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1d1195 · 10 months

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Zipper Extra IV

You can read the rest here: Zipper

@harrybabyyyyyyy gave me most of the inspiration on this one. Thank you so much <3 :)

In 7th grade, I learned about dramatic irony and I haven't gotten over it since. So please enjoy a bit of angst (Harry is an idiot, obvi) in the form of Harry once more not communicating his feelings, and a big bit of fluff. Hopefully you'll enjoy. Takes place sometime after the Zipper Extra I, maybe even after a year of dating.

He stood where he was, arm resting on the window as he leaned against it. He took a deep breath, his heart already aching with the feeling that he majorly fucked up and it was exactly the kind of thing she would leave him for. “Yes,” he murmured. There was no use denying it. No use in trying to apologize right now. It was dumb and he needed to own it.

“Harry!” Louis said quietly in the middle of a meeting. He slid his phone across the table to him and Harry was engrossed in taking notes on the information being given that he didn’t pay any mind to Louis or his phone. “Harry,” he snapped without drawing attention of everyone else.

Shaking his head, he looked at Louis with a curious albeit annoyed expression. “What?” He grumbled to his friend and boss. The team of people involved and their accompanying client accumulated to seven total people in the room. Two of which were still talking, disregarding the exchange between Harry and Louis. “M’in the middle of something.”

“For Christ’s sake. Look at the goddamn, phone,” he hissed under his breath.

Sighing, Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed it, noting who it was from partway through reading.

Hey...I know I said that I had Harry to help me if I needed it, but he’s in a meeting and he tends to get really involved with what he’s doing so he probably isn’t noticing my calls...HE is in the file room... and he hasn’t seen me yet but I’m literally hiding behind a shelf and I’m...I’m so uncomfortable. I’m so sorry Louis. I really hate to bother you...could you come here?

Without recognizing or feeling his own movements, Harry was out of the conference room. In fact, Harry only read to the part where HE was in the file room. He vaguely heard Louis’ making an excuse. But Harry was sprinting down the stairs to the room where old cases were stored. Nearly pushed someone into the wall and almost tripped on the last few steps.

Just as he approached the file-room door, he took a deep breath and calmed himself before walking in as casually as he could possibly seem. He made eye contact with the man that he wanted to murder not so long ago. If pressed in anyway, Harry still would. Harry didn’t utter a word. His face was as stoic as he could manage. He didn’t want him to know she was in there. Fortunately, he nodded awkwardly at Harry thinking about their last interaction as well, it seemed. Almost immediately after the thought entered his mind, he left the room.

“Love?” Harry whispered quietly the moment the door shut.

“Oh, thank God,” she sighed with relief. Harry followed the sound of her voice to the correct shelf. Her pulse rate settled in hearing Harry call out to her. She crouched and her heels allowed her to perch above the tile floor. She put her hands over her face. “I had to text Louis,” she whispered. Harry knelt beside her and placed a hand on her back.

“M’so very sorry, baby,” he cooed and leaned forward to kiss her hair. “I should have paid attention to my phone.”

She shook her head. “It’s hard, I don’t want to text you or email you during the day and have people get all in a twist...not that it’s bad what we’re doing it’s...I know they’ll think I’m doing it for—"

“No,” he shook his head. “Kitten, next time y’can scream for me. I’ll come running,” he murmured and brought her back to standing so he could hold her close to his chest. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Harry smelled like a campfire and vanilla. It was dizzying. But it smelled like her own personal sanctuary.

“I know I overreacted—”

“No, kitten. Course y’didn’t. Shh,” he hummed softly.

She sighed again and just continued to breathe in the heady scent of Harry. “I thought it was going to be Louis that came...I’m so happy it’s you,” she mumbled into the jacket of his suit. Harry sighed, feeling overwhelmed with how much he adored her and the relief that she was okay. “You really can’t murder someone for me. Even I would have a hard time defending you in court,” she reminded him.

He smiled; his face pressed against her hair. He inhaled the floral scent and thought about the shampoo he bought so she always had some at his place. After a moment he shook his head in answer to her rebuttal. Part of him was reminded that even though he spent the better part of two decades being cold toward her, he was glad she read his thoughts so much of the time. “I’d gladly serve any sentence on behalf of you, kitten.”

Harry’s apartment was marginally closer to work than hers in distance. Work split their places almost in half, hers being slightly further away. “We should leave clothes at each other’s places,” she suggested as she searched through Harry’s dresser for something that wouldn’t drown her in fabric while she walked around his place. Harry leaned against the door frame smiling at her while she went through his clothes.

We should just move in together. I’ve known you my whole life.

She glanced at him and blushed. “I think we have to have some semblance of normalcy to this relationship, Harry. Don’t want to move in just yet.”

“Well, if y’sure. Seems silly. Since y’jus’ read m’mind and all,” he rolled his eyes.

“You also hated me for the better part of twenty years, and I don’t want to bring those feelings back because I leave hair in the shower drain.” Harry loved the idea of her in his shower that he didn’t even feel the need to comment on the fact that he didn’t hate her. “Stop thinking about the shower.”

He didn’t even question it. “Don’t even think we’d have t’talk if y’moved in, love. Y’seem t’know m’every thought.”

“I just know you’re thinking about the shower because you’re a boy. Not because you’re Harry.” He knelt to the floor behind her and wrapped his arms around her resting his head on the back of her shoulder. He was so much taller than her it was a slightly awkward position. “Maybe you should state your case or something,” she said finding a T-shirt suitable enough to go with a pair of his shorts.

He chuckled and rolled his eyes at her. “If s’what it takes,” he murmured against her back.

They ate lunch together in Harry’s office most days. People tended to bother her more because she was so adorably sweet. Harry was often closed off and very intimidating without meaning to be. At least to people who weren’t her. So, it made more sense to hide in his office.

They didn’t talk much during lunch. Not about anything world-changing or life-altering, anyway. Chatting about their days and their upcoming schedules was mainly it. Occasionally, they’d turn it into a working lunch because Harry would be stuck with something in his case, and he would ask her and of course she almost always had a solution.

“How come y’never need help from me?” He frowned. “M’always bothering you.”

“I’m just smarter than you,” she shrugged and smiled at him.

He rolled his eyes. “You’re smart, alright.”

“Harry you’re brilliant,” she said knowingly. “I just really like the finer details.” Harry watched her eat for a few moments thinking about how rude he had been to her for years and now she was eating in his office. Saying he was brilliant after the way he treated her. She enjoyed kissing him. They had slept in the same bed. It was surreal. “What are you thinking about there, baby?” She asked quietly. He looked at the food on his desk and smirked before looking back up at her.

“You love me?” That was one of the most shocking things of all.

She smiled. “Against all better judgment.”

“S’an understatement,” he muttered.

“You can’t have this complex, cupcake. You apologized profusely and I accepted it,” she shrugged. “I don’t want you dwelling on it.”

“You were so nice t’me...all those years.”

“You were pretty nice to me too...considering you hated me.”

Harry found that when he ‘hated’ her or when he loved her, a great deal of his time with her was spent rolling his eyes at her for one reason or another. “I didn’t hate you.”

“You did not like me.”

He sighed. “Why did you like me?”

“Because you were smart and even though you didn’t like me you were still nice to me. And you always...” she sighed, and she went over to him at his desk. She pushed his food out of the way and leaned against the ledge of the desk. He slid his chair back to give her more space and his legs spread to either side of hers. He placed his hands on the outside of her hips to bring himself and the chair back toward her. “I always thought that even if you hated me, you...you would never let anything bad happen to me. You were always there. Every party that I felt uneasy about guys drinking around me. Every time it was late at night, and you still walked me home from the library even though I lived on the opposite side of campus...If I didn’t understand something in class, you never made me feel stupid. You just explained it to me. And you didn’t have to. You...” she smiled at him. “I think part of me hoped you would just start liking me more if I was around you enough...and I know I joke about it. But I don’t think you hated me. At least not...not like you could have.”

He smirked. His heart warmed with all the words she said. Naturally, she was right. He looked up at her and she swore she had never seen anything as beautiful as Harry Styles’ green eyes peering up at her through lashes that were simply sinful to have on any man, let alone him. “I love you.”

“See? It worked,” and as often as he did it, she adored the eye roll he gave her every single time.

“Hey,” Harry said entering Louis’ office. He handed him a paper to sign while he chatted on the phone. “Any chance y’heard about her case this morning?” He asked when Louis hung up.

“I heard she won, but I didn’t get the details yet,” Louis smirked. Harry was so proud. There was no reason for him to be, he had no doubt at all she would win. But he was anyway. He adored her and the pride was overwhelming. “Do you know if she made a plan for her interview yet? Have to say I was a bit blindsided by the reference call,” he told him while still scrolling through the messages on his phone and attempting, simultaneously to look through his email.

Harry blinked, his stomach dropped, and his blood felt cold. “What?” He asked.

Louis glanced up at his friend and pursed his lips. “Oh,” he muttered. “Perhaps, I said too much.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry felt the gnawing anger he used to feel around her biting at his stomach.

“It’s not my place, Harry. You’ll have to ask her,” he said.

Harry glared at his friend. He shouldn’t have. As much as Louis was his friend, he was also his boss. Not that Louis would fire him over something like this, but it was still rude. “Interview,” he repeated. Louis shifted his eyes from the computer, to Harry, and back. He nodded once.

