight, bathed in blood and the soft glow of moonlight, you offer your god everything.

—

“Look, look!”

A small hand tugs at your skirt, and you glance down to find a little girl with pretty, dark curls holding up a crown of woven flowers.

“Do you like it?” she asks.

Carefully, you take it from her, bringing it closer to examine. She watches you intently as you study it, lifting it this way and that to appraise her work, humming thoughtfully for good measure. “I think it’s beautiful work,” you tell her after a long enough pause, and you can’t help but smile at the way she lights up, preening under your praise. “Why don’t you go show your mama? I’m sure she’ll be very impressed.”

The girl nods rapidly, thanking you before skipping off in the direction of her parents. The sun’s hanging low in the sky, the fires already being readied for the night ahead. You’re not unaware of the watchful gaze that carefully monitors your every move, and the moves of anyone who ventures too close by. Soon enough, you’ll return home to the heart of the island – anticipation fluttering in your belly at the thought of what awaits you – but for now, you let your feet sink further into the sand, closing your eyes as you bask in the lingering warmth of the setting sun.

At least until the sound of your name being called draws you back to the present. Yet it’s not Iwaizumi approaching, but rather Makki, two strangers trailing along behind him.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he grins, throwing a casual arm over your shoulders. “This is Kaneo,” he gestures to the man, “and his wife Manaka. They arrived this morning, I’ve been showing ‘em round.”

You turn to the couple, smiling sweetly as you extend a hand, “Welcome to the Commune.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa tooru x reader #cult au #tw: religious themes #tw: dubcon #tw: blood #tw: minor character death #tw: abuse #hades.dark #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader

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darling-archeron · 2 years

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If You Don't Ask Me to Stay - Elucien

Another Solstice has come, and Lucien has all but given up on receiving any sort of acknowledgment from Elain. But an unexpected meeting reveals surprising truths about both of them, and may change the course of their relationship forever. An Elucien fic where Lucien yearns, Elain finally smiles, and both of them communicate.

Word Count: 5.7k

Lucien had become accustomed to disappointment around Solstice. Every year as he made the journey from wherever his travels had taken him back to Velaris, he wondered if he was making a mistake. For all of the spiced eggnog and joyful carolers, visiting the Night Court was equal parts anticipation and torture.

For one, there was the reminder that while Feyre included him in their festivities, he wasn’t truly a part of her inner circle. Likely never would be. Rhysand was, of course, always pleasant, but years as a courier led Lucien to believe that half of those manners were only because Feyre demanded it. And as for the rest…well, they didn’t really know them at all, did they?

Including Elain.

His mate.

The first solstice, after the war, he had tried to avoid feeling too crushed when she avoided him. She had been High Fae for less than a year, and the wounds were still too deep, too new. He knew that Elain was still mourning the loss of her human love, and Lucien was painfully aware that those things took time. Hell, he was still nursing his wounds after centuries.

Of course, it hadn’t been Elain who had told him that. It had been Feyre. She was reluctant to share too much out of respect for her sister’s privacy, and Lucien valued that, as much as he yearned to learn more about the woman who was both a stranger to him and tethered closer than any other.

The second solstice had been harder. He had spent hours in one of the continent’s finest jewelry shops, trying to decide on a piece Elain would like. A bejeweled necklace seemed too showy for her everyday attire. Most bracelets would likely only hinder her gardening. And rings had obviously been out of the question. Eventually, he had settled on a pair of delicate pearl earrings. Simple, but lovely. Something she could wear on the daily if she chose, or reserve for fancier occasions.

But she had shrunk away from him, made a point of sitting as far away from him as he could get. It was almost worse than her not being there at all.

He had tried to make conversation on a few occasions, the most notable being the time he had stopped by Velaris unexpectedly and found Elain outside. Not gardening, surprisingly. Just sitting in the late afternoon sun, soaking in the warmth on her pale skin.

She had jumped to her feet when she saw him. They had exchanged a few forced pleasantries, coasting through as the courier and the socialite. Trained in politeness and manners, and yet they could barely get through a few minutes of small talk. Never mind that every bone in his body screamed at him to talk to her, to know her, to hold her.

Oh, if only she would let him.

There was one memory of her that intrigued him. He indulged in it only when it was feeling particularly pathetic, for it was of the sole time that she had smiled at him.

It had been just after the final battle with Hybern. The ghost of her father still hung over all of them, she had just taken her first life, and they were both covered in blood. But she had afforded him a small smile, like a rose blooming amongst the muddy ground.

He thought about that smile more than he cared to admit.

Those few and tangled interactions brought him to this solstice. He had barely been in the Night Court this year, had hardly seen Elain. He had been kept busy trying to sort his shit out, figure out how he wanted to spend eternity.

Presently, Lucien breathed in the brisk air of frost-covered Velaris. He had dropped off his gifts at the mercifully empty townhouse and then decided to go for a walk to pass the time. It seemed a little pathetic, and yet here he was.

He would be due for dinner soon. The sun was rapidly setting below the horizon, reflecting onto the icy surface of the Sidra.

The walk back to the townhouse passed all too quickly, and Lucien found himself on Feyre and Rhys’s doorstep. He knew he didn’t need to knock; he could hear the sounds of chatter faintly through the wood.

He paused for a moment, closing his eyes and wondering if he would be able to pick out one voice over the others. He could have sworn he heard her gentle laugh, polite and stifled.

Or maybe it was only wishful thinking.

Bracing himself, Lucien twisted the doorknob and entered the townhouse before someone saw him standing on the steps like an idiot.

“Lucien!” Feyre exclaimed, springing to her feet and padding into the entryway to greet him. She was the picture of health, dressed in a tight-fitting silvery velvet gown. “I was wondering where you were.”

She pulled him into a tight hug, and Lucien awkwardly let his arms fall around her. “You know I wouldn’t miss the roast duck your cook makes for anything.”

Feyre pulled away, mirth dancing in her eyes. “Well, you’re going to be sorely disappointed. Cerridwen made ham this year.”

“You wound me,” he replied. “Happy Birthday, Feyre.”

This was the way it was easiest between them. Laughing jokes, ignoring the more serious issues that swam just below the surface. And yet, even that felt like it didn’t quite fit right.

Feyre led him into the crowded living room where everyone lounged as they waited for dinner to be served. He was the last to arrive. Cassian and Varian sat by the fire, quipping over a sporting event, Amren leaning over Varian’s shoulder to interject her strong opinions. Cassian called out a greeting as Lucien appeared through the threshold, beckoning Lucien over.

Rhys and Mor were bickering over the addition of what appeared to be some last-minute decorations. The former held Nyx to his chest, bouncing the sleepy baby. Nesta lounged on a chaise nearby, eyebrows raised as she watched the exchange. Lastly, his eyes found Azriel, who was leaning up against a wall, looking only slightly less miserable than he had the year prior.

But one person was missing.

“Dinner is almost ready. Elain’s been preparing all afternoon with Nuala and Cerridwen,” Feyre commented, answering the question he didn’t have to ask.

“They always do fine work. I’m sure it’ll be delicious.”

Lucien made his way over to Cassian and Varian’s side just in time to hear the end of their sporting debate – both males were obsessive supporters of opposing teams – and exchanged a brief greeting with Nesta.

He didn’t know what to make of the eldest Archeron, the viper. She no longer regarded him with open hostility as she had during the War or the months after. He knew Nesta had been through a lot, had been working loosening the protective grip she felt towards Elain. Maybe it was enough to get her to stop watching him with murder in her eyes.

“Dinner is ready!” Called an all-too-familiar voice from the dining room.

Lucien felt like he had to steel himself for battle just as Elain poked her head through the door. “Don’t let it get cold!”

His mate was a vision. She wore a long dress of deep purple. Darker than what he had usually seen her wear. Somehow, she had managed to stay clean despite her work in the kitchen, though he noted a dirty apron slung over one arm. Slightly puffy long sleeves draped over her arms, and the high neckline kept the cut modest. Still, he had to stop himself from drinking her in like a person starved.

His mate, his mate, his mate, who he hadn’t seen in months.

She looked healthy and content, the same as the last time he had seen her. A change from those initial weeks where she had sat catatonic.

But still, there was something withdrawn in her manner. As if every movement was practiced, every word thought out in advance.

Elain’s gaze drifted across the room, and Lucien felt it in his bones when their eyes locked. Her breath hitched, eyes widening as she spun around. His heart squeezed, the familiar pain creeping back upon him.

She wants nothing to do with you.

Why would she?

Lucien knew that mating bonds weren’t made for love matches. But his heart sang for her because he wanted so badly to try, to see if love could come of this rare thing. To see if the Cauldron had indeed picked well.

He wondered if the others thought he was as pathetic as he felt. Lucien knew he was very poor at hiding the yearning when he watched his mate/

The group sat down around the dining room table, eager to dig into the delicious meal. The wine was poured, and laughter rang out freely. Elain brushed off compliments and blushed.

“Nuala and Cerridwen did most of the work. I just helped,” she insisted. She had positioned herself on the far end of the table between Cassian and Mor. Lucien sat on the other end entirely, sandwiched between Rhys and Varian.

Cauldron, Lucien didn’t know if he could do another year of this.

For not the first time, he wondered if he had wasted his time coming. Vassa and Jurian had tried to convince him to spend the week with them. Mortals didn’t celebrate Solstice, rarely celebrated any holidays at all. But maybe pretending it was just another week would have been easier.

Then Lucien wouldn’t have to pretend he had a place here.

Then Elain wouldn’t be looking nauseous over her mashed potatoes.

Maybe this would be the last time. He would deliver his gifts and share stories of his travels, and leave at a reasonable hour. Tomorrow, he would drop in again for a few minutes to bid Feyre farewell.

And then he would leave. And not return unless business demanded it.

Dinner passed by in a haze, and then dessert. As per usual, a birthday cake had been made for Feyre, who was turning 23. This one was three tiers, frosted with all colors of the rainbow, almost to look like watercolor. A cake that was a work of art in itself, and very on-brand for the High Lady.

Eventually, Mor hustled them all back over to the living room where the pile of gifts was stacked high. She placed herself in charge of handing them out, placing the first brightly wrapped package within little Nyx’s grasp. Lucien settled in and watched the organized chaos unfold.

Naturally, everyone had given Amren a piece of shiny, showy jewelry. For nearly everyone else, Mor had purchased a brightly colored sweater with the person’s initials embroidered across it. The night wore on and on.

Feyre had gifted Elain with a set of bulbs for her garden – ones that would bloom during winter. Picked up from her visit to the Winter Court. Elain's face lit up at the sight of the unfamiliar bulbs, and she pulled her sister into a quick hug. The gems woven into Elain’s long hair glinted in the firelight as she moved. Lucien was hypnotized just by looking at them.

To him, Feyre had given a long, cream-colored overcoat.

“To keep you warm on all your adventures,” she said with a smile.

He thanked her and meant it. It was a well-made, well-thought gift.

The pile of gifts gradually dwindled. Feyre beamed in delight when she unwrapped his gift to her, a set of vibrant pastels. And everyone’s heart had softened a bit as they watched her slide the baby booties he had gifted Nyx on the child’s little feet.

At last, Mor distributed the final few gifts. Lucien had made a point of avoiding looking at the purple-wrapped package that he had dropped off earlier in the day, though he had debated setting it aflame and forgetting the whole thing. Elain hadn’t ever appeared to wear the pearls or the gloves, why should this year be any different?

But the package was in her hands eventually, and he watched as she carefully tore away ribbon and paper to reveal his gift. After much deliberation, he had settled on a set of floral teas. Shaped into flower blossoms, when they were placed into hot water they would burst.

Her eyes widened as she examined them, and Lucien once more braced himself to have his attempt crushed. But she looked at him – Cauldron, she looked him in the eyes, and the expression on her face wasn’t a grimace.

“They’re lovely. Thank you,” she said softly, immediately casting her eyes back down.

“You’re welcome,” Lucien heard himself reply.

He could practically feel the surprise radiating off Feyre, who was doing nothing to hide her shock. The snoop.

He could scarcely believe it himself. Two and a half years of shrinking back and avoidance, and suddenly – what appeared to be a genuine thank you? Had his gift been that wonderful? He had previously accepted that it didn’t matter what the gift was, but who it was from that made the difference to Elain.

The gift-giving wrapped up shortly after. Cassian opened the final present of the night – expensive whiskey from Rhys – but of course, the merriment continued. Lucien began wondering when it would become an acceptable time to make his escape.

Cauldron, didn’t anyone else feel this straining awkwardness, like they didn’t belong? But Varian looked quite relaxed with Amren curled up next to him. Even Nesta, who had been a bit wary last year, now looked as at ease as he had ever seen her.

And Elain – well, he couldn’t read her. He had never been able to. But she sat in a chair by the fire, talking with Mor and Feyre about the former’s most recent travels.

The night slipped away as quickly as the wine and brandy. Everyone went back for seconds, and then thirds, of the cake. At last, nearing one in the morning, Amren stood.

“We’re leaving. I don’t want to hear a single one of you complain about being tired or hungover tomorrow,” the tiny woman said, slipping on a fluffy white coat and piling her new boxes of jewelry high. Varian stood at her side, dutifully holding the ones she couldn’t carry.

“I should head out, too. I’ll be asleep on my feet if I stay much longer,” Lucien said as he got to his feet.

Feyre stood, ready to show her friend to the door. “You’ll come by tomorrow before you leave?”

He nodded. “Of course. I’ll stop over around noon.”

He set off from the townhouse, the collar of his new coat upturned against the brisk wind that rolled in from the sea. All along the street were quaint houses, most of them lit up with their Solstice festivities. As he kept walking, approaching the inn where he had booked a room, he passed by a few parties. Each celebrating in their own, rowdy way.

At last, Lucien reached the inn, climbing up three flights of twisting stairs before reaching his room on the top floor. Small and cozy for only one night. A forest-green patterned wallpaper matched with the russet rug on the floor, and an abstract painting on the wall had a leaflike pattern.