Harry stormed out of Louis’ office slamming the door.

She knocked on his door. Exhausted. There was so much paperwork that needed to be done after her winning case. Winning felt like a chore sometimes and while she was grateful for the win, nothing sounded better than snuggling up to her boyfriend on the couch and watching a show for a few hours.

Harry silently opened the door. “Hi, cupcake,” she smiled sweetly.

He didn’t respond and waited for her to walk through. She frowned and entered quickly. He closed the door and walked by her as he headed to the kitchen, leaning against the island. “Congratulations are in order, I heard,” he mumbled pouring her a glass of wine.

“Uh...yeah, I guess,” the air was tense, and she didn’t know why. Taking the glass, she felt like Harry’s sour mood was her fault but what was worse was she didn’t know why. It was probably just a bad day on his part. They happened every so often. But now that she thought about it, it was weird he didn’t text her congratulations. He was typically the first one to say it, having some astute knowledge or maybe an inside person at the courthouse telling him all about her wins. She kicked her heels off, setting her glass on the island and then made her way to the bathroom to find some medicine.

Hearing the pills shaking out of the bottle made Harry pull out of his slump a bit. “Did y’skip lunch?” He asked, he was right outside the door it seemed. She didn’t want to answer him because she knew it would worsen his bad mood. “Take that as a yes,” he grumbled, and she heard him quietly pad away.

She thought long and hard about everything that could have happened today. Maybe it was something totally unrelated to her. But the tension was so thick it felt a bit suffocating. She splashed cold water on her face and headed back to the kitchen. “I’ll pay you a hundred if y’get it here in less than half an hour. Two hundred if s’less than fifteen minutes,” and then he hung up. He looked at her. “You can’t skip lunch.”

“I know,” she said. No use in arguing. He was right and he would win.

He leaned against the island again and she grabbed her drink before heading to the sofa this time. Harry stayed where he was until there was a knock on the door no more than ten minutes later. He paid the substantial sum he said he would and then brought the food to her. He placed her favorite burger and fries from her favorite place in front of her and then walked away again. “I have t’make a call,” he mumbled and headed to his room. She ate by herself along with the characters on TV. Only paying some vague attention while she tried to figure out what went wrong.

She heard Harry’s low voice for a long while, unable to make out any words but it did sound like a business call. But soon she had watched a whole forty-minute episode and her burger and fries were gone. She frowned, hearing nothing but silence from down the hall.

Cleaning up her stuff, she scribbled on a notepad that she needed to do laundry and she exited without so much as a kiss goodbye.

Harry’s stalemate with her was not going well. The agitation was so visible to everyone around him they literally turned in the opposite direction of him when he walked down the hall. They exited quickly from the room when he entered.

Since she was merely one office over, she could hear him yelling a lot while he was on the phone over the few days following her silent dinner alone in his apartment. Without knowing why he was mad, she didn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t talk to her. She tried. She sat in his office and ate a tense, silent lunch with him while he stared at her, green eyes piercing through her as if she was hiding something.

After one day of that, she refused to subject herself to it again. She still brought Harry lunch the following day, a half hour earlier than normal, while he was still on the phone so he couldn’t say anything to her. She was silent and had a right mind to throw it in his lap and ruin his suit but refrained from doing so, just barely. He kept his tone even as he watched her walk in, place it on his desk, and then leave without a word.

Harry didn’t make any attempt to apologize for his behavior at his apartment nor told her anything about what he was feeling. She felt like she did back in university when he saw her at parties. He would stare at her for a moment and then move on. It was making her crazy. He didn’t come to her apartment, didn’t text her, and didn’t tell her if she was still invited to his mom’s house for dinner on Sunday. He did ensure a coffee was on her desk each morning (even though she had already had one before arriving at work) and made sure she had an Uber waiting outside the building when it rained on Thursday.

Her heart was starting to feel heavy; like Harry was pulling away from her and she didn’t know why.

It was at the Friday staff meeting that it finally all came to a head.

Harry was grumbly and making snide remarks under his breath. Louis merely glared at him and rolled his eyes as he continued. She said nothing. Mainly because she never said anything in the meetings but more so today than ever because of the silent feud happening in her personal life that was rapidly spilling into her professional life. She could feel his gaze hit her every few moments and linger another few moments more because she was horribly attuned to him and loved when he looked at her.

Except right now.

It was nearing the end of the meeting when Harry all but snapped once more. He made a good point, but he was of course grumpy about it, making everyone in the conference room uncomfortable and angry. The man sitting two seats away from her looked at her until she got the sense someone was watching her. She looked up and caught his gaze. “Do us all a favor, love: blow him already. It’s making our lives miserable.”

Louis was out of his seat almost as soon as the crass words left her coworker's mouth. He physically pushed Harry back toward the window as he all but lunged for the man that said it. She looked at her notes blankly. Tears pricking the back of her eyes and she knew her face was turning red. It wasn’t a secret they were dating, but they didn’t make a big show of it. It was totally out of line to say that, and it made her so uncomfortable. She did her best to ignore the whole situation as best she could while listening to Harry shout insults and profanities while people started filing out the room.

“Jesus Christ, talk to her!” Louis snapped once everyone had left. He released Harry who spun and glared out the window. “That’s a direct order,” he shouted. Louis didn’t look at her as he slammed the conference room door shut. She kept staring at her notes. Everyone else was gone but she was terrified of moving. Afraid that if she made any movement, she would start crying from the anger she felt toward that stupid coworker or from how sad she was that Harry hadn’t told her he loved her in almost four days. Now that he said it so frequently, she was an addict for it. Years of thinking he hated her only for him to say he loved her did a number on her and mostly in a good way. But if this was how their arguments were going to be...she wasn’t sure she could do this.

“Why didn’t y’tell me you were applying for a new job?” He grumbled.

She looked up and saw his hurt expression in the reflection of the window. She bit the inside of her cheek. “Because I’m not,” she said simply, shaking her head.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. “Please don’t lie t’me. I’ll lose it. I swear.”

“Harry, number one, I've never lied to you. Ever. I'm insulted you would say that to me. Number two, I did not apply anywhere.”

He turned around and he looked so hurt. Like he was betrayed because yeah, she never lied to him ever. “Louis said y’had an interview.”

“Well, he shouldn’t have said anything to you because it’s not true,” she snapped. "And you should have asked if you were so upset."

He blinked in surprise because she never had an angry tone. Even when she deserved to have one nor when she needed to have one. “Louis got a call from a firm...a reference call.”

She closed her eyes. “I didn’t know they called Louis,” she hissed at him. He felt himself freeze up at her words. He hadn’t considered that she didn’t know. “Have you been ignoring me all week because of that? Something I didn’t know about?” She whispered angrily. "Something you didn't tell me about?"

Harry felt like an idiot immediately. He thought about the day he confessed his love for her. How the first words of his confession were I’m going to be a shitty boyfriend. He meant it. Because it was true. He was a shitty boyfriend... It was something about her. If he scratched even a speck of dust off the surface of why that was, he would come to the obvious conclusion that it was because it was her. She was too good, and he was too mean to her all those years.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She snapped. He flinched, but felt he deserved that. “Jesus Christ Harry, I give you so much grace and time because this is totally different than our old relationship. I know we’ve always had a rocky beginning but...you have to talk to me!” She croaked.

The sound of her tears threatening to fall made him nauseous. “We can’t do this here,” he said turning to her finally to see her wiping her eyes quickly. He felt devastated that he made her cry. “Let’s go—”

His tone was so gentle now that he realized he messed up. It shouldn’t have come to this, but here they were. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you right now,” she all but snarled, gathered her belongings and left Harry alone in the conference room.

Flowers arrived every hour after she got home. After the fourth hour, the delivery man apologized at her irritated expression. She glared at the pretty bouquet, and how it was softening her angry heart.

She texted him. You can send me a whole botanical garden. I’m not speaking to you. See how you like it. It was petty and childish. She was a grown woman, and it was not the appropriate thing to say but he didn’t respond. Naturally.

Her phone rang and she was surprised to see Gemma’s name lighting up her screen. “Hello?” she asked tentatively.

“What did he do?” Gemma asked.

“Your brother is a hot-tempered idiot,” she stated.

“I tried to warn you.” She didn’t say anything in response. Gemma sighed. “Look, I don’t know what he did, but I promise you, he did it because he loves you. It doesn’t make it right and you deserve to silent treatment him until the end of time. I have no right to make this request and I know you’ll probably hate me just for saying it, but please don’t leave him. He’s so happy with you. He knows he messed up and he’s gonna give you space now, but...you said it. He’s an idiot.”

“I’m not gonna leave him,” she rolled her eyes.

Gemma’s relief was probably as palpable as Harry’s would have been. “Oh, thank God. That was more for me than for him. I won’t even tell him you said that. Let him sweat it.”

She smirked despite herself. “I was looking forward to dinner,” she admitted.

“You should still come, I’ll have Mum uninvite him and we can trash-talk him the whole time,” Gemma suggested.

She shook her head. “I’ll call him tomorrow. Hopefully he won’t break up with me.”

“Why would he break up with you?”

“Because your brother is an idiot. He would say he’s doing it for my benefit. I bet it will take some convincing.”

Gemma was quiet. “That does sound like him. Fuck. I’ll...I’ll talk to him.”