It felt like a cruel joke. Why this, when he was in the heart of the Night Court?

The colors, the patterns – all reminiscent of the Autumn Court, which shone like a trove full of rich color. Once, he had a room in the Forest Palace with a rug nearly the same shade.

Muttering a curse under his breath, Lucien splashed a bit of water on his face from the basin on the dresser and changed into a softer set of clothes. When he finally flopped into bed with none of a warrior’s grace, two brown eyes stared at him from the ceiling.

Then he would blink, and they would change. They turned hazel, and he no longer saw Elain’s hesitance and observance. Only the cold, dead gaze of someone long buried.

Hours passed before sleep claimed him.

The sun rose strong and bright, bringing enough warmth to melt away the frost that had crept onto the windows.

The townhouse was quiet when he made his way back there at midday. Again, he didn’t bother to knock, and the door swung open easily. He entered and was greeted with complete silence.

“Hello?” Lucien called. Not a soul was in the living room, though it was still full of wrapping paper and empty plates. Clearly, the High Lord and Lady had given their servants some time off. But even uncrowded with people, the cozy townhouse seemed so alive. Each piece of furniture and knickknack had a meaning, and the worn couches only made it more loved.

Either way, the house appeared devoid of people; his sharp hearing didn’t pick up any sounds of movement. He sighed, turning to leave. Feyre had obviously gotten distracted with Cauldron knew what.

He turned to leave, but the sudden sound of soft footsteps caught his attention. He turned back around, and – there was his mate.

The last person he had expected to see. She was dressed for the day in a simple dark pink gown. Her hair was pulled back into a low bun, a few strands escaping to frame his face. Per usual, her locks were still carefully arranged to hide the lengthened, pointed tips of her ears. The one undeniable sign that she had become High Fae.

Elain didn’t look surprised to see him, didn’t turn to flee back up the stairs. Could she feel the rope in his chest pulling tight and drawing them together? Her eyes scanned him up and down. Searching. Seeing.

“My lady,” he breathed. “I was just looking for Feyre. Is she here?”

Elain shook her head, ever so slightly. “No – no she isn’t.”

“Then – would you tell her I said goodbye?”

“Yes,” she responded, and Lucien didn’t know why he had been expecting anything more. Truthfully, this little interaction was already much more than he had expected.

“I hope you had a pleasant solstice. Goodbye, Lady.” He turned again to leave.

“Wait!” The sound was so quick, so soft, that he could have missed it. But he spun around again.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Back to the human lands for a while. Jurian and Vassa are still living in an old castle there. After that, I might visit the human kingdoms on the continent. I won’t be back in Velaris for quite some time.”

You won’t have to see me for quite some time.

“Won’t Rhys and Azriel need your reports?”

“I can do those from afar. I already send most of the information through letters.”

She paused, still standing on the staircase. Light shone in from a stained-glass window, casting her in shades of gold and red.

“What it is like – the continent?”

“It’s…wholly different from Prythian. Different from the human lands here, too. Much of it is desert, as far as the eye can see. Just golden sand and the hot sun,” he replied, trying to conjure up some of the poetry he used to be able to create as easy as breathing. “But parts of it are wholly different. There are rainforests, lush and green with some of the strangest flowers and animals I’ve ever seen. But it’s beautiful. Even the desert has its beauty. The continent is large enough that even the human lands contain so much.”

Elain was silent for a moment, considering his answer. “I used to want to see it. I wanted to journey there with my father and see it all. I thought that perhaps even Nesta and Feyre would want to come along.”

Lucien didn’t know what to say, shocked that she was sharing this little piece of herself at all.

“I’m sure you could still go. I would consider it a shame to live without seeing what the world has to offer.”

She shook her head. “Maybe. But I have all of eternity, and no desire to go by myself.” There was an unspoken truth in her voice. Feyre had a court to run, and Nesta’s home was here. If the Valkyrie ever did decide to travel, it would be at a different time.

There was certainly no invitation in her quiet words, and he resisted the urge to tell her that he would gladly travel any desert, and landscape at all if she was by his side.

“You’ll get there one day. As you said, you have eternity,” he offered weakly.

Eternity. That was what their lives were, what this bond was between them.

“Maybe,” she said. She opened her mouth again slightly as if to say more, before pursing her lips tightly.

“Have you ever traveled beyond in Prythian beyond Velaris?” he ventured.

“Not much. I traveled with the armies during the war, but there wasn’t much to see beyond the battlefields. A few months ago, Feyre, Nyx, and I visited one of the Night Court’s coastal towns for a few days. And I’ve been to Hewn City, once.”

It was the most she had ever said to him at once, and Lucien struggled to take it all in.

Elain straightened her spine, correcting near-perfect posture, and suddenly looked very much like a soldier readying for battle. Like he suspected he had looked last night, entering the Solstice party.

“Would you – would you like to sit down for tea?” she asked.

Lucien hid his shock, recalling the memory of the last time they had tea. Their very first, endlessly uncomfortable conversation.

“I would,” he responded, suddenly the one who couldn’t come up with any words.

She nodded again and finished her descent down the stairs, immediately disappearing into the kitchen. Lucien still stood in the entryway like a fool, trying to decide if he should wait for her cue or follow. After a moment, he went into the dining room, hesitantly calling into the kitchen.

“Would you like any help?”

“No, it’ll only be a moment. You can go wait in the parlor, if you’d like,” Elain called back.

Lucien left the dining room, only to realize that he didn’t exactly know where the parlor was. His time in this house had been limited to Solstices and a few occasions during the War. After peering into a few rooms, he found it. A cozy, wallpapered room with an expensive rug spread across the hardwood floor. He studied the floorboards, trying to decide what kind of wood they were made of.

Eventually, his gaze traveled to the table, which had somehow escaped his initial notice.

The small table had been set perfectly for two in a matching, expensive-looking green tea set. A few different plates of Solstice sweets sat in the middle. Sugar-dusted scones, little chocolate truffles, and frosted cookies in the shape of stars and snowflakes.

She had been expecting him. Planned for this.

He couldn’t quite identify the feeling in his chest, and his heart was beating so fast.

Could she hear it?

He looked around the room, letting his gaze roam, and tried to focus, tried not to let his thoughts get a thousand steps ahead of him.

But how could he not?

Was this a rejection?

Could he handle it if it was?

Elain popped in, teapot in hand.

“Please, sit,” she said, carefully pouring a cup for him, and then one for herself.

Her face was…not grave, exactly, but…strained. Carefully neutral. As if she was convincing herself to sit down with every breath.

He could indeed hear her heartbeat when he listened for it. Beating just as quickly as his own.

But they both sat across from each other. Lucien took one of the scones and bit into it. Ripe cherry – his favorite.

“Nuala made the desserts yesterday,” Elain commented, dispelling any ideas that she had made him the food. She likely knew it, too. “I don’t know how she found time for it all in between everything else.”

“She is certainly a talented chef if she had time for all of this and Feyre’s cake.”

Elain nodded her agreement. “She and Cerridwen have taught me so much. Prythian has so many delicacies that the mortal realms have never dreamed of.”

He resisted the urge to ask her if she had any other friends beyond Rhysand’s maids. She was charming and bright when she wasn’t around him, surely if she chose, she could have a whole slew of friends. But he only ever saw or heard about her with Feyre’s family and their servants.

He realized that he had once again let an awkward silence fall, and took a sip of tea just for something to do. It was strong spearmint.

Was this the same skill set that had won him swoons on the dance floors of Autumn, that had forged alliances for Spring? He scrambled for something, anything to say. His default was usually sarcasm, which was clearly not appropriate.

“Have you started planning the gardens for Feyre’s houses yet? Last year she mentioned that you started sorting things out months in advance.”

It seemed to have been the wrong thing to say, based on the tiny furrow that formed between her brows.

“No. Not yet.” Again, short and reserved. She took a small sip of the tea.

“I’m sure your work will be stunning.”

She shook her head. “You don’t have to pretend.”

“Pretend what?”

“That you enjoy sitting here, making awkward small talk and placating me. I know I haven’t been easy to deal with, and that this is out of nowhere,” she rushed, fidgeting a bit with a napkin before shoving it down in her lap, hiding her hands.

“That’s not what I think. My lady, you must know that all I have wanted is to have an honest conversation with you.”

She clenched her jaw a bit, a muscle in her neck twitching, but didn’t say anything.

Lucien sighed softly. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you must think of me. And you’re likely well within your right to think all of those things.” Whatever names she silently called him were probably nothing he hadn’t already been called. By others, or himself.

She shook her head. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve heard so many stories about you that I don’t know what to think. This…this isn’t going how I expected.”

“My reputation proceeds me, then,” Lucien internally winced at his lame attempt to make a snarky remark.

Elain’s fingers went to her left hand, a nervous tic he knew she had picked up. Toying with an engagement ring that was no longer there.

“It’s more like Feyre insists on playing matchmaker,” Elain sighed, “but Nesta and Az are considerably…less fond of you.”

Lucien grimaced a bit. He had known that the spymaster was always wary of him. Initially, it had been out of distrust. And then…well, he didn’t want to know what the hell had transpired between him and Elain. It was enough to make him want to set something on fire.

He didn’t let himself dwell on it, focusing on the other part of her statement.

“Feyre’s playing at matchmaker, is she? She’s always such a busybody. I can’t imagine what yarns she’s spun about me.”

Elain huffed a bit ruefully. “A story for another time, I think. I’m getting off track. I wanted to speak with you…about the bond.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Alright,” he said evenly, setting down his teacup so he didn’t shatter it. Of course, they could only go so long without addressing the elephant in the room.

“I suppose I don’t truly know where to begin.” Again, that hesitance and uncertainty.

“You don’t have to share anything you aren’t comfortable with,” Lucien encouraged gently.

“No, I need to. I won’t – I can’t let another solstice go by like the last ones have.”

He didn’t think he was breathing. His thoughts were a tornado around him, swirling too fast for him to string anything coherent together.

“By now, you know that I didn’t want any of this. Nesta and Feyre were able to adjust to being fae because they have always hungered for something more. The life they were born into never suited them, and you can tell – in how they’ve changed. Neither of them ever belonged in the human realms.”

Not like I did. He heard the unspoken words and felt the familiar pricks of guilt from the knowledge that he had played a role in ripping her from everything she loved.

“And I know I haven’t made things easy for either of us. I probably haven’t been entirely fair to you.”

“You have every reason not to be,” he acknowledged.

“Quite honestly, this whole world is still so foreign to me. I was raised to court, not…you know,” she waved her hand vaguely, soft brown eyes full of emotion. “I’m not used to the kind of honest confessional that everyone wants me to deliver.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t expect any of this either. I thought I had lost my mate many years ago.”

“But you’re still willing to try. You have been since the beginning,” Elain insisted.

Lucien shook his head. “I wouldn’t say that’s true. But, yes, I know I haven’t been as subtle as I would like. And I am truly sorry if I’ve ever made you uncomfortable.”

“Thank you. But I understand that this must be difficult for you, too.” There she went again. Deflecting, turning the conversation away. Always focused on others and their perceptions. “Feyre explained that the bond was…intense, for Rhysand. Even before they did anything about it.” Her cheeks colored a bit pink.

Lucien clenched his jaw. “That’s one way of putting it.”

That day in Hybern, with the screaming, Cassian and Azriel on the ground, Feyre hysterical, the sisters in chains. The endless pause as the first sister went in fighting, and the way the world tilted on its axis when the Cauldron poured her back out.

Everything in his field of vision narrowed, blood rushing and the sound of a heartbeat that was not his own thundering in his ears.

His eyes flew to her, but she was already looking. Staring at him with those beautiful brown eyes.

“My point is that I don’t want your declarations of devotion and patience that I have done nothing to earn. They are nothing but pretty words, Lucien. You don’t know me. And I don’t know you.”

“No, but I want to,” he insisted earnestly, savoring the thrill that sparked through him as he heard his name from her lips. “If you would let me. As I said, that is the only thing I want from you. To know you.”

Something relaxed a bit in her face, and she took another sip of tea. He could still hear her heart hammering.

“I’m not ready to jump into anything right now. I don’t know if I ever will be. But I am willing to try to get to know you.”

Lucien’s heart sang, and he wondered how apparent the relief was on his face.

“But I have some conditions first.” There was no room for argument in Elain’s voice, her tone much steelier than usual.

He nodded, encouraging her to go on.

“First, I can’t do this with strings attached. Everyone has expected me to be adjusted by now, to be okay with the bond. But it’s still so foreign to me. I know it’s impossible to ignore completely. But I need you to accept that there’s no way to know how this will end. Even I haven’t seen that.”

“We can take things one day at a time,” Lucien suggested, an unfamiliar feeling rising in his chest, a cresting wave threatening to overwhelm him. “I won’t lie, the bond is…difficult for me to ignore at times.” All the time. “ But I will never act on it unless we both want to.”

Elain nodded her agreement. “I’d like that. But second – please don’t treat me like a piece of china. I’ve spent my whole life being coddled, and I’ve encouraged it for most of that time. Everyone acts differently around me. Even my sisters think I’m too delicate to handle anything. I don’t need you to edit your stories to be more palatable or tiptoe around me. And – you can call me Elain. You don’t have to stick to the formalities and titles.”

Her brow furrowed a bit, and Lucien saw something in her face he hadn’t deciphered before. Resolve. It was true. Everyone saw his mate as in need of protection as if she was unable to see the truth. They forgot that she had found her way across the battlefields herself, and accomplished what no one else had been able to when she stuck a blade through the King of Hybern’s throat. She had braved the Court of Nightmares, though it was completely unlike any human court she would have ever found herself in.

“Alright. Elain.” He tested the name on his lips, the first time he had called her anything but Lady to her face. “I can do that.”

Elain let the faintest trace of a smile rise on her cheeks as she took another sip of tea. He took the sight in, committed it to memory, and prayed it would be the first of many.

“Perhaps you’d consider extending your stay in Velaris for a few days?”

“I’d like that a lot,” Lucien said earnestly. Part of him searched for a silver-tongued quip to respond with, but he came up empty. In place of the way he usually sought to make light of things, there were only his honest opinions.

He wanted to stay for a few days. For Elain.

“Mor mentioned a new ballet they’re showing in the Rainbow – would you like to go?” she ventured. “I used to love to attend ballets, but I haven’t been to one in Prythian yet.”

He nodded. “Ballet was one of the prized dance forms in the Spring Court, but I’ve never gone to anything of the sort in Night. That sounds wonderful.”

Uncertainty still hung in the air, with neither of them completely sure to take this newfound clarity. But the tension was lessened, the string pulling them together with every breath loosened. Content to take a chance and see how it would all play out.

The things that troubled him still weighed heavy on Lucien’s shoulders. They wouldn’t disappear overnight. But in his chest, something had been struck, and he felt the spark of hope reignite in his chest.

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this! It was a lot of fun to write for a ship other than Feysand, and I was really surprised by how quickly this story poured out. I'm excited to hopefully write more Elucien in the new year, and work on improving their voices and characterizations in my head!

#elucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #acotar #acosf #acomaf #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #kate's writing #kat's writing

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lily-drake · 3 years

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Fantasy/Twin AU

Sorry for being late and not posting for a bit. Was a bit burnt out and had writer block. I will go back to write the other days soon though. Also, sorry, I suck at writing wing aus, this is my first time doing it.

Earth J-236, an earth full of mystical life. An earth where everyone is born with wings. Your wings represented who you are; well not really, but that’s what people believed. If your wings were bright and colorful then you were obviously an amazing person, but if your wings were darker or had little color, then you have great evil in your soul. Marinette was born seconds after her twin, Damian. It takes a few years before your wings fully grow in, usually to about 6. But with the accelerated growth serums used in their artificial wombs, it took them till they were three for their feathers to sprout. Damian’s were black like their father’s with subtle hints of red like their mothers. Marinette’s were pure black, devoid of any color, and her mother was so proud of that. She was the League’s charm, for it’s believed that anyone with pure black wings was pure evil. Her only purpose being to protect her brother, nothing else was more important than her brother’s safety. She would die for him, because if he died she might as well have died as well as her only purpose for living would be gone.

Damian glared at his sister, his wings ruffling in annoyance. She was hovering close to him again, and she never said anything to him ever unless she was completely sure they were alone. He did not believe that his sister was or could ever be, “pure evil” just because of her wings. In fact, her mannerisms are the exact opposite of what people believed. She, in her own ways, is caring, sweet, and protective. He had seen, and helped, her nurse a baby bird that had fallen from its nest back to health. She would often place little things around the base for only him to find such as some extra baklava, a throwing knife, a drawing of someone, beads, or other random objects. Grandfather had always been extra hard on her, making sure she wouldn’t betray them, she wouldn’t become “evil enough to lose herself”. Sometimes she would sneak into his room at night, and it tore him apart to see silent tears run down his little sister's face as small black raven feathers fell onto the floor from her days worth of training. He had been learning how to fly, her wings had been clipped every two or three months so she could not leave the base. She had learned long ago to control her facial and wing expressions, but he could always see the droop in them and the sad shine in her eyes as she stood on the ground while he was in the air.

________

Marinette looked up and watched as the fiery Phoenix flew through the air setting Nada Parabat aflame. She didn’t feel much as she watched her grandfather get blown up. She only felt great anxiety and fear as she could not find her brother. She loved her brother, and if her job was to cause chaos, she would make sure she could prevent it from hurting him. Grandfather had told her about how cursed she was, it’s why they had to be extra tough on her, and she understood that. They couldn’t have her hurting anyone they needed, only the people they wanted gone. She was angry at grandfather yesterday for taking some of her feathers for failing a task, this must have been her fault. She didn’t want to hurt her brother, her wings had only proven nothing but destruction. She had to leave now, then she could go where no one else was, and she wouldn’t have to hurt anyone else. So like a coward, like the disgrace she was, she ran. She kept her wings tight against her back making sure that no one could grab them as she ran. An arrow hit one of them, but she didn’t have time to think about the burning pain as she ran and ran and ran farther and farther and farther away. Tears ran down her cheeks as she silently prayed that her brother would be okay.

She didn’t know how long she ran, but she knew it must have been a really long time as she had just collapsed from exhaustion in the woods. She looked back at her wings and slowly and carefully spread them out and hissed in pain from where the arrow had pierced her left wing. Drops of red slowly dripped down her feathers and dropped on the ground. She quickly closed them and made sure they were as small and put away as possible. She looked up at the trees made of brass with different colored jade leaves. Pearl-like apples growing on a few. She watched a baby griffon follow it’s mother in the distance, turtle ducks waddling to a pond somewhere nearby, deer nibbling on plants, she could hear the rustling of leaves and branches from unseen creatures and everything was getting more blurry and dark. She was cold, it felt very cold. She slowly unwound her wings from around herself and closed them tightly around her, but that didn’t stop the chill that went deep down to her bones. She was a failure, a mistake, she would only cause harm. Here she wouldn’t be able to do that, and if she died here, then no one would be hurt by her again, and wasn’t that such a nice thought.

________

Tom and Sabine had finally been able to hire some trusted employees and explore places in Tibet. They had made lots of money over the years with their successful bakery, and they thought now was a better time than ever to go on a real honeymoon as they hadn’t been able to afford it before when the bakery had first started. It was during one of these forest explorations when they saw a trail of little drops of blood and felt they needed to follow it. What they discovered broke their hearts. There lying on the cold forest floor was what appeared to be a child hugging their very black wings around them. They knew of the rumors and myths of black winged people, but they did not care. They believed that their wings were not what made them evil, but rather situations put into their lives. Sabine quickly checked for a pulse, and though it was slow she sighed in relief when she felt it. She quickly handed the small unconscious girl to Tom and they both quickly went to the nearest hospital. How could someone leave such a small child all alone to die like that? It looked as if she had been injured if the dried blood on the small fragile wings said anything. And worst of all, upon closer examination, they had been clipped, recently too.

As soon as they arrived they carried the small girl to the front and demanded that they take her in. They waited until the doctors were done and gave them permission to visit claiming to be the girl’s adopted parents. It wasn’t technically a lie, they would be soon even if Sabine had to force it to happen.

When Marinette woke up she knew something was off. She was under a blanket, she’s never been given a blanket before. The sent of bleach and chemicals were everywhere and it hurt her nose. There was a beeping noise next to her that was giving her a headache. She didn’t know where she was, and that was bad. She opened her eyes a small fraction so nobody could see she was awake and looked around as much as she could. The entire room was white and there were bright lights. There were two strange people waiting in chairs near where she was laying. She wondered if they were the ones who brought her here. Slowly she opened them up all the way and silently sat up. It’s best to make no noise, then she wouldn’t disturb anyone.

“Oh sweety, I’m so glad you’re awake.”

The woman said in a cheery and relieved manner, but she just continued to watch and study them silently. Her wings felt stiff against her back, though she made sure they didn’t move or give anything away.

“How are you feeling dear?”

Silence greeted them, and her face remained as impassive as ever. They wanted something, why else would they save a freak like her? What were they aiming for here?

“Did your parents hurt you? If so, we can take you away from them.”

Marinette’s eyes widened only a fraction. These were randoms, innocents if you will. They obviously had no idea who she was, and they seemed unafraid of her and her wings. Did they not know how dangerous she was, didn’t they know that black wings meant she was cursed? The man and the woman looked at eachother and spread their wings. Marinette was shocked, but she wouldn’t show it.

The large man had light brown eagle wings while the small woman had white and black woodpecker wings. She wanted to reach out and touch the feathers, but then something bad would happen to them, so she held her hands together.

“We don’t care what your wing color is. Your wings don’t define who you are, it’s what you do with your life that does. Can we please help you?”

The woman said sincerely as she gripped the man’s hand in hers. She felt a pull to them, something telling her to accept. She didn’t want to hurt them though. But maybe she could protect them? Maybe she could find a way around her curse and make sure they don’t get hurt? Slowly she nodded and they both looked so happy when she did. She hoped that she wouldn’t hurt them, they didn’t deserve to be cursed. Maybe if she didn’t touch them things would be ok. If she didn’t let them touch her then it wouldn’t spread. She could do this!

________

Apparently she couldn’t do it because this is a very affectionate family, and the first thing that happened before they let her sleep on their —super fluffy, pure Heaven— bed was give her a hug. She had made sure that her wings were tucked under her clothes and tight against her back the entire time though. So they didn’t touch her wings, so maybe that meant they wouldn’t be cursed.

It was strange, because the next morning they went to a courthouse, and she was adopted. She hadn’t said anything throughout the entire event, she just watched and observed what people did. They stayed in Tibet for another few days before they flew to Paris, France. This was supposed to be her new home. The city of light and love. Maybe here, it would stop her curse. It was so bright that it had to block out her darkness. She still always carried one of her knives with her, she felt naked without one. Tom and Sabine seemed to understand somehow, and said that it was her business and that was enough for them till she was ready to talk about it. It was strange not to be interrogated for now wanting to tell someone something.

Marinette had lived with the Dupain-Chengs for about a year now. It was strange really, they were honest business people and their joy was always sincere. They didn’t question much of what she did even though it was probably weird to them. They didn’t punish her for messing up like the league did, and they never went near her wings without permission. They never plucked her feathers, and they would often ask if they could preen her wings. She would refuse every time, but she would often wonder what it would be like to have someone else touch them. Think of what it would be like if she weren’t cursed. When it was time for school she would always wrap them around herself then tape them so no one would see or be able to touch them. Things were finally going well, she couldn’t risk it now!

There was a blonde brat that liked to act like she was above her, and because her wings were always hidden with no explanation she made sure everyone knew that she was “wingless”. She didn’t care though, being wingless was better than being evil winged. She never really said anything in class or to other students, she never gave much reaction keeping her stoic face up. The brat left her alone soon after for being a, “ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous freak.” And nobody was the wiser.

Being Lady Chaos was….the best thing that ever happened to her if she was being honest. Even with pure black wings, people still thought she was a hero. She never flew, she was scared she’d fall and die. She was never allowed to fly before, and even if she technically can do so now, it’s not worth the risk. Her partner though, Mr. Bug has gold, red, and black wings. He can fly through the air with ease she wished she desperately had. Sometimes after patrol she would go to the very top of the Eiffel Tower and just stretch her wings out as far out as she could. She would close her eyes as the wind blew past her and ruffled her feathers and pretend that she was soaring through the air.

________

Year three of living with Tom and Sabine she was comfortable talking to them more, and with Plagg there to control her chaos she finally let them touch her wings. It was strange really, she never took care of her wings, never cared enough to. When she first felt the hands on her feathers she had to will herself not to draw them back for fear of them plucking or ripped out. But Sabine’s hands were so gentle and smooth that they seemed to move on their own and go closer to her touch. Sabine would smile and hum as she gently preened the dark raven feathers that were soft and smooth. Maybe she could finally tell the class that she wasn’t wingless soon, and maybe they would be okay with it.

No, they would not as she learned from listening to her classmates talk to the new student, Lila Rossi. To them Lady Chaos was the only good black winged person because she was chasing after Mr. Bug to earn his affections. Lady Chaos was obviously evil before she met Mr. Bug and she would always be evil no matter what she did. Marinette felt nauseous that she ever thought about telling them the truth. She had never felt more betrayed than she felt now, because she had given them her trust, and they broke it without even knowing it. After that day, she made extra sure that her wings were hidden and wore a bit thicker clothing just in case. Tom and Sabine are a little worried about it, but she calmed them pretty quickly. She was fine, it wasn’t like they were all great friends to begin with. That’s probably why everyone sides with Lila and decides that she’s a terrible person.

She had tried leaving her past behind, pretending that she didn’t hurt and kill people. Pretend that she wasn’t a weapon. She tried to push it far away, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. She had abandoned her brother. She betrayed the league. She did unspeakable things to please someone who would never care about her, just her use. The city of lights seems duller than usual, it was probably her fault Hawkmoth came to be in the first place, afterall she was cursed to bring ruin everywhere she went.

________

Lila and Chloe thought it would be a great idea to bring everybody to the Crime Capital of the World for their senior trip. Probably to watch people flounder and worry when things go wrong, which they definitely would. She had stopped Hawkmoth a month before the trip, but Mr. Bug took all the credit for it. The arrogant self centered bas*. Adrien kept giving her side glances that always made her feel uncomfortable and slightly disgusted. During school he would try to touch her with every chance he’d get. He almost discovered her wings at one point. She couldn’t do anything about it before because of the stupid your-rich-so-do-whatever-the-heck-you-want treatment. Now that Adrien’s family fortune is gone, and people don’t trust him because of what his dad did, so he has to be more careful. He now kept some distance, which she was extremely grateful for.

She would have broken his hand, she had imagined it plus other things more than once. But then Tom and Sabine would get in trouble by Gabriel for her actions. They didn’t deserve that, they had been nothing but good to her since they found her abandoned in that forest.

She would be fine though, as long as Lila had a grip on his arm and she was in the back, away from him. She listened to their tour guide, Richard Grayson, talk about the history and importance of WE. The architecture was brilliant really, and you couldn’t blame her for having to draw and sketch it. She often thought of Damian when she sketched. She used to leave drawings for him around the base, little things that expressed her adoration for him without getting too close. She wondered if he was still with the league, had he escaped, did he die? She hoped that wasn’t the case, she hoped that he would be alive and well. Bright orange and white wings nearly slapped her in the face if she hadn’t stopped right before the movement had occurred.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry Marinette! Sometimes my wings just spasm out of control like that! I didn’t hurt you did I?”