Can I call you? She texted Louis after the fifth bouquet arrived. I know it’s the weekend...I know it's super late...on a Friday...I know it’s...I’m sorry.

Her phone rang a moment later and she felt relief. “Hey love,” Louis said softly.

“Tell me what happened with the reference call.” She listened to his story, feeling an overwhelming amount of empathy for Harry. That had to have blindsided him. “Why didn’t you ask me?” She asked Louis.

“I had every intention of asking you, but he just happened to come to the office first. I never even thought you hadn’t told him, love. I’m so sorry.”

“I wasn’t hiding it. There just wasn’t anything to tell. I never even applied. They saw my argument in court one day, they saw me beat them, and they wanted me. Just trying to recruit me and whatnot. Probably to scare you, I don’t know...I didn’t tell Harry because it didn’t...it’s nothing. I like where I am,” she explained. “I didn’t know they would call you. I’m sorry. That must have been hard for you as well.”

Louis chuckled. “Don’t worry love. Course they want you. Only the worst firm in the world wouldn’t. I love having you with us, darling. So, I’m glad.”

“Thank you. Sorry for the call.”

“Don’t apologize. Harry’s my friend too. Which means you’re my friend. Consider this a friend call.”

“Well thank you.”

“Have a good weekend, love. Call if you need anything.”

Harry gave her a key almost immediately after they started dating. She tried not to use it—only to surprise him once after a particularly hard day and she made his favorite dish for dinner. But most of the time, she was always with him.

But now, she was here because after tossing and turning for hours she could not fall asleep. Feeling like she couldn’t wait until morning, she got up and ready to leave for Harry’s place. After tripping over five more bouquets and vases outside her door, she rolled her eyes. She set them inside the doorway and hurried down to the street.

She trekked across town in an Uber; just her purse on her shoulder, oversized t-shirt, and a pair of leggings. She thought slippers might be too much, so she settled for a pair of comfy slipper-looking loafers. Within fifteen minutes she was at his door.

Quietly, she unlocked his apartment as it was nearing two thirty in the morning. She heard music playing from his room and she slipped her shoes off, padded silently down the hall. He was sound asleep. The light from his side table created a pretty glow over him and his smooth, tanned skin. The music was a playlist she made that she listened to fall asleep every so often. This one contained some of her favorite songs of the month. Her heart softened. He was holding his phone clutched in his hand and she was grateful he was a heavy sleeper as she pulled it from his grip. A picture of herself illuminated the screen and her heart weakened more. Harry was lightly snoring as she covered him with the blanket he had tossed at the end of the bed. One of his socks was half off his foot but she left it there because she thought it was pretty cute.

She clicked the light off and slipped into bed beneath the covers that he was lying on top of. She turned toward his body; his head was facing the other way, but she didn’t care. She gently laid her arm over his waist and finally felt tired enough to fall asleep peacefully.

She woke up to his beautiful green eyes staring at her. They were red around the corners—like he had cried, and the thought sent a shot of sadness through her like nothing she had ever felt before. “Creepy,” she mumbled instead and rubbed her eye for a moment. His gaze didn’t move.

He was under the covers now, his arm draped over her waist. “When did y’get here?” He asked ignoring her benign insult. He couldn’t do anything but look at her.

“Before three,” she said softly.

He winced. “Please don’t take Ubers that late,” he mumbled, sighing deeply. He bit his lip. “Should probably tell them t’stop with the flowers if you’re here; there will be six more out there.”

She couldn’t help the softening of her heart. “Thank you.”

He shook his head. “Please don’t thank me.”

She smiled and cupped his face between her hands. He pulled her by the waist, so her body was closer to him. “Harry,” she whispered. “You can’t give me the silent treatment.”

“I know,” he nodded quickly. “M’so sorry, kitten. Really.”

“I know,” she repeated him.

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face pulling at his lower lip with two fingers. He looked exasperated. “I don’t know why I make it s’hard with you,” he muttered.

“I think it’s because you love me,” she whispered with a smirk on her face.

He closed his eyes. “Someone who loves you wouldn’t...not speak t’you. Not even for a second,” he told her. She put a hand on his face and waited until he opened his eyes.

“The flowers were a good start,” she whispered.

He smirked despite himself. “A start?”

She nodded a grin, painting her lips so beautifully, Harry thought his heart would stop. “You’ll think of something.”

He had this way of looking at her apologetically through his gorgeous eyelashes that framed his equally gorgeous green eyes. The most beautiful puppy dog eyes. “I don’t want y’to forgive me yet,” he said softly.

“I’m not,” she promised. But she would admit was hard not to when he looked so beautiful and full of remorse. “But I love you too much to be away from you.”

He sighed. “Somehow you’re infuriating,” he grumbled.

“Why don’t you ask me your questions?” She asked.

He shook his head against her hand. “No. S’not my business. You can make your own decisions. And they have nothing t’do with me.”

She shook her head as he spoke. “You have everything to do with my big decisions. You’re part of my life, Harry. But I would tell you if there was a big decision to make.”

He was silent for a minute. Just stared at her. She drew a little circle with her index finger on his cheek while he clearly thought something difficult. “Angel,” he whispered. She frowned. She hated that tone in his voice. “I don’t want to hurt you. I forget your birthday, I give you the silent treatment, I don’ listen—”

She sighed. “If you break up with me, I’ll scream like a crazy person and I’ll put up the biggest fight you’ve ever seen,” she promised.

He smiled. “You are the most beautiful, wonderful person I’ve ever known. You are also the dumbest.”

“Smartest,” she said smugly. Pointedly. “I didn’t tell you because I’m not going anywhere. They wanted me.”

“Of course, they did,” he whispered as she spoke.

She smiled, unable to move her eyes from his. “I would never make a decision like that without your input,” she promised.

“You could do anything without my input.”

She ignored him. “We have always been a team. A weird one,” she assented, and he chuckled. “But a team.”

Harry sighed and rubbed his face again. “S’jus’...when Louis asked...it jus’ made sense. Of course, you would leave,” he muttered. “You’d be away from him, and it would create some space between us. I gotta imagine m’a bit suffocating at times. Especially in the office next t’you? I don’t know, kitten...I jus’ thought you—”

“Can you just ask me next time?” She interrupted.

He nodded vigorously. “Yes,” he promised. “God kitten, you’re gonna be s’sick of me when m’upset.”

She shook her head. “Impossible. I’m sorry I didn’t try and argue more...I guess part of me is still a bit...” she sighed. “A lot of rewiring to do,” she bit the inside of her lip. “I forget that you want to hear my thoughts now,” she smiled.

He rolled his eyes. “I could listen to you talk all day.”

“Don’t ask for what you can’t handle, cupcake.”

“Would you jus’ kiss me already, kitten?” He sighed with yet another eye roll.

She shook her head. “Oh no. No way. My morning breath is so bad,” she said turning her head from him and then started to wiggle out of the bed. Harry grabbed her gently, tickling her as she protested, and quickly pinned her below him. Her laughter subsided as he smiled, hovering over her. Admiring how beautiful she looked like that, his leg pressed firmly between her thighs, her hands pinned next to her head beneath his. Her cheeks pinked at their position and Harry smiled impishly.

“There isn’t a world,” he bent down and kissed her collarbone, “in which,” her neck, “I won’t,” her cheek, “want t’kiss you,” he pressed his lips between hers. “You sweet, gorgeous girl,” he pressed several more kisses on her lips.

She smiled snd shook her head. “Tell that to 16-year-old, Harry,” she said.

“M’gonna kill you,” he promised.

“Can I forgive you now?”

He shook his head. “Not for at least a week. And I should buy you lunch every day and sleep on the couch.”

“Why would we sleep on the couch?” She asked curiously.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “God, I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now kiss me again.”

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neutron-stars-collision · 1 year

Text

Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Chapter 18 - Speak To Me

Masterlist; Chapter 17 Summary: Loose ends are tied up as your curiosity brings you somewhere, you should have never went. Warnings: Swearing, angst and acres of pining. They're stupid, your honor. Author's Notes: Whew, this time it's been just a month. And another 6.7k words. I've absolutely no clue how I thought this and the previous chapter could have been just one instalment. Alas he we are though, with more stupidity, pining, and POV changes that make little sense... 👀 (I did enjoy writing them, however). It's probably two more chapters (if these two allow), but for now hope you enjoy the ride. My faithful readers - this is for you! 💕 Tag list: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy, @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary, @nicklet94, @mcrmarvelloki, @shimmeringgrim, @ttae-yong, @freyadruid, @siriuslydestiny, @ms-dont-care, @raphaelaisabella, @itsmytimetoodream, @brightjimini, @castellandiangelo, @grunge-n-roses5 (let me know if you wanted to be removed/added).

(gif source: @djandthesix)

It did not take long for you to understand that things would be different. Not bad different, nor good different. Just different. Undoubtedly, the national guard on the streets and the sea wall rendered nonexistent were bound to have some consequences. As did the fact that during the days following the election night, you have partway moved into the Wayne Tower and slowly learnt what it meant to coexist with Bruce in the same space. It also meant pleasant mornings and afternoons spent with Dory in the kitchen, sipping the coffee and doing your best to avoid thinking about reality.