Marinette just silently rolled her eyes and took a few steps backward and watched the class glare at her waiting for her to comfort the liar. She would never lower herself to do that. She was still an Al Ghul afterall, even if she did leave it behind when she fled. She was thankful when lunch came, she waited far away from the line and watched silently from a dark corner to make sure no one would hurt her. Then she felt it, a hand touching her back feeling for something. She quickly and instinctively grabbed the arm and twisted it behind them pinning it behind their back at a painful angle.

“Ukhti, let go.”

Marinette knew that voice. She remembered that name and she could feel her heart stop. The lunchroom was silent as they watched the small bluenette silently and quickly release the “Ice Prince”. Everyone watched with bated breaths to see what would happen next. The boy’s wings were ruffled in agitation and fear.

“Where are they?”

He demanded. Marinette knew what he was talking about, she simply wrapped her arms around herself and turned her head away definitely.

“Why are you hiding them, Malak? Please.”

Marinette could feel her wings moving in defiance to what her brain was saying. They wanted to be shown, they wanted to be touched by her brother again. She looked down and slowly uncrossed her arms from her body. Damian gently took her hands in his and looked directly into her eyes.

“Everything will be ok, Taw'ami.”

She slowly nodded and with shaky fingers reached under her hoodie and began to slowly unwrap the tape that kept her wings confined. When all the tape was in her hands she hesitantly removed her hoodie and let her wings unfold from around herself and into the open. She had made shirts that let her wings slip through slits in the back that were tailored to her wings specifically and were most comfortable. Damian marveled at how big her raven wings had grown and how shiny they were. He reached out a hand slowly and gently ran his fingers down the inky black that was her wings.

Shouts of fear and accusations were thrown at her, mostly from her class. She didn’t listen though, she just observed. The tour guide was coming over now, probably to kick her out. He had such lovely wings though, they were a deep navy blue that looked similar to black with dark red and light blue running through them. They looked so well kept and soft.

“Damian, what’s happening? Who is this?”

“Grayson, meet my twin sister, Marinette.”

“You have a twin?!”

Richard exclaimed loudly, drawing even more attention. The insults and jeers stopped after that. She looked over at the class and smirked when she saw their shock and confusion.

“Yes, keep up.”

Damian said brusquely. They must know each other well then.

“Come, we must take her away from these imbeciles and take her to father.”

Damian grabbed her wrist and tugged, her quickly falling into line like she used to when he did this.

“Now tell me Ukhti, have you been taking care of yourself?”

She nodded as they came to an elevator and walked into it with Richard right behind them. Marinette felt her feathers fluff up nervously. She wasn’t in control of them right now, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Damian ran a hand gently down her right wing trying to smooth it down.

“Things will be fine Marinette. Just watch, father will be glad to meet you.”

She looked him in the eyes and squeezed her hands together.

“No, I have not told him about you. Things will be fine though.”

He seemed to understand her weird way of communicating, she still didn’t understand how he did. Richard cleared his throat and both turned to look at him.

“Sorry to interrupt, but um…I’m Dick, I’m Damian’s, and yours I guess, oldest brother. It’s nice to meet you.”

He spread his wings in a welcoming way that meant and showed safety and peace. Her wings involuntarily rose up as well to reciprocate his greeting. When the door to the elevator opened again she quickly forced her wings to hide on her back trying desperately to keep them from sight. Damian didn’t seem to like it, but he just grabbed her wrist and dragged her to a large office room. The plaque on the door read “CEO Bruce Wayne”. Their father was Bruce Wayne?! She couldn’t go in there, she couldn’t curse him and ruin his life. No, she had already messed up at the league, and she was just barely not messing up with Tom and Sabine, she would definitely ruin Bruce Wayne’s life, and she would not allow that to happen. She tugged at his grip desperately trying to get away.

“Marinette, stop. Your wings are not cursed, that was a lie.”

Marinette shook her head and kept trying to escape the iron-like grip.

“Do you not trust me anymore?”

She froze at that and quickly shook her head. Of course she trusted him, it was her that shouldn’t be trusted.

“Good, because we’re going in now.”

And that was that, because the door was now open and she was being dragged into the office room where their father and another boy with large bags under his eyes stared at them. Damian puffed up his chest and feathers letting his strong, big, and brilliant wings rise into the air.

“Father, this is your daughter, my twin, Marinette Erebus Al Ghul-Wayne.”

They both stared at her in shock and Marinette slowly and cautiously raised her despicable black wings into the air. Both stared at them in awe before looking back at her, but she didn’t meet their eyes. She didn’t want to see the disgust and hatred in their eyes.

After a few moments she looked up and saw their wings greeting hers like Dick’s had. Their father’s wings were a mix of black and dark grey alternating the color in each row of feathers. The other boy’s were black at the top and slowly turned to red at the bottom. But they were welcoming her openly, so that must mean something! Well, it was time to get to know her father, she guessed.

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mc-lukanette · 2 years

Text

When Luka came to, he felt dizzy and disoriented. His limbs ached and he was sure he hadn’t slept well at all. At the very least, he felt a bed underneath him, though that thought contrasted strangely to what he was certain was the night sky above him. He realized a moment later that he wasn’t just seeing things, and that the confusion was solved by noting that he could view the sky due to the glass ceiling.

He looked around, wondering whose home he must’ve been in, but he couldn’t recognize his surroundings at all. The architecture was odd, there wasn’t any technology he recognized, and any outside noises he was used to - cars, people, footsteps - weren’t there at all.

It was quiet, save for a singular, female voice.

“Oh, you’re awake!” Then, her voice lowered to something more gentle and timid. “Are you—um—feeling okay?”

Luka glanced over, meeting the woman’s gaze with his own. He initially opened his mouth to reply, but forgot what he was going to say when her hand pressed tentatively against his forehead. She held a book in her other hand and her eyes were so deep that it felt like staring into an entire galaxy.

He wanted to get lost in them, and blamed the thought on his half-awake state. The woman took his silence into consideration and set her book aside, reaching down to a place Luka couldn’t see and pulling up a wet rag. She wrung it out, then took another glance at her book before settling the rag across his forehead. It was cool to the point where he sighed in contentment.

It occurred to him belatedly that she hadn't called the news or tried to take him back, but given the strangeness of everything he'd seen and heard (or rather not heard) so far, he wondered if she even had a phone. Regardless, he was grateful to her.

He snapped out of his thoughts when she mumbled to herself about “not talking being a potential symptom.” He pushed himself up slightly, careful not to make the rag slide off.

“I feel fine, thank you,” he assured.

She jumped in surprise, probably not expecting him to speak so suddenly. “Oh! Um, I’m glad.” She put a hand to her chin in thought, then pointed at the rag. “Should I remove that, then?”

“Hm?” He placed a hand to it, then debated with himself before laying back down. “No, that’s okay. This feels nice.”

She blinked at him, almost seeming to stare into his soul for a moment, then bent down to take the bowl of water he presumed she’d had the rag in. She walked away, setting it aside as she told him, “You’re very far from home.”

His fingers twitched in a bout of nerves. “You know me?”

“No, but…” She gestured out at the walls. “There’s nothing else here except me and this house.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “I thought so. It’s… quiet here.”

It was so loud before, he thought, with all those crowds; all those people. Too many songs and instruments all at once.

Just as Luka began to embrace the peaceful silence, a sound cut through it: specifically, his stomach. His cheeks reddened in embarrassment and he almost whined into his hand.

The woman approached, leaning to look him over every which way. “A-are you sure you’re okay? You turned red all of a sudden.”

“Sorry, I—” He rubbed his face, careful not to knock the rag off his forehead. “—I don't know how long I've been out, but I’ve been on the run for a long time. I don’t even remember the last time I ate.”

“Oh,” she murmured sympathetically. She tapped her cheek in thought, looking around the room as if food would magically materialize. Her other hand came up to play with the glittery and orange pearl necklace she had on, but then she paused and glanced down at it.

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” he said, knowing full well that she was already tending to him.

“No no!” she protested, waving her arms rapidly. “Ah, stay here.”

She gave a gesture with her hand, insisting again that he wait, then walked out of the room and into the nearby hallway. Luka watched her go, idly tapping on the bed beneath him as he waited. He wasn’t sure how yet, but he hoped that she’d let him repay her somehow; she was already so nice to him without reason considering that she didn’t even know him.

Then, after what felt like only a few seconds, the sudden scent of food hit him. He gently took the rag off and set it aside, pushing himself up and facing the doorway the woman had gone through earlier.

She entered a large plate of food, already cooked and everything. Given the speed at which she returned, Luka had expected something slapped together in a hurry, and he hadn’t smelled anything at all before.

Perhaps he’d just been too tired, or his senses were dulled. He even found himself rubbing his nose, not trusting it all of a sudden.

“Will this do?” the woman asked, standing there and holding out the plate to him like it were a gift box.

He reached out at first, but stopped himself even with his stomach giving her a private concert.

“No, thank you. I’ll be alright.”

She pouted adorably. “But you’re hungry?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Then take it,” she insisted. “It’s for you.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “I appreciate it, but I don’t want to take your dinner.”

She tilted her head. “My dinner?”

“Well,” he began, simultaneously trying to figure out the logic behind her reaction, “if it was ready, I must’ve interrupted your meal when you took me in.”

Her eyes darted back-and-forth between him and the food, like she was trying to piece together some sort of puzzle that she couldn’t quite solve. Eventually, she merely shook her head, holding out the food again for him.

“It’s okay! Really, I’ve already eaten, so this is yours.”

“Oh.”

He hesitated again, still unsure, but the woman genuinely seemed to have no interest in the food. He could only guess that she’d either prepared something while he was sleeping, or made too much and kept it warm without knowing she would find him. It was the only conclusion he could muster.

Finally, he took the plate in hand, briefly startled by the weight and noting how much food was actually on the plate. He didn’t complain, knowing he could eat it and that it was a good start to getting his strength back up.

He glanced back up at her just as she went to turn away, her eyes darting back to him with a questioning look like she was wondering if he’d need anything else. He smiled reassuringly, offering a grateful, “Thank you very much.”

She turned back to him, surprised at first, then smiled back at him. Her eyes almost seemed to sparkle as she replied back, “You’re welcome.”

He had to force himself to focus on the food, though he paused just as he brought the food to his mouth. This woman was taking care of him, but she didn’t know her name, nor did she know his. It’d been so long since he’d had to introduce himself to someone that he’d thought nothing of it.

“I’m Luka, by the way. Luka Couffaine.”

Her lips parted, then shut, like she was clueless for a response. She tilted forward, as if to bow, then stopped herself and settled on simply waving at him.

“Hello! You can call me Marinette!”

Part of him waited for a last name, but he never got one, and he caught himself staring at her just in time before he dropped his food out of distraction. He still had a lot of things to work out, as well as plans to make, but most of all, he wanted to know the girl behind those galaxy eyes.

Marinette...

#lukaneventte: No Context November #Flower Arrangement Shipping #Pro LukaMari #Lukanette

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ptergwen · 3 years

Text

smoke and mirrors

⇢ richkid!tom x richkid!reader ⇠

w/c: 4.1k

warnings: swearing, drinking, light angst, and implied smut

summary: because of your mother’s insistence on a pristine family image and tom’s messy one, you deny your true feelings for him

a/n: ok ok ok the pics of tom in monaco really made me think and i had to get everything out of my system so here we are! thank you and enjoy x

your living room is engulfed by a hushed chatter that comes from far too many guests. half the people, you hardly know. it’s overcrowded, superficial, and the last place you want to be. it’s one of your mother’s get-togethers, as she likes to call them. these things are always far from the casual affairs they sound like.

weeks go into planning, caterers and decorators making themselves at home in yours. the family’s image is everything to your mom, so being a good hostess is her top priority. ironically, she’s more concerned with throwing her gatherings than raising you. so much for family, huh?

the only reason you agreed to make an appearance tonight is that tom might do the same. he’s a really good friend, someone you’ve been able to count on through all the mess that is your lives. you met in high school, when he moved from london to the states. his dad was offered a job promotion he couldn’t pass up. plus, tom and his brothers would be receiving a stellar private education here in america.

it was a win for everyone, especially you. the freckle faced boy who got lost on his way to english class became your closest confidant. tom’s company is such a sweet escape. he’s not interested in opera or the stock market like most people you meet are. he sneaks you out to go on walks at dawn and does shots with you until you can’t stand straight.

as you two continue to grow together, revelations about yourselves have come to light. what you want beyond your inheritances, who you want beyond friendship. you figured out the second part on a faithful night recently. tom showed up to your place with a bottle of tequila. after you drank it down through lots of lime chasers and giggles, he kissed you. you didn’t kiss back.

your heart said to go for it, but your mind pulled you back in. you were so shocked and overcome with new feelings, you froze up. that, and you’d infuriate your mother. although she cares about tom a great deal, she loathes his public figure. he’s always getting papped in places and with people he shouldn’t be. the two of you together would just destroy her.

you still want to please your mom at the end of the day, no matter how deep under your skin she gets.

tom immediately apologized and tried play it off as him being drunk. you grew up with him, became part of each other’s families, which means you know him well enough to know he was lying. he meant every second his lips were on yours.

what you need to do now is something you’ve meant to for a while. the only problem is that you’re stuck at your mother’s party, and tom hasn’t shown up yet.

“y/n, darling,” your mom calls for your attention. she’s dragged you into a conversation with some bloggers, but you haven’t spoken a word. “why don’t you tell us about your trip to spain last summer?” she plasters on her award winning grin and squeezes your shoulder. it’s time to play along.

“oh, it was beautiful,” you halfheartedly reply, more to the bloggers than her. they nod in clear interest. one jots down notes. “we went for a few weeks and visited a bunch of different cities. i’d love to go back sometime.” the typical press formatted answer earns your mom’s approval. you’re off the hook. your eyes start to wander around the room, hoping to set on tom.

“we?” the woman taking notes asks. must everyone pry? “my friend and i,” you shortly reply. you’re standing up on your tiptoes to see over the crowd. you’d think six inch heels would do the trick. “i’m actually looking for him right now, so if you’ll excuse me,” you offer a polite smile and silently pray they won’t ask who. unfortunately, your wishes don’t come true.

the other blogger, a short and stubborn man, speaks up. “just a friend you say? come on, tell us. who’s the lucky fella?” he inquires. your mother raises a firm eyebrow, signaling for you not to.

tom has a reputation for his reckless behavior. it’s your mom’s worst nightmare when the media associates your names under most circumstances. you’re representing her, so she does whatever she can to control how you’re seen. you’re constantly in the papers, being a young socialite and all. it sucks.

“he’d like to stay out of the tabloids, sorry,” you cover for tom, on your mom’s behalf. “i should really go. it was nice meeting you.” the bloggers don’t bother to hide their disappointment as you shake their hands. your mother rubs your back in approval. “thank you for doing that. we’ll talk later,” she speaks lowly. “bye, mom!” you practically make a run for it.

weaving through the sea of people, you end up by the main entrance. it’s hard not to get lost even though it’s your house. the place is packed with girls just a couple years older than you, wearing pearls around their necks. men’s strong colognes flow through the air. you’re in a form fitting red slip dress and louboutins yourself.

smoke and mirrors is what they call it. you show the pretty parts to distract from your ugly ones.

harrison suddenly comes waltzing in with a lady on either of his arms. you’d expect nothing less. he’s tom’s best friend besides you, considering the failed kiss attempt didn’t change that. their parents worked at the london branch of the same company. they each came to the states and met you. you happily introduced them to your world, helping to make it theirs as well.

“haz!” you meet him at the front door. he’s smirking while he leads the women inside. “fancy seeing you here, isn’t it?” he jokes. “very funny. i died laughing,” you deadpan, curiously eyeing harrison’s plus two. they merely giggle. “listen, have you seen tom anywhere? if he’s coming.” you’re fighting back a frown. “why wouldn’t he be?” harrison questions in a more serious tone this time.

“long story. you have guests to entertain, so i won’t get into it now,” you decide and manage a small smile instead. he perks up. “right. i’ll let you know if i see him?” nodding, you give him a wave goodbye. “enjoy yourself.” “you too, love. cheers!” the girls lean into him, harrison wiggling his eyebrows at you. he’s ridiculous.

hours pass by without word of tom. it isn’t like him to miss an event, especially if you’re in attendance. you despise these exhausting nights, and he’s supposed to be your rock during them. he should have his arm draped around your shoulders, whispering silly remarks to you while you hide out somewhere. you miss him more than you thought possible.

you’re just about to give up when you spot nikki ushering her husband inside. behind them follows tom, clad in a grey checkered suit with his locks perfectly tousled. he’s here. you waited the whole night, and he finally came.

tom kisses his mom on the cheek before strutting over to the drink table, not without a few reporters hassling him. they’re probably looking for another holland scandal to break. he declines their requests for comments on this and opinions on that, instead pulling up a chair next to harrison. the two exchange hugs and fix themselves glasses of champagne, you watching their encounter.

harrison fills tom in on the drama he’s missed tonight while they sip their drinks. tom keeps forcing smiles that don’t reach his eyes. he’s fiddling with his fingers, leg bouncing up and down steadily. those are the telltale signs he needs saving. however awkward it may be, you’re going to have to break your silence. it was bound to happen eventually.

“mate, i’m telling you. she fit her entire first right up her-“ “boys,” you cut into harrison’s story, greeting him and tom. his face tints deep pink upon your arrival. “don’t let me stop you. finish your charming anecdote,” you encourage him and subtly glance over at tom. he’s biting back a grin as he sets his elbows on the table.

“not with a lady present. let’s just… pretend you didn’t hear that,” harrison chuckles nervously and hops to his feet. “i’m gonna leave you two to chat.” humming, you move to take his chair. tom sucks in a breath. “what happened to the girls you brought?” you wonder. “they left. said they got bored,” harrison admits, tom stifling laughter. he elbows his friend for that.

“oh, fuck off. i’ll see you later,” he mopes, flicking your arm for good measure. tom salutes him and grabs his nearly empty champagne. “so long, bruv.”

it’s just you and tom now, seated side by side, silently so. he has no intentions of speaking first. he’s too embarrassed, and you don’t blame him. this is on you. you clear your throat before starting the conversation.

“can i top you off?” you tap the bottom of his glass with a tiny smile. tom shakes his head. “i’m alright, thanks.” he finishes the last sip and sets it down, turning to face you. your smile has vanished. “wasn’t sure you were gonna make it. i’m glad you did,” you change the subject. as if he’s considering the sincerity behind your words, tom furrows his eyebrows.

“mum wanted us to. she dragged me and dad straight off the golf course,” he explains and clasps his hands in his lap. his fingers interlock with each other. you fight off the urge to replace them with yours. “we would’ve been here sooner, but the paps are camped outside.” the hint of a smile forms on his lips, at last. “guess it’s not often you get the town’s finest under one roof.”

“you think i’m one of the town’s finest?” you tease, resting your chin in your palm. something flashes behind tom’s eyes. he looks right into yours, scooting closer. “absolutely. you’re the most eligible bachelorette in this whole building.” you allow a toothy grin to spread across your face. “tommy, stop it. you’re too nice to me.”

the nickname is music to his ears. tom looks you up and down, licking his lips simultaneously. “no, seriously. you look gorgeous,” he muses, you pushing at his chest. he exhales a breathy laugh, and you giggle yourself. “red’s definitely your color.” “reverse card. you wear it way better than i do,” you insist. your fingers tug at the collar of his suit. “too bad you didn’t match me.”

you’re relieved you two can talk like you usually do, light flirting and good vibes. it might not be so hard to put the kiss behind you. well, you can’t go on pretending it didn’t happen. you have to at least discuss the fiasco. tom should know why you didn’t reciprocate, then you can take it from there. whether he still has feelings for you, assuming he ever did, will depend on how that turns out.

“not to ruin the fun, but we still have to talk,” you murmur, tom’s body stiffening across from yours. he’s not sure he’s ready to discuss that. “can it wait? we’re at a party,” tom reminds you, running a hand through his styled locks. “yeah, my mother’s. don’t tell me you’re having a good time,” you playfully chastise him. he simply shrugs. “hardly. you’re the best part.”

you ignore the butterflies roaming about your body.

“you won’t mind a quick convo, then. it is with me,” you attempt to persuade him and place a hand on his knee. tom coughs a bit too loudly, the contact surprising him. “you know what? i think i’ll take you up on that drink first,” he decides with a mustered up smile. “coming right up.” you pat his leg before taking his glass. he chews on his lower lip while you poor the bubbling liquid. that was certainly… odd.

you slide tom his champagne back with an exaggerated wink. tom scoffs at this. “mm, thanks. care to join me?” he brings the alcohol to his lips, eyes never leaving yours. your mother specifically said no drinking tonight, since the press would be here. screw your mother, though. “please. could you hand me a glass?” you eagerly grab the champagne bottle. tom searches for an empty cup next to him.

you two are unspoken drinking buddies at this point.

“here you are, darling,” tom drawls, holding out the glass for you. every time he calls you that, you completely melt. “thanks, tommy,” you purr in response. you’re finally pouring your own drink when someone taps you on the shoulder, and hard. you look behind you to find your mother standing with her hands on her hips, less than thrilled. speak of the devil.

“hello, mother. can i help you?” you make sure to ask rudely. she responds with a smile that’s obviously fake. if tom weren’t here, you’d be getting scolded. “yes, my darling. those bloggers from earlier were hoping you’d finish your interview.” your mom shakes your shoulder in a motherly way. you squint up at her. “didn’t they leave hours ago-“ “they’re back,” she sharply informs you.

she’s lying, and you have a hunch as to why.

frowning, you hold tom’s hand in both of yours. “sorry, this won’t take long. why don’t you go find tuwaine?” you suggest instead. “he’s around here somewhere.” tom gives you an understanding nod and laces your fingers together, even if it’s only for a moment. “must be chatting up some producers or whatnot. i’ll see if i can help.” he’s such an incredible friend to everyone. he deserves the same from you.

“thomas, so lovely to see you,” your mom interrupts. tom stands up, kissing both her cheeks out of courtesy. “you, too. what a wonderful party. thank you for having us.” despite what the rest of the world believes, his manners are impeccable. “of course. give nikki my best, will you?” your mom puts her hands on his shoulders. he grins at her. “definitely. take care, mrs. y/l/n.” “always a pleasure,” she states, nudging you to come along with her.

you shoot tom one last apologetic look as your mother pulls you along and towards the crowd.

tom is no idiot. he’s well aware how she really feels about him.

when a swarm of guests is surrounding you, your mom lets go. you scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. “why would you do that? i haven’t seen tom in days.” she sighs without a care. “isn’t it time you branch out? expand your social circle?” her manicured fingers ruffle your hair. you push away her touch. “i’m social enough. we were in the middle of something really important.”

you begin to walk away, but your mother takes your arm. “whatever you’re about to do, it’s a mistake. he’ll make a fool of you,” she practically spits. yanking your arm from her grasp, you laugh bitterly. “of me, or of the family name? look around, mom.” you gesture to the spot beside her where your dad should be. “as far as i’m concerned, i have no family except tom. i’m gonna go check on him.”

you’re gone before your mom can stop you. she simply stands there, utterly mortified by what you said.

you run around the house to find tom, stumbling in your heels and not giving a fuck. you’d truly meant the part about him being your family. all the holland’s, honestly. they’re the most genuine and caring souls, and you don’t want to lose the one you’re closest to because of your mother’s delusions.

tom is in a circle with harrison and tuwaine, the three of them chuckling amongst themselves. you’d hate to bug him, but this can’t wait anymore.

“uh, tom?” you mumble his name, appearing behind him. he steps away with another quiet laugh. “hey, y/n/n. that was quick, hm?” your face gives away your distress. his whole demeanor shifting, tom reaches for your hands. “what is it, love? is something the matter?” “just… come with me,” you croak out.

you manage to smile at harrison and tuwaine, dropping one of tom’s hands so you can lead him upstairs. they each return the smile and share curious looks.

following behind you, tom keeps your hand tight in his own. he’d thought you were going to grill him about the kiss that barely happened. it seems like this is a much more pressing matter. his outburst of emotions can be discussed another time. now, it’s time to deal with yours.

you drag tom into the first room on the second floor, which is your dad’s study. he’s away on business this weekend, so he luckily couldn’t make the party. tom sits down in the office chair. you sit up on the desk, in front of him. your lip quivers the second his worried features come into view.

“y/n/n, what’s going on? why are we in here?” tom wonders, his tone soft. your heart clenches. “i- i wanted us to have some privacy when i told you this,” you sniffle out and blink back the tears forming. you’re sort of shaken from the conversation with your mother, and mostly because you have no idea how tom will react to your confession.

his hands come to stay on your thighs, right below your dress. they feel warm against your bare skin.

“tell me what? i’m listening, yeah?” tom gazes up at you with so much love. “lay it all out for me.” god, he’s fucking amazing. if only you knew where to start. “do you, um…” you trail off, letting your tears subside and words settle. “do you remember when your family made your big debut in town?”

a grin replaces tom’s frown, painting his beautiful face. “how could i forget? you made it quite memorable.” he traces circles on your thigh and elicits a giggle from you. “i spilled a whole thing of soda on your white fucking button down,” you recount with a lighthearted sigh. “right before your dad was supposed to introduce you to everyone, too.”

tom presses his tongue into his cheek to hold back another grin. “took ages to get it out. dad went mad when i didn’t show.” he cocks his head to the side, you leaning back on your hands. “you held me hostage in the laundry room so you could do that bloody stain stick.” your mouth drops open in mock offense. “i had to clean up my mess! i wasn’t gonna let the world meet you covered in pepsi.”

that was one of your earliest memories together. the holland’s threw a party and invited everyone who was willing to attend. they had been hoping to properly introduce themselves to the town, and this was their way of doing so. although yours and tom’s friendship was fairly new, you spent all night together because you had experience with such events.

tom’s dad was making a speech to thank the guests for coming. you and him listened from the snack table, until his name was called. he rushed to go up there while you were pouring yourself a drink. he’d bumped into you, and the bottle ended up all over him. you snuck tom right off to his laundry room.

you’d felt terrible as he stood there shirtless and blushing, you aggressively swiping his button down with a stain stick.

“why do you bring that up?” tom questions and continues circling your skin. you purse your lips. “i dunno. it was the last party i actually enjoyed,” you admit, putting your hand over his that rests on your thigh. “like to reminisce when i’m suffering through one of my mother’s.” his eyes shift to where your hands are laced. “i see,” he affirms. “so, is that… all you wanted to talk about?” “not even close,” you laugh out.

a burst of courage coursing through your body, you say it. “when you kissed me the other night-“ “i won’t do it again,” tom cuts in, trying to avoid the rejection he thinks you’ll give him. “it was a mistake, and i’m so sorry. our friendship is more important than my feelings.” you seem excited to hear that, though it’s not for the reason tom expects. “you do have feelings for me?”

he’d forgotten about his i was drunk excuse.

“um, yeah. i do,” he admits, cheeks rosy and lip caught in his teeth. “but, i’ll learn to put them aside, if that’s what’s best.” “no, no. it isn’t,” you dismiss him and put your free hand on his chest. “i love you, tom. that’s what i was really trying to tell you.” your words bring an instant grin to his face. he chuckles in disbelief, standing from the chair.

“fuck, thank god. that’s all i’ve ever wanted to hear.” he’s between your legs now, his hands moving up to your hips. you’re beaming at him as your arms snake around his neck. a burning question comes to tom’s mind. “hang on. why didn’t you kiss me back, then?” he almost whispers, thumb brushing over your hipbone. “this is gonna sound weird, but… my mom,” you reluctantly let out.