The reality, which seemed as oppressive as a heavy cloud hanging over your conscience, hardly ever went away. On day two of the new world order, you decided to do something about it and fired up the laptop to check for the nearest crisis centres and the list of what they needed. Once a significant pile of necessities had been assembled with Dory’s help, you waded through the remains of the murky waters to deliver the goods in person. And then, you stayed to help, doing whatever odd jobs were in shortage, feeling a little lighter once you stepped back outside. You returned in the morning, armed with yet another box of items the Wayne heir did not need. Or so he told you.

Bruce Wayne was another revelation during those days. Or, rather, it was that despite your countless doubts and worries, he seemed to want you there, sharing the space. Every evening, if you did not return to the Tower before he left for the patrol, Bruce would text you and check in. Other times, he would call at random hours of the night, in theory, to discuss the developments in the city. You knew that was only the excuse for a quick chat, a conversation he seemed to crave no matter the time or the moment.

After that first night, you tried to put some distance, unable to keep using the same old pretext of needing a comforting hug after the traumatic evening. In effect, you used the spare bedroom, given to you by Alfred, what felt like aeons ago. Yet you kept indulging in the occasional kiss offered in exchange for a morning greeting. Continued greedily accepting the invitations to crash in Bruce’s bed, curling around his body when he returned. Choking on the unspeakable confessions whenever he asked about your day or the past. And it worked. For a time.

Until it stopped being enough, a familiar ache settling anew in your heart where it belonged. A worry that it was all that you would ever receive from him. That all it could ever be was a maybe, an almost. That the best you could hope for was all you already got. It did not take long for you to accept it as a fact. Try your hardest to distance yourself to minimize the pain. Knowing it was futile because you could hardly leave without a word of explanation. And neither could you tell him the reason why. Judging by the questioning glances and awkward silence, Bruce already knew something was wrong.

The call from the hospital on day five was like a blessing you did not know you needed. The signal had been given either you or Bruce could visit Alfred now that the water levels had fallen significantly. You had been so sure Bruce would jump on the chance to see his guardian that when he extended the invitation for you to do it instead, you asked for clarification. Twice. Then you accepted the offer, happily picking up a bouquet on the way and entering the ward with a smile that almost seemed out of place. As soon as you crossed the threshold of Alfred’s room, you knew you had made a good choice in deciding to come in.

He looked better, the bandages fewer and bruises lighter. At first, he did not notice you lingering, too occupied with a book in his hands, the familiar glasses pushed up the nose. Your smile widened as you rapped your knuckles on the doorframe and spoke:

“Hello, hope I’m not interrupting anything?” taking the hesitant step inside, you watched as Alfred raised his head in surprise.

A millisecond later, his mouth stretched into a smile, and the book was placed on the bedside table.

“Oh! Come in, darling,” he waved you inside, adjusting his position to reach out a hand as soon as you were within touching distance, “I’m so happy to see you” tightening his palm around yours in a comforting handshake, Alfred motioned towards the chair.

You did not need to be asked twice. Silently, you placed the bouquet in the empty vase and collapsed into the chair with a grateful sigh.

“Likewise, Pennyworth,” your lips quirked into a smile upon his delighted grin, and you asked, “How are you?”

“Much better. The doctor said they might release me soon. At least once everything settles in the city,” he pointedly glanced towards the window, overlooking the heavy grey skies.

The news made the fondness in your chest manifest with another pang of ache. Everything ached like that these days. Sometimes you wondered whether your heart could even take so many emotions. Whether it wouldn’t one day just break from feeling too much.

“That’s what I like to hear” ignoring the chaos in your head, you chose to drop in another crucial bit of information, “Bruce will come to see you soon too. He’s just busy with everything” Alfred nodded curtly, clearly not surprised by the news, giving you the momentum to add, “Sorry for the expletive, but it’s a fucking mess on the streets, as you can probably imagine” the weary sigh escaped your mouth as you met his searching gaze with a tired look.

You knew that the past few days were visible on your face. The weight was unshakeable. Alfred took a deeper breath, gathering words to ask what seemed to be on his mind:

“Could you… tell me what happened? I know the facts, and I’m not asking for a GC1 report” he accompanied the final comment with a pointed look.

Your shoulders sagged on their own accord, mind already bracing itself for the pain of having to recount the events. But you knew you should do it one more time. Alfred was owed that much.

“I can try…” leaning back in the chair, seeking any comfort you could get you started the tale.

The older man was quiet throughout the half-hour it took you to trudge through the uncensored version. Only occasionally, he would sigh deeper or glance at you with a seriousness that almost made you stutter. You spared no truths, admitting to the stupidity you exhibited that night and what happened after.

Once you closed your mouth shut, done and tired, Alfred wordlessly pointed towards the bottled water on the bedside table. He waited until you drained half a glass, and then he asked:

“How are you?” something in his eyes, and the used tone told you a lie would not cut it.

So, you swallowed the excuse always ready on the tip of your tongue and tried to piece together anything that would make sense.

“I’m… I’m not sure, honestly” a mirthless chuckle took the stage as your eyes roamed over the pale green walls and the popcorn ceiling, “I mean… it’s nice to be treated as a partner by him and to be invited into his life without having to fight for every bit of attention, but… I can’t help feeling like I’m getting ahead of myself” only then you could meet Alfred’s gaze, shrugging as the unshed tears welled in your eyes; it hurt to say what had been driving you mad for days “He could never want me. It just doesn’t make sense” feeling the foretold slip down your cheeks, you slumped forward; face hidden behind your hands as a silent sob wrecked your frame.

It was never supposed to happen. Any of it. You had half the mind to get up and run outside to hide the moment of weakness when a warm, heavy hand rested on your shoulder. Reluctantly, you raised your head. Only to see the aching sympathy in the older man’s eyes, which almost made you burst into tears. But that’s not what he wanted; you could tell.

Instead, Alfred offered you a warm smile and quickly found the right words to reply:

“I think you’re too harsh on yourself. You’re wonderful, and despite how thick that young man can be, Bruce appreciates you” you opened your lips to protest what sounded like a total load of wishful thinking, but Alfred was one step ahead as he raised a hand to silence you and added, “Dare I say, cares about you” there was a finality in his eyes that rendered you speechless.

Suddenly the countless objections seemed too weak to pass through your mouth. Only Bruce knew whether either of you was correct. And you were not going to ask him. It would not do.

***

The exercise in telling the story of that fateful election night came in handy a day later when your phone started ringing. The unknown number made you raise an eyebrow, but you picked up the call anyway.

“Hello?” trailing off, hoping the caller would fill in the gaps, you waited for an answer.

All the while, your fingers drummed out a chaotic rhythm on the tabletop. You were increasingly glad the study was quiet at this time.

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant James Gordon speaking. Is this-” with the suspicions confirmed, you could not hold back a pained sigh as you interrupted the cop with a fake chipper tone.

“Your accomplice from the Gotham Square Garden? Yeah, it is” hearing Gordon sigh in turn made the uncertain smirk on your face stay for good “I’d ask how come you have my number, but I suppose I should be smarter than that,” you mused out loud.

With some anxiety now rendered useless, you leaned back in the armchair. The embers in the fireplace were slowly burning out, leaving the room chilly and vacant. But at least it was safe.

“That would save us some time, for sure” you could hear the impatience in Gordon’s voice as he steered the conversation where he needed it to go, “I’m calling to remind you about the meeting I was hoping we could have…”

Of course. You knew that would never go away on its own, no matter how much you wanted it to.

“The not-an-interrogation? Is it time?” the quip, for sure, made the cop sigh with even greater annoyance.

You knew he would get used to it, eventually. If you had to do this, you might as well find any possible way to make the experience amusing.

“If you’d be so inclined,” the raised eyebrow in the statement was audible through the phone.

You snorted, shoulders shaking in a quiet bout of laughter. For the sake of it, you countered him with another question:

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really,” Gordon replied without a beat wasted.

Despite logic, a smile broke out on your face as you rose from the chair with finality to your tone:

“Well, then… See you tomorrow, officer” ending the call before the man could say another word felt like a power play.

It was the least you could have. At once, your head was flooded with anxiety to go over the events and create a coherent story that was close to the truth but did not reveal anything about Vengeance. One that made sense to the third party but did not incriminate you. That is how you spent the rest of that afternoon and the evening, consulting the resulting version with Bruce so there would be no discrepancies. An idea formed in your head as you tried to fall asleep that night. A request you wanted to make and that only GCPD could grant you. It felt risky, but… it was worth a shot.

The next day, you showed up at the precinct with a takeaway coffee and an umbrella, the raindrops dripping onto the slabs on the floor. James Gordon was waiting for you by the reception desk next to the entrance. After a curt greeting, he led you through the maze of corridors to an unmarked office. You were glad it was not an interrogation room. At first, the conversation flowed the way you expected it to. The questions were all conventional: What do you usually do? How did you meet Vengeance? What have you two worked on together? How did you learn about The Riddler? About his plan?

You had all the answers, faultlessly navigating through the truths to present a tale Gordon wanted to hear. Omitting Bruce from the equation required control and presence of mind, but it worked out. He had no more questions.

“Well… thank you for the cooperation” Gordon closed the file and his notepad, the surprised lilt to the statement made you smile despite the adrenaline still leaving your system.

You took a sip of the lukewarm coffee and measured him with a pointed look.

“You didn’t expect it from me? I don’t blame you” shrugging upon his searching gaze, you shifted in the uncomfortable chair and asked, “So… why did you need this conversation?”

It was the best preamble to your request you could find. Although you expected Gordon to tell you to fuck off (maybe not quite in those exact words), he replied without a hesitation, his eyes never leaving your face:

“The investigation is still ongoing. Any facts we can get count” it was his turn to shrug as he added, “And seeing who your father was… Let’s say your statement can be of importance” the tentative word choice did not escape your notice.

You had been debating whether give him the full background knowledge on your family for hours the evening before. While you would rarely willingly share it with whoever, unable to deal with the never-ending pitying looks and suspicions, this time, it was better to bite the bullet before it could strike you. It was an easy lie to find, should Gordon check it with the city records. If he had any observations regarding your late father’s role in what happened twenty years before, he did not show it.

“Is he going to get a life sentence? In Arkham?” there was no need to specify who you had meant, nor was there a point concealing the curiosity in your voice.

It would make sense to him soon enough.

“It’s too early to say” the veil of secrecy had fallen upon his face.

Not that you expected anything else. You took a deep breath, steeling your nerves for the ordeal. The reason why you had to go through the questioning in the first place. Once you met Gordon’s gaze again, you knew he could see the resolution there. Its fortitude poured from your words as you spoke:

“I want to meet him” the moment your request hit the quiet space of the office, Gordon’s eyes widened.

He knew what you were asking for.

“I’m sorry?” the question was only preliminary.

A silent plea to change your mind and stop the madness this instant. A way out. You were not going to take it.

“I want to meet Nashton. Interview him. To ask him why…” despair crept into your voice, forcing you to shut up.

Before you could say too much. Judging how his face changed, you had to be very careful.

“No, there’s no chance I could let you-” Gordon leaned forward, his gaze hard and tone imposing.

The chances were low, so you never let him finish that sentence. Immediately put on the best puppy-eyed look you could muster and adopted the pleading tone:

“Please?” ignoring how Gordon rolled his eyes at your antics, you stumbled onwards, risking the vulnerability to appeal to his goodwill, “It’s the only thing I’ll ever ask for. It can stay between us,”

You meant it. Bruce had no clue those were your plans. For if he knew, he would have something to say about it. That is the last thing you wanted.

“But that’s… Jesus, are you sure?” Gordon’s resolve was breaking as he huffed out what sounded like a curse, damning your persuasion, “This guy makes no sense. It’s impossible to interrogate him” it felt like a last resort.

“I want to try. If it all goes to shit, I’ll leave” it should be easy, right? “So?”

The defeated sigh was all you needed to know you had won. Mentally, you punched the air. Physically – you cracked a smile.

“When?” the pained look in the cop’s eyes almost made you laugh.

“No time like now” instead, you met it straight on and glanced at the door in a simple suggestion.

***

Having never stepped inside the prison ward of the Arkham State Hospital, you felt an immediate shiver run down your spine, immersed in the drafty spaces and disjointed screams all around. Gordon was quiet on the way there, clearly unhappy with the decision you had made him take. He did not speak while he directed you through the checks and lied to the guards. But it was alright. It gave you time to adjust, take a deep breath and tune out the chaos of the place, doing your best to ignore that one persistent thought that was nearly impossible to escape. Your mother was somewhere here, in a different wing, on a different floor, but here. And you doubted you would be strong enough to see her anytime soon.

Before you could go on a tangent, likely bringing yourself to tears and effectively dismantling any sense of confidence you hoped to have, Gordon stopped by yet another non-descript metal door and turned to you with a stern look:

“That’s your stop” Gordon raised his hand to the pad next to the door, but before he started keying the code, he added, “The cameras are recording everything, but I’ll ask to have it deleted after. If shit goes south, just knock on the door. I’ll be waiting here” despite the harsh tone, you could tell he cared.

That he was not indifferent towards your safety. It was enough to light a tiny spark of gratitude in your heart.

“I’ll keep that in mind” you flashed him a thin smile and stepped closer to the door, your hands tightening into fists at your sides, “Watch out for the We Will Rock You beat” with that, you nodded at him to open the cell.

The last thing you saw before it opened was Gordon’s barely concealed eye roll. Then it was only the yellow clinical light of the cell and the glass window separating you from the man you had seen on the TV constantly the last few days. The door closed. You took a hesitant step inside as Nashton turned towards you. His wrists and neck were bound with a heavy chain, the non-assuming figure clad in an orange jumpsuit, complete with a prisoner number. Until you met his gaze, you could hardly fathom this was the orchestrator of it all. The killer and the brain behind so much chaos. Then his cold green eyes settled on you, and lips stretched into an amused smirk:

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he strolled to the chair and sat down, never letting his gaze stray from you.

You suppressed a shudder and perched on the chair provided on your side of the window. It was best to get over the initial shock by using the chance you had received. Talk to him since you were able to.

“Curiosity, mostly” shrugging to mask the discomfort, you asked, “You know who I am?”

The lack of surprise in his eyes told you Nashton did know you. That the direct message he had sent you in that one video was not just a bluff or a throwaway line. But it was best to be sure.

His smile stretched even wider. He already was having fun with this.

“Of course I do. I take my research seriously” the vicious flash in his eyes should have been the warning, yet you never saw it coming, “Almost like your poor father” flinching as the words hit, your eyes widened while the Riddler drove his point forward mercilessly “It’s what got him in the end, isn’t it?”

You tightened your clammy palms into fists, letting the nails dig into your flesh. Hoping the pain would help you take another breath and find a response to something like that. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears as you murmured:

“Seems like you know more about it than I do,” the wavering in your voice was unmistakable.

Now Nashton knew he had struck the vein, and you had no doubts whether he would keep going. You could only sit there and try to gain back any sense of control over the conversation.

“Perhaps I do…” it was Riddler’s turn to shrug; his green eyes shone as his voice took a manic timbre you had never detected before, “I know that your father took his craft seriously. So much so that when he got the right scoop, getting the story was more important than the people it concerned. That’s what happened to Thomas and Martha Wayne” with each word he spoke, you could feel the control slipping, leaving you dizzy and overwhelmed, unable to comprehend the words spoken, “He was a ruthless reporter” Nashton raised his eyebrow as if to challenge you with the statement.

Despite knowing that it was precisely the reaction he had been hoping for, you lurched forward in your seat and interjected:

“You can’t-” your voice shrill and foreign in your ears, saturated with pain and despair to prove him wrong.

“Oh, but it happened,” he raised his voice to match your tone, the madness in his face finally coming to light at its finest “Your daddy might not be one of the people I want to destroy, but he was no hero” he took pleasure from the deepening horror on your face, from how your hands shook in your lap “Once he realised the Wayne’s were hiding something regarding Martha’s sanity, he dove right in” unable to look at him anymore, you squeezed your eyes shut as the words kept on striking, each feeling like a slap to your face “Dug so far deep, Mrs Wayne had another psychotic episode because she couldn’t handle her life ripped apart on the frontpages” what if he was right? You could not handle it if this were the truth, “But your father didn’t care. He wanted more” the harsh edge to the statement made you open your eyes with a quiet gasp.

Your whole body was aching with the weight of what was happening. Each insinuation tore through the carefully created image of your father that you always maintained in your head. This idea you would never think could be false. But what if it was?

“Why?” a lone tear trailed down your cheek as you asked.

The fight to seem collected was long lost.

“Same reason you’ve begun working on my case” Nashton’s tone suggested he found it amusing.

Little riddle you should already have an answer to.

“Enlighten me” you did not feel like playing; your voice was overpowered with tiredness.

“Fame. And fortune,” you winced as the answer filled the space.

“I don’t care about those” the automatic reaction was to scoff and deny, and it was the one you reached for when at a loss.

He did not care. You could see a flash of irritation on his face as Riddler shifted the topic:

“You also want to continue your father’s legacy” the sarcastic inflexion on the word did not escape your notice, but it hardly mattered when the next line of the attack fell, “When are you going to finish his job and tear into Bruce Wayne? He sure deserves it” the sickly satisfaction in his mad gaze made you shiver.

The question felt like a knife driven through your chest, piercing the heart and scraping the bones. You could barely keep yourself from wailing as the pain tore at your soul, tears filling in your eyes in a display you could no longer keep at bay. You could never do that. Not to Bruce, not-

“I’m not like that. I’d never-” the words poured out your mouth with a desperate tinge, your voice breaking and breath hitching, unable to piece together anything that could make sense.

He was not looking for it. Nashton jumped up to standing, his hands shaking in the heavy chains:

“Oh, but you already did. All I had to do was look through your articles, and I knew you’re just like your father” the instinct to cover your ears from his insults came a second too late; nothing prevented you from hearing the final taunt whispered with icy calculation, “Cold and ruthless. No wonder your mother couldn’t stand being around you,”

A sob ripped from your heart as you turned away from his cruel face. This time, your instincts were fast enough. Before you could remember Gordon’s instructions, your fist tapped out the beat on the steel door. You counted to five, and it opened. No glance behind was spared as you stepped out from the cell, and took a greedy bout of air.

Once you felt a hesitant touch on the shoulder, you remembered Gordon’s presence. His dark eyes peered into your face with concern, undoubtedly seeing the damage from the conversation. You could not bear to explain it or repeat the words and accusations. All you felt capable of doing was to meet Gordon’s gaze and whisper:

“I can’t stay here any longer” for once, the pleading for help did not hurt.