“you’re gonna have to elaborate,” tom prompts you and raises an eyebrow. you can’t hold back your eye roll. “she’s never been a fan of the person you are in the media.” his lips form a line. “i gathered.” your fingers tangle in his curls at the nape of his neck reassuringly. “i was subconsciously scared i would be letting her down in some way, if we were together.”

tom allows your hands to work their way up to his scalp. he exhales contentedly as you play with his ever so soft hair. “i understand, she’s intimidating. what’s changed that brilliant mind of yours about coming clean?” your nose scrunches up when he pokes one of your temples. “oh, yeah. i yelled at her earlier ‘cuz she stole me away from you.” his face lights up. “sexy.” “shut up,” you groan. “someone had to tell her off.”

“good thing it got to be you,” tom agrees with a squeeze at your hip. “‘m proud of you, y/n/n. it’s not easy, standing up to mummy dearest.” you tug on his hair. “like you’d know. nikki is a saint.” “that’s what she’ll have you believe,” he says under his breath, you gasping. his lips turn up in a smirk. “on that note… i love you, too.”

“would’ve been embarrassing if you didn’t say it back,” you acknowledge with a cheesy smile. tom dips his head down to rest his forehead against yours. “yeah, yeah. save the attitude for your mum.” your legs easily wrap around his waist, tom’s breath hot as it hits your face. “let’s give that kiss another go,” you mewl. he doesn’t hesitate to reply. “with pleasure.”

tom’s lips land on yours, you kissing back right away. he smiles into it as your lips gently move together. “about fucking time,” he grumbles, your hands situating in his chocolate curls once again. he’s savoring every second you touch him, kiss him, love him. the taste of your mouth is one he’s craved for longer than you could imagine.

it doesn’t take long for things to heat up, you messing with tom’s hair and tom rubbing your hips. you lay back on the desk as his tongue enters your mouth. holding you by your waist, tom hovers over you. his tongue tangles with yours in a deep kiss. between that and his fingers beginning to massage your thigh, you’re done for. you’re ready to take this a step further by the time he’s kissing down your neck.

“tommy?” you grab onto his shoulders, your head back. his lips detach from your skin with a grin. “yeah, love? ‘s everything okay?” he coos, pressing a final kiss to your collarbone. “more than.” you tilt his chin up to peck his lips. “you wouldn’t happen to have a condom, would you? just thinking ahead.” he laughs breathlessly, reaching into his suit pocket.

“conveniently enough, i do. not sure your dad would like me fucking you on his desk, though.” tom sets his hand on your leg that’s still hooked around his waist. “my room’s always available. carry me?” you make grabby hands and bat your lashes. he hoists you up by your waist, not lifting you just yet. “that would break the news of us, no? your mum’s gonna go apeshit.” he keeps his arms around you, chuckling.

“let her. besides, i know a couple of bloggers that would love to announce our status update.” you peck tom’s lips, grinning as you do. you’re suddenly in the air and being picked up by tom. the surprise of it makes you squeal, clutching onto his broad shoulders instinctively. he gives you the look of adoration that’s reserved for you only.

“we’ll go pop a few bottles with everyone, then we’re celebrating on our own.”

#tom holland #richkid!tom #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you

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alcinadimitrescuwu · 3 years

Text

This Woman's Work Part IX (Alcina x Female Reader Fanfic)

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII

“You’re almost there, Maman. You’re doing great. Just a couple more steps.”

You take a deep breath in through your nose and blow it out through your mouth and push forward at your daughter’s coaxing, your arms gripping the railing that had been set up in your bedroom. The wound in your side is in agony but you take another step, biting the inside of your cheek hard to keep from crying out in pain.

It has been three weeks since that horrible night. You had already lost a lot of blood by the time Karl and Alcina arrived at Donna’s place. In an incredible stroke of luck, Donna had surgical thread in her sewing kit and at Salvatore’s instructions (he was having one of his good days) sewed up the place where Alcina’s claws had torn through. You were in and out of consciousness, but every time you opened your eyes Alcina was there by your side holding your hand.

Alcina is sitting nearby in her chair now, gently burping Ecaterina after her feeding. She looks up at you and you see concern in her golden eyes and another emotion that has been a mainstay for the past couple weeks: guilt.

Things had been...awkward between the two of you since that night. No matter how many times you assured her that all was well and you had forgiven her, she refused to forgive herself. You had only been intimate one time since that night and it ended quickly after Alcina had forgotten about the wound in your side as she cupped your hip and you couldn’t hold back the scream of pain that came out of your mouth. Alcina had immediately gotten out of the bed and as far away from you as she could, as if afraid touching you would cause any more damage.

She had sunk into the chair and began sobbing brokenly. You had wished to go to her, but your Bath chair was already on the other side of the room. You braced yourself against one of the bedposts as you said gently, “Darling, it was an accident. The pain’s already subsiding. Please come back to bed.”

Alcina covered her face with her hands, but you could see the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I can’t even make love to my wife without causing her pain. What kind of wife does that make me?” The raw self-hatred in her voice broke your heart.

From that point on whenever you had settled down for the night, Alcina kissed your forehead and turned out the light and that was the end of it. She kept to her own side of the bed and you greatly missed the feeling of her muscular arms about you with your shoulder tucked under her chin, her curls kissing your cheekbones.You had the sense that if you tried to move closer she would move away so you didn’t even try.

You try to take another step and suddenly the room spins around you and you fall forward. Daniela, however, quickly grabs your arm and puts her arm around your shoulder before you hit the ground.

“I think that should be enough for today, Maman,” Bela says soothingly.

You set your jaw. You only have three more steps to go before you clear the railing. “No, girls, I can keep going.” But your ragged breathing and forehead shining with sweat give you away. You push your tongue to the inside of your cheek and taste coppery blood from where you had bitten into it.

Cassandra rolls your Bath chair over to you. “Maman, you don’t need to push yourself so hard. You’re not gonna be of any use to Ecaterina if you run yourself ragged.”

You smile at Cassandra’s brutal honesty as she helps you into your Bath chair. “You’re right, dearest.”

Alcina stands up, having finished burping Ecaterina. She looks affectionately over at her daughters taking care of you and you see one of the first genuine smiles from her that you’ve seen in weeks. “You’ve been so good to Maman these past few weeks, dears. She and I really appreciate all the help you’ve given to us and Ecaterina.” She rests the hand not holding Ecaterina on the back of your chair and you take her hand in yours, kissing her knuckles. Surprisingly, she doesn’t pull away this time. “It’s time for us to put Ecaterina down for her nap and for me to change Maman’s bandages. If you’ll excuse us, loves.”

The girls nod in agreement and vanish into their bug shrouds. Alcina turns around and settles Ecaterina into her cradle. Ecaterina gurgles, her eyes mirroring the gold in Alcina’s. Alcina gives her a tender kiss on the forehead before turning to you. She motions for you to stand up and you obey as she kneels down to your level and helps you take off your day dress. Standing there in your slip with her hands on you reminds you of how long it has been since you have last felt her touch.

Alcina lifts up your slip ever so lightly and peels off the gauze bandage wrapped around your waist. Alcina sets her jaw as she uncovers the gashes she herself had inflicted on you. She takes off her gloves, dips the pad of her thumb in a jar of salve and applies it to your wounds. There is an unreadable expression on her face.

You try to give her an encouraging smile. “I talked to Sal the other day,” you posit. “He says that even though the wound is deep,if I don’t expose it to too much sunlight it won’t leave a scar!”

“Not a physical one at least,” Alcina mutters.

Ok. You’ve had enough. You turn her head to face you. “Darling, we’ve been over this,” you say, rubbing her cheekbone with the pad of your thumb. “Are you going to keep punishing yourself forever?”

Almost despite herself, Alcina leans into your touch and interlaces her large fingers with yours. “I can’t imagine how much physical pain you must be in, my love,” Alcina whispers. “And all by my hand.” Tears begin forming in Alcina’s aureate eyes. “I nearly killed you.”

“You didn’t though, Alcina!” You move over to her lap and she gently almost tentatively wraps her arms around you and holds you close. You lean your head against her chest and resist the urge to sigh. It’s been so long since you’ve been held by your wife. “I know you were under Miranda’s control but something held you back from killing me outright. I know it.”

“You don’t know what it’s like being under someone else’s control.” You can almost feel Alcina’s body shudder as she recalls that night. “It was like I was outside my body watching myself. I was screaming at myself to stop when I kissed that woman.” The memory of your wife kissing Mother Miranda so passionately pops into your mind briefly but you shut it out as she goes on. “And when I stabbed you, I-” Her voice cracks. “I was practically begging myself to stop but my body just moved on its own.”

“Don’t you see, then, darling?” you ask. “You weren’t yourself when you were under Mother Miranda’s control. The person that kissed Mother Miranda, the person that stabbed me, that wasn’t you, so please.” You cradle Alcina’s face in your hands and stare into those beautiful discs of gold. “Please stop blaming yourself for this. Mother Miranda is dead. I’m alive. Our daughter is safe and healthy. That’s what matters now.”

Alcina kisses your forehead lovingly. “When did you get so wise?” she asks, tucking a stray curl behind your ear. You can see that you’ve finally gotten through to her. Her body posture is more relaxed, her jaw is loose, and her shoulders aren’t so tight. She carefully places the new bandage over your wound and you feel a pleasant tingle as you feel her bare fingers brush briefly over your tender skin.

She moves to pull your slip over your new bandage but you take her wrist before she can withdraw it. You hold her gaze as you take the strap of your slip off your shoulder and your slip coils in a pool of silk around your ankles. She takes you in her arms and brushes her lips against yours briefly. When she pulls aways, you see the same desire in her eyes. “Are you quite sure, ingeras?” Alcina asks, brushing the back of her knuckles against your cheekbones.

“Yes” you rasp. “Take me to the bed.”

Alcina picks you up as you wrap your legs around her waist, taking care not to touch your sensitive wound and carries you over to the bed. She gently, almost reverently lays you down on the bed. She lowers herself down to kiss you again and you bury your fingers in her curls. Alcina deepens the kiss, her tongue coaxing your mouth open as you unfasten the pearl buttons on the back of her dress. “I’ll go slow for you, draga,” Alcina murmurs against your lips.

“Alright, let’s see how our little patient is doing today- JESUS CHRIST! What the FUCK?”

It seems like Heisenberg has decided to check up on you today.

With a frustrated growl Alcina moves quickly in front of you while holding her own dress up. “Yes, Heisenberg, that is in fact what we were setting out to do before you arrived.” Alcina shakes her head at him derisively. “You seem to have impeccably bad timing, as always.”

Heisenberg’s face is beet red again, you note with amusement. “Well, excuse me for trying to check in on my sister-in-law and my goddaughter! Speaking of which, really Alcina? Getting down and dirty with the kid in the room?”

Alcina’s cheeks are also sporting a lovely red color. “Ecaterina was asleep.” Amidst all the commotion, Ecaterina has already woken up and is crying. “Well, she was until you came in.”

The girls suddenly materialize into the room. “Mother!” Cassandra chirps. “I thought I heard Uncle Karl in here and- JESUS CHRIST! What the FUCK!”

Alcina covers her face with her hands. Bela takes the book that Daniela is holding and holds it so it’s covering the image of you and your wife on the bed. “Really Mother,” Bela tuts to herself.

Daniela doesn’t seem to mind. She turns to the two of you, unperturbed by the state of your undress and asks, “Can Uncle Karl stay for dinner, Mother, Maman? Please? It’s been so long since we’ve all had dinner together!”

You smile indulgently at her over Alcina’s shoulder. “Of course he can, darling,” you say.

“Fine,” Alcina mutters. "Now if you please, will all of you kindly get out of our room?”

The daughters vanish into the bug shrouds, chattering excitedly about what Cook is making for dinner. Heisenberg leaves too, chuckling softly to himself.

You turn to your blushing bride and give her a chaste kiss on the lips before you both get dressed and join your daughters for dinner.

Together. As a family.

#alcina dimitrescu #lady alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina x maiden #alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu x female reader #re8 fanfiction #re8 fanfic #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu x reader #karl heisenberg #mother miranda #re8 village #alcina x female reader #lady dimitrescu x maiden

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redorich · 3 years

Note

May I request the aftermath of Cleo learning about the magic restrictions please and thank you.

The unfortunate thing about the Dream SMP is that there is no such thing as neutral ground. Everyone's in a faction, and everyone's got beef with everyone else. The only "neutral ground" is the unsettled wilds. When Philza reports this back to Cleo, who reports it back to Xisuma, Cleo wears a put-upon look and says that her and Joe's castle will do just fine, thank you, so stop worrying about it.

The day of the meeting comes, and though Philza is hesitant to return to the castle that scared Techno half to death and activated Ranboo's main character energy, he didn't spend all that time with Cleo handing out the invitations for nothing. Cleo herself won't be present, but her partner in crime Joe will be.

Inside the castle, past the courtyard teeming with armor stand faux-life, there is a meeting room with a table. There are exits on each of the four walls, so no one feels trapped, and the table is circular so that no one feels less important than anyone else. It's all a very Socratic setup.

At the far end of the room, where the head of the table would be were it rectangular, Xisuma sits calm as can be despite the powder keg of important people with grudges he's invited into his presence. On his right is Joe, whose eyes are lit up bright white, though he's still wearing his glasses. To Xisuma's left is Grian, and to Grian's left is Doc. Continuing around the table, next sits Eret representing the Pride Palace and, to a lesser extent, the Dream SMP as a whole. After them, the next person is Philza representing the Syndicate, then Bad representing the Eggpire.

Given the antagonistic nature of the Eggpire, Bad's neighbors have been chosen very carefully; on his other side sits Ghostbur representing L'Manberg. (Philza had awkwardly told Cleo that inviting a L'Manberg representative wasn't necessary, since the place was gone, but she insisted that it was "the principle of the matter". Ghostbur seems happy enough to be invited, anyway.)

On Ghostbur's left, Sam attends on Dream's behalf. Obviously, no one is going to invite Dream, and as Dream's would-be warden, Sam was nominated to attend in his stead. Next to Sam there's an empty chair for George; Philza and Puffy both warned the Hermits that George was allergic to "lore", whatever that meant, but his place at the table was set nevertheless.

The last person to fill in the table is Tubbo, representing Snowchester. He quietly expresses to Sam that he's wary about how few Hermits there are in proportion to the number of Dream SMP citizens. Sam shrugs, and murmurs back to Tubbo that there's probably more Hermits hiding somewhere nearby. After all, isn't that what the Hermits do?

Xisuma claps his hands together once in a polite bid for everyone's attention. They settle down slowly, and once they do, he stands.

"Right, everyone-- thank you all for coming. Let's get right into it, shall we?" He smiles, though it's hard to see beneath the helmet. "With some help from Puffy and Philza, my friends and I were able to figure out why we were trapped in your server."

Sam crosses his arms. He doesn't give much of a shit about the Hermits, he tells himself, unless they have something to do with Dream-- Sam's greatest failure. (It's a lie. He looks at Doc, the only other creeper-person he's ever met-- the first creeper-person, who fought a god and won the right to live for all mob hybrids who came after him. Doc, whose eyes are fixed solely on Xisuma.)

Clearing his throat to cover up the moment of weakness, Sam speaks up. "That's great and all, but why do we care? No one was living in L'Manberg anyway; it was practically free real estate."

The callous words net Sam a glare from Tubbo and a hurt look from Ghostbur. Before either can protest, Xisuma cuts in smoothly.

"It's an issue with your server," he says, "one that Dream should have fixed. It's the reason for this meeting, actually; if there was a responsible admin in the server, I would have just told them. First, a history lesson-- Doc, if you please?"

Doc nods somberly, savoring the opportunity to ham it up a bit. "For those of you who don't know, there are three Eras. The first is the beginning of time, when Mojang created the world as we know it. Players had infinite respawns, the world was less advanced, and redstone had just been created."

"Don't you think you're going a little too far back in history?" Bad asks skeptically.

"He's getting there," Eret defends.

Doc picks up where he left off. "In the Mojang pantheon, there was a god named Notch who wanted to expand the world's horizons, to give them new biomes and mechanics and blocks they'd never seen before... but you can't make something out of nothing. He needed magic to make his big updates a reality, and he stole it from the players behind the other gods' backs."

Ghostbur gasps, horrified. "He stole magic?"

"And so the gods killed him and gave the magic back, end of story," Sam snaps, then instantly regrets it. He's too on edge.

Thankfully, Doc either doesn't mind it or doesn't notice. "Not quite," he says. "When Notch took the magic from players, they lost the ability to respawn at all, marking the beginning of Era Two-- the Hardcore Era. When the gods found out, they were angry at Notch, so they exiled him to the Void. They tried to give players back their magic, but Notch had already taken too much, and servers and updates kept needing more and more... That's how Era Three started. It's the one you live in now, with the three life system."

"So... why does this matter?" Tubbo asks. "I mean, what does this have to do with why you're stuck in our server?"

"There's a parasite on your server, eating up all the magic," Xisuma says carefully. "Your server needed extra magic to keep up, so when we went through the infinity portal it grabbed us. As a group comprised mostly of Era One players, we have the magic that the server needs to compensate for the parasite."

Most of the Dream SMP citizens look either nauseous or extremely worried at the thought of a parasite. With a furrowed brow and a chewed lip, Eret breaks the silence.

"Do you know who it is?"

They all look around the table with wary gimlet eyes, attempting to suss out the imposter among them.

"A parasite..." Sam snorts derisively. "Sounds like that damn egg."

"Language," Bad snaps, but doesn't resort to violence.

"No no, he's got a point," Grian speaks for the first time. He'd been told to stay silent, but he's not a man who will ever pass up an opportunity to meme.

Bad's face falls, and he takes on a placating tone in an attempt to persuade the Hermits to his side. "Hey, don't be like that, the Egg's never done anything wrong!"

Sam's eyebrows raise practically to the ceiling. He looks at Bad in disbelief. "Never done anything wrong?" he says. "Remember when you--"

"That was me, not the Egg," Bad cuts in with a nervous laugh.

"You tried to kill Puffy over it, then killed Foolish instead," Philza says solely because he wants the Hermits to be mad about the Egg.

"Hm," Joe hums to himself. Up until this point the man everyone knows as Herobrine has been quiet, fading into the background, but now that he's made his presence known they can't help but be wary.

He drums his fingers on the table. "Yeah, I think we need some backup. False, Iskall?"

"On it," Doc grumbles, and reaches under the table to flip a couple trapdoors.

Out of nowhere, as though they'd ender pearled in, a blonde woman and a cyborg man appear behind the Hermits' end of the table. Bad stands up suddenly, knocking his chair backward, but Doc presses another button and all four entrances to the room are shut by pistons.

The woman, False, vaults herself over the table with nothing but upper body strength and tackles Bad to the floor. While the demon is still stunned, Iskall dashes around the circumference of the table to flank him. Doc once again presses a button and the floor opens up to reveal a secret staircase, which False and Iskall drag Bad down kicking and screaming. Once they disappear into the depths of the basement, the floor closes back up and the doors reopen like nothing ever happened.

"Well," Xisuma says with a small smile, lacing his fingers together as he addresses the group.

They stare back at him in horror.

He clears his throat awkwardly. "So, with the removal of the Egg, your server will stabilize and we Hermits will be able to leave you in peace..."

"I'm sensing a but," Eret says tentatively. They take off their sunglasses with a minute sigh, reminding themself that it's because of these Hermits that their curse was removed, that they can take off their sunglasses and have gray eyes again.

Taking a deep breath, Xisuma speaks. "We think we have a way to fix the three-life system."

#mcyt #hc x dsmp #hermit canyon au #zombiecleo #philza #xisuma #joe hills #grian #docm77 #eret #badboyhalo #ghostbur #awesamdude #tubbo #falsesymmetry #iskall85 #me.cpp #me.txt

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allandoflimbo · 3 years

Text

Ashens (Part 21)

Summary: She falls in love with Bucky Barnes from the moment she sees him. Bucky, still in love with a woman from his past, hates Y/N and plans to make her life miserable. To both their dismay, they are assigned together to go undercover into The Capitol for six months. There, they develop a heartbreaking friend with benefits agreement. Dystopian.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 4,800

Chapter Warning: Smut. Strong language. Non-consensual elements, but not non-con.

Rating: M for Mature, E for explicit. Enemies to lovers trope, sharing a bed trope, friends with benefits trope, temporarily unrequited love, heavy and angry sex, heavy on the angst, and very strong language.

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Too many things have been different lately.

Between the both of you, there had been too many silences just like this, but this time it was different.

It was different because you knew your kiss with Pietro had affected Bucky. This time the silence was because Bucky was upset.

Back at the anti-climatic ball, after your meltdown with Pietro, you both spoke for a few more minutes before you excused yourself. Pietro was disappointed at your sudden departure, but he nodded, not digging any further. Before you’d left he had given you had address and he told you you could stop by whenever you wanted. He reminded you to stay safe with a kiss on your forehead.

He didn’t pry and you appreciated that. You put your ear piece back in and Bucky had taken extra long seconds to reply. The rest of the night his responses were one worded.

You both ended up finding Silas and Ashen’s men by the corner of the bar. You had eavesdropped and was able to confirm that the delivery tonight was for a tested cure for the virus and it was going to be administered to Ashen’s son, Ashens.

It was going to arrive at the back alley way at nine, but it wouldn’t even be administered until tomorrow afternoon. Ashens would be transferred from the tower to his home.

“We’re done here.” Bucky’s voice had come from your ear piece.

“What? We’re barely done.” You responded.

“Tonight is just the delivery. What I’m interested in is tomorrow. I’ll have to stake. Let’s go home.”

“Buck-“

“Meet you back where we were.”

beep.

The short walk to your hotel had been silent. Awkward.

You knew he had heard you. You were glad he did.

He deserved to know you had a choice in this. He also deserved to know you deserved better.

But what bothered you was that you knew the kiss bothered him but he was too proud to admit it to you.

You needed him to tell you. Him glooming was not doing you well.

Bucky had been frozen to the spot as he overheard you on the other end. He could move or breathe as he heard Pietro kissing you, as he heard you moaning for another man.

He could feel the blood pumping in his head along with the sudden feeling of pure regret.

He felt regret at not taking the initiative that he should have. He knows he has no right to feel the way he does right now, but he does. He feels the heartbreak and the jealousy over you kissing someone that wasn’t him.

He had been wanting to the last two weeks. At first, he had held himself back, now allowing himself to go down that path of intimacy, but it had began to get harder.

Bucky was going crazier for you, bit by bit.

He knew what you two had was only physical, and he knows he has no right to feel the way he does especially with how he had pushed you away, but he regrets it all.

He regrets the way he handled it.

What killed him the most about Pietro kissing you though, was the fact that Pietro was clearly a better guy for you.

Something Bucky could never be.

Not that you even wanted him anymore.

It took him two months to finally want you for more than sex and you had moved on.

He couldn’t speak to you. Not when it hurt him so much. Not when you drove him crazy the way you did.

He could still feel his heart beating just as quickly as it had an hour ago. What he felt around you didn’t even compare to how he felt around Daisy.

His relationship with Daisy had been carefree and easy.

You were a hurricane.

He wishes he could tell you everything he’s feeling, but he knows it’s for the best that he doesn’t.

You both take the elevator up to your room, silently. His eyes stays on the floor, his hands in his pockets.

Look at me. You think to yourself. Tell me what you’re thinking.

After walking through the door to your room, you turn around to face him.

You couldn’t see his face. He had been quick to avoid you and he was already turning the other way, making his way towards the bed.

The bed where he took your heart many times and squeezed it his fingers.

Little did you know that you had been doing the same to his.

His silence was overbearing and your heart tore at his facial expression.

He didn’t hold that blank look he usually held when he didn’t want to show emotions.

This time he bared it all for you. His face was fallen and he was trying his best to keep it down.

You hated this silence. You hated the lack of communication that complicated this relationship.

You and Bucky no longer made any sense.

This wasn’t sex without feelings. This was far from it.

You had expected to gain so much more after your kiss from Pietro - freedom and strength. Instead, you felt confused.

He was still quiet and the tension in the loft was thick.

“What are we doing?” You asked breathlessly, breaking the ice and literally mentioning the elephant in the room.

What was this?

You watched as he loosened his black tie from around his neck, pulling it up over his sharp jaw and head.

“I don’t know.” He says quietly. His voice sounds broken, life he was on the brink of giving up.

He sits down gently, and the bed sinks down with him.

He reaches down and removes each of his dress shoes one by one. He does it slowly.

You walk up to him and stare down at him in a clouded daze of mixed emotions.

He’s stopped and reluctantly looked up at you, eyes pausing at your hands for just a moment first.

Your face showed him that you were begging him to communicate, begging him to get off his chest what he needed.

It hurt you that he couldn’t do it.

Again, he was unhappy about your kiss with Pietro and you needed him to tell you why.

Bucky’s eyes fell back to the floor and he blinked away whatever it was.

He pushed off his jacket started unbuttoning his white dress shirt.

“Go to bed, sweetheart.” He says with heavy emotion in his voice. It almost breaks off at the end with how much feeling he puts into the words.

His term of endearment shocks you to the core. Your heart swells deep within your chest. This is the first time since you’ve met him where he’s ever used this tone and addressed you this way before.

You’re gaping as you watch him continue to unbutton his shirt. His fingers were meticulously. Somehow in a dystopian and near apocalyptic word he still kept his nails trimmed and perfect.

Something so small that could go unnoticed but that said so much about his personality.

You find yourself moving closer until his knee is touching your left leg.

You feel the heat of his body radiating off yours. You reach down and touch his hand, stopping him from unbuttoning.

He stops and swallows hard.

He could feel the heat of your fingers on his own and it makes him ache inside.

What’s happening to me?

“You want to know why I kissed him?” Bucky’s gaze stays on the floor. He doesn’t respond. No I don’t, “I wanted my first kiss to be with someone who didn’t take it for granted. For the first time, I wanted to be the one who made the correct choice,” you let go of his hand, “but you already knew that, didn’t you?” Bucky inhales deeply and returns to undoing the last few buttons. Bucky shakes the shirt off his shoulders and then stands up to go hang it in the closet. He walks right past you, not saying a word. You close your eyes tightly together, “Talk to me.” You beg.

You turn around as he’s hanging the shirt on one of the hangers.

His jaw is tight. You can tell his teeth are clenched and he’s holding whatever he wants to say, in.

He moves onto his dress pants, removing them until he’s in his boxers, and then he pulls out a pair of grey sweats, slipping them on.

He grabs a black T-shirt and puts it on, too.

He walks past you, still not looking at you.

Without thinking, you reach your arm out to grab him, and he stumbles back like you’ve burned him. You’re shocked at his reaction and your eyes go from your hands to his own eyes. Your heart shatters immediately.

He gapes down at your hands and you can see the fear and intense sadness in his eyes.

You take a step closer to him and he gulps as you slowly bring your hand up to run over his hard torso and eventually up the side of his neck. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth to keep it from trembling.

You look up into his eyes as you play with the short hair on the back of his neck.

“Please.” It’s the first time he’s also begged you in such a small voice. His eyes close halfway as he whispers, “Please, no.”

You feel the need to comfort him; to comfort this man who has done nothing but hurt you the way he’s hurting right now.

You grasp the back of his neck with your whole hand, shaking your head to yourself as you do so. His head hangs low, eyes still closed.