It was better than any alternative you could conceive then and there. Gordon understood. All traces of annoyance vanished from his face as he nodded and glanced towards the direction of the exit:

“I’ll drop you off at home. Come on” he checked whether the cell had been locked one last time and started down the hallway.

You did not waste a second following him.

***

Until the very last moment, Bruce considered not going to the meeting. Since the morning when Selina sent him the message with time and place, saying that she was going away and would like to see him one last time, he had been debating on the matter. Restless mind ran through the pros and cons until he could make up his mind. For a moment, Bruce had also considered sharing the dilemma with someone, wanting nothing more, but to get Her point of view on it. But then, considering her previous reactions to anything that had to do with Selina Kyle, he decided against it. His heart was still heavy, nonetheless.

An hour before the meeting, Bruce decided to leave early for the patrol and to swing by the Gotham Cemetery. In the end, the winning voice belonged to that inexplicable desire to close the chapter for good. To, at least once in his life, have closure. With Riddler captured and the city rebuilt from the ruins, the only thing left unresolved was his relationship with Selina. Or, rather, their partnership, which was as beneficial as it was problematic. Above all, she deserved a thank you. That much was beyond doubt.

As soon as that decision had been made, Bruce made another one. He texted the most important woman in his life (or just Her, as his brain tended to refer to the journalist, that he did not seem able or be willing to let go of) with the usual chit-chat, aware that she would read it after the meeting with Gordon. That was alright. He would tell her later about Selina and everything else.

It was one of the few changes he had started to try to implement in his life now that he was no longer alone. Or at least now he was willing to believe that he did not have to do it all on his own. It was still strange to get used to sometimes. Home seemed a little livelier with the sounds of her presence, the empty rooms less daunting and terrifying with their vastness. Bruce certainly surprised himself when all it took was one question concerning things to give to the charities after the flooding for him to unlock his parents’ bedroom and give her access to everything. It seemed like an obvious thing to do, yet something he had never even considered before. It was impossible to explain how it made him feel to see her wearing his mother’s clothes. It felt almost like hope. If Bruce still believed in such a thing.

Another attempt had been made to talk to her more, tell her his plans and why he did what he did. Communicate, as Alfred put it many times before, begging his young protégé to try harder. To open up before people that wanted the best for him. It always seemed infeasible. A feat too close to a vulnerability that could blow in his face. So, he did not do it. Until she came along, with her beautiful eyes and the ability to get under his skin like nobody else. Now he could hardly say no, constantly occupying his head with the things he could not wait to tell her once he returned. To share his thoughts and theories, knowing that she would listen and offer feedback. Knowing that he was heard.

It was almost as good as the sudden capacity to touch her. To kiss her lips whenever he felt like it and not need to find excuses for it. Because the wants were getting stronger. For the first time in his life, he did not always try to control them and smother them so they would never resurface. No, this time, Bruce gave in to that pull, to the desire to hold her, touch her and make her his. Because that was the end goal, wasn’t it? To call her his, to repeat that one night endlessly, and never, ever let go. The only trouble was that he did not know how to get there. How to express it without triggering her desire to run. Something he noticed early on but never dared address. Till it became yet another one of those unspeakable subjects. Like his feelings for her and the fact that he sometimes thought she felt the same. Could she, though? Was he even lovable like that, or was it just another fable he had fallen for?

Groaning with frustration, Bruce slowed down the motorcycle as he changed the lane and began the ascend towards the cemetery hill. The surprising lack of rain made for a pleasant evening, the clouds giving way to the warm, pinkish glow of the setting sun. Despite the painful connotations, he always enjoyed the view from up there. The grassy hill towered over the cityscape; the old stone tombstones spread over the space only added to the strange atmosphere. He parked the vehicle close to the Columbarium and started up the path as quietly as possible. Before long, he spotted Selina where she said she would be, staring at one of the plaques on the wall. Her bike was parked nearby, one of the faithful cats in her arms. For a spare second, Bruce was struck with an idiotic thought – how nice it would be to have a cat, or better, a dog at home. Then he shook his head at the ridiculousness of the idea and took a decisive step forward.

“You’re leaving,” Selina gasped at his softly spoken statement.

It was always difficult to judge the reaction when a simple greeting seemed stupid or awkward. Clearly, this time, Bruce messed it up.

“Jesus,” she muttered the curse as she turned towards him with the familiar exasperation on her face “Don’t you ever just say hello?”

And there it was. Bruce ignored the sudden desire to berate himself for missing the social queue and asked:

“Where will you go?” he watched as she carefully deposited the cat into the compartment on her motorcycle and closed it to keep the pet warm.

Selina shrugged, suddenly strangely bashful. It was hard to read her. A fact Bruce had come to accept, albeit begrudgingly.

“I don’t know. Upstate,” she seemed to decide there and then, meeting his gaze with that well-known fierceness “Bludhaven, maybe” she cocked her head, the insightful look back on her face, “Why? You asking me to stay? You know this place is never gonna change” throwing a glance at the Gotham skyline, Selina’s tone dripped with tiredness “With Carmine gone, it’s only gonna get worse for you. There’s gonna be a power grab. It’ll be bloody” the hint of a warning was surprising, but not unwelcome.

It was nothing new. Every day, Bruce battled with thoughts like those, urging him to stop the madness and give up being Batman. To cease hoping he could change anything in the city. To quit playing the hero because he was not one. Every day he encountered them and won.

“I know. But the city can change” repeating the belief like a mantra, he refused to give in to the doubts.

“It won’t” Selina stared at him sceptically.

It was evident he could not sway her. Not that it mattered. While Selina was important, and an essential partner that probably saved his life, her view on it was not that influential. It did not make Bruce change his mind.

“I have to try” he could hear hints of resentment in his voice, a sign he could not conceal despite the keen wishes to do so.

Selina only sighed quietly and met his gaze with tired resolution.

“It’s gonna kill you eventually. You know that” she did not wait for an answer before changing the topic to ask, “What about your friend?” the curious glint in her eyes was enough to suggest she did care about the answer.

For a split second, Bruce considered playing dumb. To pretend he had no clue who she had meant. But that seemed both futile and wrong. Mostly wrong towards the woman in question. And he could not have that. Not anymore.

“What about her?” feigning nonchalance, he chose to stare at the skyline.

The peach-coloured sunset spread over the horizon. It almost seemed like the night could bring a respite from the rain.

Neither of those observations stopped the mild heart rate pick up upon a thought regarding the journalist. That seemed inevitable these days.

“How is she doing?” he did not need to look at Selina to know she was smiling, the knowing gleam in her dark eyes, “That was a nasty blow to the head, back at the Garden,”

The reminder alone was enough to make Bruce wince. The image of her struck down by the thug was burned into his mind for eternity. As was the gripping fear he thought was beyond him. It wasn’t. Not when it concerned people he cared about.

“She’s alright” fighting the urge to smile, Bruce was suddenly grateful for the cover the cowl provided.

Hopefully, it was enough to prevent Selina from knowing too much.

“Good. You’ve seemed… close” the perceptive tone told him he was already too transparent.

Although, after Selina witnessed the conversation at Falcone’s, Bruce had no idea what he had been hoping for. Back then, only the sheer sense of self-preservation kept him from stepping out of the role. From dropping the act of Vengeance and becoming the Bruce Wayne She knew and needed. A role he long thought forgotten, yet one that recently became his reality. Someone he wanted to be, even if just for her.

“That’s a question?” getting rid of the sentimental thoughts was getting trickier each time he gave in to them.

So, he went back to pretending. Like always.

Which was a mistake this time. One glance at Selina told him she saw right through it.

“No. More like an observation” she scanned his face intently, finding whatever she had been looking for quickly, “But you’re not denying it, so… I’m sorry if I ever made things difficult for her and you,” the sombre tone had been the real surprise.

One that made Bruce stop, freezing all runaway thoughts for a beat. While there was a reason to apologise, Selina did not need to know it. He was quite sure his partner would not want him to drag out their dirty laundry in front of anybody else. Plus, hopefully, the kiss and everything else had been forgiven. Maybe, one day, he would tell Her how, at the time, she was already the only woman he had in sight. The only one he could not get out of his head. How that had not changed for weeks by now.

Not that he was keeping tabs.

“You didn’t know” the answer for Selina was simple.

“Still,” she shrugged, a tint of guilt quickly overridden by curiosity, “Does she share your blind devotion to this shithole?”

It was another question that kept him up whenever he went to sleep. Because the truth was, he didn’t know. And the fear was there. The fear that, one day, he would wake up, and she would be gone. Without a goodbye or an explanation. Because she hardly had a reason to stay other than the same stubborn sense of duty.

“She’s still here. If that’s what you’re asking” ignoring the rising anxiety, Bruce kept the cards as close as possible to his chest.

Selina was leaving. That was the takeaway. He was here to say goodbye, not to indulge in private conversation with someone who did not even know him. Not really.

“She cares then” Selina smirked as her gaze softened, yet again taking him by surprise; it was strange to see her so focused on something that related purely to him, “But that’s good. I’m glad you have someone around to keep you in check” this sentiment was even more of a shock, only just preparing him for what she had in mind “Just make sure you’re not waiting too long. Time passes quicker than we think” she hesitated, a certain weight to her gaze that made Bruce stop and stare, withholding his breath for whatever might come next “And I might not know her, but she seems worth so much more than this city and your sense of duty. Don’t ever forget that” she met his eyes, looking for a sign that he understood and would take it to heart.

Bruce could hardly offer her anything but a dumbfounded stare as her words sunk in and made his heart race. Because as much as it was terrifying to admit – she was probably right. That woman was worth more than Gotham and the Wayne fortune combined. He had no doubts about it. But it was one thing to know, even allow himself to feel, and another to say it to the woman in question. That seemed almost too risky.

But what if he never got the chance again? The answer to that question was even scarier.

Ignoring the internal meltdown, he only nodded, praying Selina would drop the topic. But it was fate that decided for them both. One glance at the horizon was all he needed to spot the signal, burning bright on the sunset skies. Someone needed him.

“You should go,” Selina’s whisper came at the perfect moment, offering him an out and easing the conscience.

He did what he had to do. He said goodbye, and now it was alright to leave. Selina took the cue herself, picking up the helmet and preparing to start the motorcycle. There was just one last thing left to say…

“Selina… Take care of yourself” it was not a challenge to let the mask slip away and show her that he meant it.

“Always, bat boy,” the answering confident grin was all the assurance he needed.

Neither of them had spoken again as they started up the bikes and began the descent from the cemetery hill. Now and then, Bruce would glance in the rearview mirror to check up on Selina. Until she disappeared from view, taking with her any sense of uncertainty. All that was left was one persistent thought – he had to confess. Soon. Just this once, Bruce had to use what chance got him and never let Her go.

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iamvegorott · 4 months

Note

okay, i know that the implication for the flowers suggestions is the doms/tops giving their partners flowers

but also consider the reverse for phantomhero of phantom giving jackie flowers :}

i'm just a massive jackie fan and like seeing him be happy okay? dskhdfshkfhjskj

We down for everyone getting flowers!

----------

Phantom usually could make a decision on the spot and have no regrets. He knew what he wanted, what he liked, and how he liked it. But, at this moment, he was staring at his two choices and was frozen.

It shouldn’t be this hard to pick between flowers.

But he wanted to give Jackie the perfect gift. Phantom had great pride in giving great gifts, always throwing everyone off with how fitting they were. The problem he was having was that both sets of flowers in front of him would be amazing gifts for Jackie.

Red lilies or midnight blue sunflowers.

“Sir? Can I help you?” One of the florists, a young man, asked. “You’ve been glaring at these flowers for twenty minutes.”

“Sorry. I’m just being indecisive for the first time in my life.” Phantom softly laughed. “I can’t pick between these two flowers.”

“You could get both and make a bouquet out of them?” The florist suggested.

“Holy shit, that’s perfect!” Phantom’s laugh was much louder, and he caught himself, clearing his throat. “I’d like to do that, please.”

“No problem.” The florist smiled and took the two sets of flowers, stepping away and behind a counter to work on making the combined bouquet.

“That was so not embarrassing,” Phantom muttered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose and internally blaming Jackie for making him more energetic in a positive way in public.

Curse that man for making him a happier person.

Phantom went to the counter and waited as the flowers were wrapped up and arranged. His heart fluttered at how perfect the bouquet was when the florist finished.

“What do you think?” The florist asked.

“You are beyond talented.” Phantom praised.

“Thank you.” The florist’s smile grew, and he rung up the flowers. His smiling still stayed after Phantom paid and left.

Jackie had just finished changing into some sweats with his classic red hoodie, preparing to go on a jog when his door got knocked on. He hummed a question, not sure who would be knocking. Maybe JJ? Marvin and Anti usually just strolled in, and Chase texted or called if he needed him unless it was an emergency, and if it was that, Chase would walk in without knocking.

“Oh!” Jackie perked up when he saw Phantom on the other side of his door. “How are-flowers?” His question shifted partway through saying it when he noticed the bouquet.

“They’re for you.” Phantom held the flowers toward Jackie.

“Wait, really? You got me flowers?” Jackie blinked in shock a few times in shock as he took the gift. “You got me flowers!” He repeated and hugged the bouquet, looking like an excited puppy with a new toy.

“I’m guessing that you like them?” Phantom asked with a chuckle.

“I’ve never been given flowers before. This is so cool! Thank you!” Jackie wrapped his arms around Phantom and hugged him as well and hugged him tight.

“Jack-Jackie, Jackie, honey, I can’t-I can’t breathe.” Phantom wheezed.

“Sorry!” Jackie loosened his hold.

“I’m glad you like the flowers,” Phantom said after getting air back into his lungs.

“I really really do.”

“I’ll get you as many flowers as you like.”

“You will?” Jackie was still buzzing.

“Of course. You’re my favorite hero.” Phantom held Jackie’s cheek and guided him into a kiss.

----------

@bookwormscififan @brokentimewatch

#ashtonisvibing #phantomhero #flower gift blurbs #veggie writes

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caffedrine · 1 year

Text

Keith Howell - Chapter 25 Romantic - Summary

I pretty much have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t trust me, and you shouldn’t either. This summary is not guaranteed to be accurate, it’s mostly written for myself to follow along with the route.

He opened his eyes to a forest. When he was here before, it was a lonely, dark forest cut off from the entire world. This time, however, sunlight filtered through the trees and warmed him, and he could even hear the chirping of birds. Perhaps the change in the forest signified a change in himself.

And maybe he’s not the only one who has changed.

Alter!Keith is not happy to see him and smacks him over the head. Since this wasn’t reality, it didn’t hurt per se, but it was certainly a shock to his system.

Alter!Keith is quite upset; there were many times he wanted to take over, but he couldn’t. Instead he was locked away, forced to simply watch the events happen.

Yes, but they talked about this, right? Just before he ran off to rescue Emma, they agreed that he would be the one to settle things with his uncle. He would regret it for the rest of his life if he made Alter!Keith handle it in his stead. Instead, this forest world would have been a forever damp and overcast gloom.

Besides, he knew that Alter!Keith would forgive him. Though they have only begun to meet face to face like this, they have been communicating for years through diaries, and he was familiar with Alter!Keith’s clumsy kindness. Even though Alter!Keith could have done whatever he wanted, he worked hard for both his and Jade’s sake, and even wrote down what happened for him.

Even now, Alter!Keith calls him a failure because that’s what he wanted to be called. When his brother died, he had given up, and blamed everything bad on him being a failure and unable to step up. He apologizes to Alter!Keith for making him call him a failure.

Alter!Keith quickly cuts in, he is called a failure because Alter!Keith genuinely thinks he’s a failure. He decides to leave it at that, and pretend that he doesn’t notice the embarrassed expression on Alter!Keith’s face.

There’s another reason why Alter!Keith smacked him. After all that talk and assurance that he just wants to hear what Emma feels, he goes and does that.

Yeah, actually he did change his mind. He wants Emma as much as Alter!Keith does. Back then he was worried about Emma getting caught up in his problems, and thought it was better to let her go. He didn’t think he was good enough to be with her.

But now he feels like he’s a different man, someone she could be happy with.

Alter!Keith snorts; just how much confidence did defeating Fernand give him? Besides, he was the one who kissed Emma first.

It doesn’t matter which one kisses her first!

No, it does matter. And Alter!Keith was the one who kissed her first. After all, women never forget their first kiss. Sorry to say that he’s only in second place.

That’s right, he also has a bone to pick with Alter!Keith. He went and kissed Emma even though she hated it!

Alter!Keith points out that Emma didn’t seem particularly thrilled with he kissed her. In second place. And he was stopped partway through, though granted, he did stop himself.

It was more consensual than Alter!Keith!

Gotcha; Alter!Keith will just have to go beyond a kiss next time.

Absolutely not!

He’s starting to finally grow up these days. Alter!Keith asks if he’s ready for Alter!Keith to disappear? Now that Fernand has been handled, he no longer needs him. He can go and have a normal life without a split personality.

He’s taken aback by the question, and by who is asking. He never would have thought Alter!Keith could feel vulnerable at all. And, if he has to admit it, he would miss Alter!Keith too much. Besides, Emma doesn’t just love him, she loves both of them. She would be hurt if Alter!Keith disappeared.

A gentle breeze flows through the forest, blowing down the leaves around them. For a moment, he thinks he sees a gentle expression on Alter!Keith’s face.

The moment is over, and instead, there is a wicked smile on Alter!Keith’s face. Is he afraid of being alone now? Or is he just worried that Emma won’t think he’s cool without Alter!Keith and will leave him. After all, even though he put on a brave face with the confrontation with Fernand in the throne room, he almost passed out instead of arresting him.

No! No! Don’t tell that to Emma!

Oh, but Alter!Keith definitely will; especially because it is the truth. Maybe next time he sees Emma, he’ll have to ask her which Keith is the cooler one.

No! He can’t possibly win!

Alter!Keith refuses to lose, especially against him. No matter how ugly or dark he gets, he won’t disappear, right?

Right, he has a reason to exist now and can move forward.

Alter!Keith nods to himself, he’s won the bet.

Bet?

A long time ago, Alter!Keith made a bet with himself over whether or not his wishes would come to pass.

He never realized that Alter!Keith was a gambler at heart. And again, his kindness shines through, hoping that he of all people would have a wish come true. Maybe he was always kind from the beginning . . .