“I’m not doing anything,” you whisper, “what are you so afraid of?” He opens his eyes and looks away from you. He lifts his head and looks out towards the window behind you. He reaches behind his head and takes your hand, pulling it off his skin.

“Please, let’s go to sleep.” He says softly.

You watch in a daze as he spins around and walks down the hall and into the bathroom.

He needed a moment to breathe. He needed a moment to catch his breath and think.

After splashing his face with some cold water and brushing his teeth, he walks back into the room to see you already changed into a pearl colored silk camisole.

The edges graze your thighs as you crawl up the bed and towards your pillow.

The water did nothing to help him.

He still kept hearing the way you moaned as you gave away your first kiss.

All to get a reaction out of him.

Bucky flicks off the remaining light in the loft, his lamp, and crawls into bed next to you.

He pulls the comforter up until it’s halfway up his chest and he pulls at his hair, look up at ceiling and letting out a long breath.

If only you knew the affect you were having on him. If only you knew how much he cared about you.

Your mind was else where than his.

You felt a need for vengeance. You needed him to hurt. Just like you had told Pietro, you couldn’t let him do what he was doing to you anymore. He needed to respect you and if he wasn’t going to own up to his feelings and finally speak to you, you were going to move on.

You had Pietro now, anyway.

So you had a plan.

“I want you to fuck me.” You say quietly, looking out the window.

There’s a long pause before he replied.

“I’m not having sex with you tonight.” He tells you in a quiet voice.

You flip around until you’re staring at him. He’s on his back, looking up at the ceiling, a far away look in his eyes.

How dare he be the only one to make the choice?

You spread your legs a little wider and reached down between your legs. You reached under the band of your underwear and cupped yourself.

You kept staring at the side of his face, silently asking him to look your way. He didn’t budge but you could tell he knew what you were doing. If your soft moan and the shift of the bed was any conciliation.

He blinked and swallowed thickly.

This was all he was good for now. He lost his chance and your respect, and all he was now to you was a human dildo.

As much as he wanted to tell you how he changed his mind about giving it a try and as much as he wanted to tell you how he was starting to feel, part of him was still afraid. He was afraid of his emotions getting in the way and of him losing you.

Especially when you now had a chance to be happy with someone else; someone so much better than him.

As much as he wanted your touch and your caresses, he needed to push you away. Push you into the right direction.

You were hurting him and you didn’t even know it. Him pushing you away when he needed you, pained him.

You let out another moan. He closes his eyes, turning his face away from you.

You were hurting him.

“Please, y/n.” His voice came out in a whimper.

You removed your hand from yourself, half sat up, and looked down at him. He still had that same sad look in his eyes.

Two can play that game.

You sensually dragged your fingers that had just been on your core over his bottom lip. You watch him for a reaction.

His eyes flashed to yours, stunned at your move, and you stared at your fingers on his mouth just as shocked.

Was this what anger pushed you to do? Vengeance?

You found yourself panting as you continued to touch his lips.

Slowly, he grabbed your hand. You could see what was only the lingering of tears in his blues.

There it was.

“You fucked me nearly every day for the last two months. And the one time I want you to fuck me the most, the one time, you say no.” you say quietly. He swallows thickly, “you’ve used my body for two months,” your voice shakes and he blinks, his eyes burning, “I’m just asking you to do it again. As a friend. It’s not that hard, right?”

You could feel your own words hurt in your throat at your words.

You slowly lean down, laying half your body on top of his. He closes his eyes, sucking in a shaky deep breath. You lean down until your face in the crook of his neck, on his pillow.

Bucky gulped at the proximity, feeling his heart race like mad.

“If you can’t say what you want to say, if you’re too weak for that, you can at least show me using your body.”

You ran that same hand that was touching yourself down his neck and over his chest. You find the bottom of his shirt and you slide your hand underneath, feeling his hot skin.

“I don’t want to do this.” He whispers, pained.

He almost changes his mind when he feels your hand change direction, going under his sweats.

But you stop just below his navel.

As much as you wanted to convince him and push him off the edge, you also didn’t want to breach the line of consent.

Your touch was so gentle it burned through his skin and Bucky took it in. He closed his eyes tightly together, a soft cry leaving the break of his lips.

He was crying.

You lift your face from his pillow, looking down at him to watch.

He wasn’t sobbing but there was definitely tears leaking from his eyes. One drop runs down the far corner of his eye.

He lets out a long shakey breath, still looking up at he ceiling. You feel his left hand grab the back of your head and he rubs your head. You feel his legs widen slightly and you wonder if it’s an invitation for you to continue.

The proximity of your faces shocks you when he turns his head to the side to face you.

You can feel his breath hitting your face. And you lips are only inches apart. You watch him in awe as he continues to rub your head, his eyes searching yours as another tear leaks from his blue orbs.

He rubs his nose against yours, suddenly wanting to give you everything.

When you finally take him in your hand, Bucky’s eyes close together tightly. You give him two slow pumps before you maneuver yourself so you are laying on top of him.

He watches you in a daze like you’re a siren and he’s a pirate who’s been summoned.

You stretch your hands over next to his head, taking his in your own. Your camisole is pushed up to your waist and you sloppily kick off your underwear.

He leans his head up until it’s in the crook of your neck.

“Not like this.” He says quietly. You don’t know what’s he’s talking about. You continue pushing his bottoms down until the back band is under his ass and until you see his length slip out. The tip is already oozing pre cum, now dropping onto his black shirt.

You feel the need to pour all your emotions into this fuck.

You swirl your hips and rub down until your folds are sliding over his tip, the velvety skins touching each other like two pieces if expensive silk.

Bucky involuntarily bucks his hips at the feeling.

You let out a delicious moan.

“What are we without sex, Bucky?” You whisper, breathe hitting off his forehead, “This is all we’re good for, can’t you see that?” You grunt, sliding down until he’s half sheathed inside of you, “You’ve only treated me horribly, since the day I met you. You’ve never once gave me the chance to gain your honor, oh fuck, but this, this you always knew how to take from me, to give me—“

“Stop,” he begs, breathing harshly into your neck.

“You might be a great fuck and a good friend, but you’re not a good person.” You continue to fuck yourself on his rod, rubbing your nose against his as your harsh breaths mingle together, “but that’s okay,” you put your left hand on the side of his neck, rubbing him tenderly there, “you’re good for this.”

A struggled and very loud moan escapes Bucky’s throat and you feel his right hand go to your waist, stopping you.

You put you hand on his, releasing its grip, continuing to move over him.

You watch as more tears fall out of Bucky’s eyes, his eyes snapping to yours.

“You’ve gotta stop.” He whimpers.

You can’t tell if he’s talking about the things you are saying or the fucking, but he’s a super solider and you know that if he was talking about the sex, he would’ve had more than the strength to fully stop you by now.

You purr as you look down between your legs.

“Look how perfect your cock was made for me.” You say. Bucky moans, looking down with you, his own hips pushing up to meet your down stokes, “that’s it. You hate me, don’t you?” Bucky’s hips falter and his eyes snap to your face.

“Wha—“

“That’s right, you do. I deserve this. I deserve your anger, right? Never did anything bad to you a day in my life but I still deserve it.“

Bucky was close to edge seconds ago, but with each word you’re saying, he feels the need to correct you and he no longer want to cum anymore.

This was wrong. Everything about this was utterly wrong.

“You don’t, y/n—“ He tries to tell you before you cut him off again.

You’ve never felt anger like this. Never.

“Fucking fuck me, Bucky. For just one night pretend I’m her, fuck me like I’m her.” Bucky’s heart falls hard into his stomach and he sits up, stopping.

“Stop.”

“Please.” You beg through clenched teeth, “you’ve already made me suffer enough finish the damn job.”

“Stop!” He shouts, grabbing you by the waist and pushing your off of his body.

He looked shocked as he stared down at you, his still wet tears running down his face.

“Are you serious?” You say back to him as he stands up.

He’s running his hands through his hair, pulling on the strands as more tears fall out of his eyes.

His mouth opens and closes a few times as he stares down at you, still at lost for words.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” He shouts, stumbling back.

You take a note of how his cock is an angry red, bobbing up against his belly. Catch you, he pulls his boxers and pants up all the way.

“Did I say something that triggered you?” You ask through heavy pants. How does it feel to be on the other end? You want to add.

He’s breathing hard too as he watches you. His face was crest fallen and broken.

He looks you up and down, sniffing.

“You’ve gotta stop this,” he whispers harshly, his volume growing with each word, “whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

“What am I trying to do?”

His face crumbles.

“You’re purposely trying to hurt me!” His yell stuns you, “It’s hurting me!”

You’re both trying to catch your breath as you stare at each other. “All night that’s what you’ve been doing. You think I wanted to hear you kissing him? You think I want to fuck you like this? You think I wish it went down this way?” His voice becomes a whine. He closes his eyes and looks away from you running a hand down his face.

You tilt your head as his last question.

“What went down what way?” He lets out a pained chuckle, “What way, James?”

“Forget it Im sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“What went down what way?!” You shout, banging your fist down on the bed, “You tell me right now or I swear to fucking god, Bucky, I am walking out that door right now and never coming back. I’m giving you a chance right now. Im giving you a chance to make this right.”

Your mini lecture gives him enough time to catch his breath and compose himself. It finally dawns on him and a look of disgust fills his face. He tilts his head at you.

“So that’s what this was? So that’s why you fucked me just now? To persuade me into a fucking guilt trip? This borderline non consensual—”

“—Don’t be dramatic.”

“And then you talk about you feeling used. I’m just a guy, Y/N.”

You both stared each other down. You suck in a deep breath as you take the hair tie from around your wrist and begin to tie up your hair into a bun.

“I’m so fucking over you. I really am. I was lying about the using me for sex part. It’s obviously the only time we ever communicate anyway. I do get that out of it.”

“Yeah that makes me feel so much better,” he reaches down to grab the pillow and before he can take it, you grab it, “give me the damn pillow.”

“Stop closing up on me.”

“Give. Me. The. Pillow.” You don’t budge, “I don’t have the patience for this. Especially after you almost jeopardized our entire mission with your little stunt today. Which was reckless and completely irresponsible by the way.”

“Stunt?”

“Please, you put on a fucking show as you stuck your tongue down his throat just so I could hear and then you turned off your damn ear piece. This is why I’ve always said you’ve always been a girl who acts on emotion. Give. Me the pillow.”

“You’re lying.”

His eyes twitched.

“What?”

“That’s not the deal reason you’re upset. You’re upset because I hit a nerve.”

He seethes, looking you up and down again.

“Look. What you did here tonight was the lowest of the low.”

“You don’t communicate.” You say.

“What do you want me to say, sweetheart?”

“I want you to tell me why me kissing him bothered you so much you couldn’t say one damn word to me.”

“It doesn’t matter why it does or doesn’t bother me." “Of course it matters. It means something.” “It means shit. Just because it might bother me on some level it doesn’t mean I’m going to stop you from being happy, okay? You want to go ahead and kiss and sleep with other men, that’s you doing you. We were never exclusive.” “Sure so that’s why you overreacted so much —”

“—You didn’t even give me a heads up! We had sex just an hour before you told me you were going on a date with the guy, y/n.”

“And that’s what made you cry?” After that question it goes silent. He avoids your eye and attempts to take the pillow again, “Bucky. Please.”

He licks his lips and looks up at you.

“I can’t tell you what you want to hear because it doesn’t matter anymore.” He tries to take the pillow again and this time you let him. He hooks it under your arm.

“Are you going to sleep there because of what I did to you?” He looks up at you and then looks away. He reaches over you to take one of the throw blankets, “Bucky?”

You reach over to touch his face and he flinches at first. This makes you pull away first.

“I didn’t mean to scare you or make you feel like I was taking advantage of you.” You whisper.

He looks down at your lips.

“I might be a super soldier and an ex assassin but I’m still just a man.” He says quietly. You nod, reaching for the back of head, and pulling him into you for an embrace which he gladly accepts, "You can't do that again."

He leans his forehead on your shoulder, inhaling your sweet sent.

“Please stay here tonight.”

“Okay. I’ll stay.” He gives your shoulder a kiss, “I’ll stay. I’ll always stay.” He assures you as he feels you trembling beneath him.

He pulls away, cupping your face as he does so. He looks down at you and you share a silent conversation.

This was different.

This time, he’s the one who rolls your dress up until it’s bunched around your waist.

You’re both breathing quickly as you watch him push his sweats and boxers down.

You whimper at the sigh of him, and he guides you a little lower, but you’re still halfway sat up. He runs his right hand from your core up the inside of your left thigh, widening yourself for him.

He’s knelt down between you, his lips still lingering over your shoulder. He grabs your right thigh and pulls it up so it’s bent feet down on the bed. His left hand goes to your back, right over your bottom.

You whimper again when you feel him drag his cock over your clit over and over again, and then finally down your soaking slit. His nose hits the side of yours and you’re both staring deeply into each others eyes.

“I got you,” he tells you, “I got you.” He repeats, sliding into you. His thrusts are steady and hard. He watches your face as you gasp and moan, your right hand going into his hair and pulling on it. You’re both like that for about three minutes until he lays you fully back onto the bed.

He watches as you unravel below him and he can’t imagine not living like this anymore. He doesn’t remember what he even did before you entered the picture. He doesn’t want to.

He stretches his arms around on either side of your head, keeping his thrusts steady.

“Fuck.”

“I won’t stop.” He tells you breathlessly.

You clench around him and this makes him groan loudly.

He feels his end approaching embarrassingly fast and he reaches down to give your clit some flicks.

On the fifth flick you come undone and he follows you right behind, cumming inside of you. Your legs wrap around him like a vice and he falls on of you. Both your hands run through his hair as he breaths harshly into your neck.

He doesn’t pull out of you this time and you don’t let him.

This time he falls asleep in your arms.

For you, it’s the last time.

I won't hide the ways I've tried It's just not right, it's killing me tonight

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