Alter!Keith warns him not to talk any further. If he thinks that he’s obtained happiness, then he shouldn’t let it go; otherwise, Alter!Keith will take over permanently.

There is no way the three of them can get along, so he should just struggle and cling to every last moment of happiness that falls his way.

~Later~

After leaving Jade, the land of nature and agriculture, Emma takes up her original job at the bookstore. Since she had fulfilled her duty as Belle and chose the king, her role at the court was over. Together with Rio, they packed their belongings and left the Rhodolite Castle, but not before seeing off the remaining foreign princes.

By the time she arrived from Jade, Silvio and Gilbert were about to leave as well. She had bid each a simple farewell, and nothing worth noting had happened. In the end, she never figured out why they had lingered, and the question still resides in her mind. Especially the questions concerning Gilbert.

Gilbert was the prince of Obsidian, the biggest threat on the continent. But, he didn’t seem to do anything while prolonging his stay in Rhodolite. If he had accomplished anything, it must have been a well-kept secret, as neither Chevalier nor Leon had any idea what his purpose may have been.

Even though not every question had been perfectly resolved, Emma’s role in answering them was over. She returned to her normal life, feeling radiant and accomplished.

~One Month Later~

Emma starts awake in a carriage. At first, she thinks that it’s a dream, but the sound of the wheels and the vibration tell her that it’s real. She slowly finishes waking up, inhaling the scent of deep forests.

Keith tells her to go back to sleep, they’re still a while away from the capital.

That’s right, Emma had dozed off leaning up against Keith. She realizes that his jacket, which she had been using as an impromptu lap blanket had fallen to the carriage ground. She leans over to grab it, but a hand wraps around her waist and holds her up against a very warm Keith. Maybe he’s telling her to go back to sleep.

Emma mumbles that this all feels like a dream. She had been working in the bookstore when a prince surrounded by the sound of chirping birds visited her. He had been holding a bouquet of colorful flowers and had nervously offered it to her. Then he had very formally confessed his everlasting love for her and asked her to come with him back to Jade.

Keith thanks her for trusting him to come for her and waiting for him all this time. He was half afraid she had forgotten about him and was wondering what he would do if she refused to come with him. He had imagined over 100 different scenarios of her rejecting him, so it had been a very pleasant surprise to have her accept him immediately.

Dryly, Emma reminds Keith that she already confessed to him. Keith admits that she did, but then they had to be apart for a full month. It’s hard to remember that she loves him when she’s so far away. But now that she’s at his side, where he can talk with her and touch her, he can feel her love for him again. Though now he wonders if he can ever let her go again . . .

Emma assures Keith that it’s alright, but he should be worried that she wont let him go ever again.

Like Keith, Emma was also feeling anxious by herself. How many nights had she been awake and lonely, wondering if Keith had forgotten about her? This all makes today extra exciting, as they’re scheduled to arrive at the Jade court.

Shyly, Keith admits that there’s a small change in plans; he wanted to make an extra stop before they arrived.

A gentle breeze blows through the field, nothing blocking its passage. The flowers blooming under a clear blue sky seemed magical, almost like a fairy tale.

Keith admits that this is the first sight he wanted her to see in Jade. After all, Emma had mentioned being interested in seeing something like this a while ago.

Emma remembers a popup book Keith had given her that time she had been sick. She had been entranced by one of the pages which depicted a field of flowers and had wanted to see it with her own eyes. She’s touched that Keith remembered that offhand remark.

Taking her hand, Keith leads her away from the carriage and into the field of flowers. It feels like Emma is being escorted in a dance hall surrounded by nature. She admits that ever since she was a child, she wanted to see something like this. And now, it feels unreal, like a fairytale.

Keith laughs a little, Emma must have been a very cute girl. Emma points out that she’s not the only cute person here; Keith is very cute.

Well, those are fighting words. Keith has a long road ahead of him if he wants Emma to think that he’s the cool one. Emma asks what he’s talking about, and Keith tells her not to mind him. Laughing, he holds her hand in his. Keith notes that with her here, it feels like the events from a month ago happened way longer.

Come to think of it, what did happen during the month they’ve been apart? Considering Keith came to pick her up, things must have fallen in place for him.

Keith’s uncle, Lord Fernand, was successfully convicted of the assassination attempt against the King of Jade. Between that and the discovery of his cultivation of the forbidden poisonous plant, there was no way for him to wriggle free of the law.

Things are slowly getting better between Keith and his father. The amount of times he’s been called a failure has gone down significantly.

Emma adds that Keith was never a failure. Keith accepts her words and promises to do his best to live up to her expectations.

Taking a deep breath, Keith’s expression changes as if he’s come to a new decision. He admits that he didn’t mind being called a failure, and he mostly agreed after his brother was assassinated. Back then he was an empty shell who couldn’t do anything, not even fully accept his brother’s death. He was so disappointed in himself, he formed a second personality.

(Despite what he's saying, Keith still has a lot of issues to work out)

Keith had tried to run away from his failures and responsibilities, forcing everything onto that second personality, hoping that one day Alter!Keith would become dominant and he could just disappear. He honestly thought that the world didn’t need a failure like him.

And then he met Emma.

She was kind and brave, and extraordinary. She had accepted him, even his worst parts. Every time she had told him not to apologize, not to call himself a failure, had been a thorn needling him. He had realized that even though he was a failure and a monster, there were people out there who cared about him. People whom he wanted to make happy.

Keith wants to make happiness bloom across the country like beautiful flowers. A long time ago, he made this promise with his younger brother. Now, he wants to make it again, as the future king and Emma’s lover. And with his other self.

Keith often compared himself to a weed, but right now, Emma sees a tree with its roots buried in the earth and its branches reaching out over Jade. She has no doubt he would make a fine king.

Emma tells Keith that she wants to work with him and Alter!Keith to fulfill his promise. She knows almost nothing about Jade, but it’s the country that Keith loves, so she loves it too.

Keith is about to respond, but a strong wind blows through the field, kicking up thousands of colorful flower petals. Keith laughs at the scene, noting that it looks like Emma is dancing in the flowers. Emma blushes as she realizes she was entranced and moving with the petals.

She tries to calm herself down, but Keith gently pulls the hand that he still holds closer to him. He asks Emma to dance with him.

Surrounded by fluttering petals, Keith’s hand reaching out to her waist, Emma can’t help but agree.

Keith admits that he’s wanted to dance with her for a while. The only time ‘they’ danced, it wasn’t with him. Emma laughs, and thanks him for this dance.

There isn’t any music, but Keith’s steps and grace have Emma moving with him as if it was natural. If she closed her eyes, she would believe that she was in a dance hall. His golden eyes never turned away from her during the dance, and she looks back at him with clear eyes.

Keith asks Emma to watch him, and only him during this dance. Emma laughs and tells him that he just repeated what Alter!Keith had said back then almost word-for-word.

Okay then, Keith would like Emma to look at him, and only him, even after the dance is over. Laughing, Emma calls him greedy, and Keith admits that he always feels that way when its with her.

There are no apologies, there is only Keith’s affection.

Keith admits that both of them love her. He can’t possibly give Emma a normal kind of love, but he also can’t let her go. She is the only person he can love. Emma assures him that she loves both of them with all of her, and asks them to love her lots in return.

There are turbulent times ahead of them, and Emma is worried about the future. But she is also confident that she is exactly where she’s supposed to be. Seeing Keith’s smile, she wouldn’t trade this for the world. When she smiles sweetly at Keith, his foot hits a hollow and he topples down, dragging her with him into a sea of flowers.

Keith groans that this is totally uncool. Emma disagrees, when he had fallen, he had protected Emma, leaving her uninjured. She assures him that he is very cool, and that’s why she fell in love. Clamoring up a little, Emma kisses Keith.

Keith admits that he loves this about Emma. Wait, no, it’s better to say that he loves everything about Emma.

As if to communicate their feelings, they kiss over and over. Emma pretends not to notice Keith’s tears of happiness as the flower petals flutter in the wind.

#ikemen prince #ikepri #keith howell

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chryzure-archive · 1 year

Text

the end.

ALT TITLE: crying.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: :( it’s over.

← PREV

———

fin.

More than half of them had to be hospitalized. Filly, her head injury, Chrysi and Jacks, their exposure, and Oz… well, the hospital didn’t know precisely what had happened to him, but nonetheless, he’d fallen into a deep sleep. Jacks knew the doctors weren’t comfortable with throwing the word “coma” around, but he wondered. He wondered.

Jacks wasn’t totally surprised when he was the first discharged. He was the first to rebound, body heat returning to normal (he decided it wasn’t a good idea to mention that his “normal” body heat had once been much, much lower than the standard body temperature. It would be splitting hairs at that point, given that he did, indeed, now have a standard body temperature, and it would be in his best interest to maintain it). A miracle patient, his nurse had informed him with a pretty smile.

He ignored the way she batted her eyes at him. He wasn’t interested in that sort of thing anymore—not even to steal her final kiss.

He had more to worry about, anyway.

As soon as he finished all the paperwork (fucking saints, the paperwork), he’d stopped on his way to Chrysi’s room only once, to poke his head into Filly’s.

Pleck gave him a small wave and a wan smile instead of a proper greeting, but that was for the best. Jacks didn’t think he had anything to say either.

He nodded once, glanced at Filly, then, satisfied she wasn’t likely to rattle out her last breath, he went on his way.

A magnetic pull brought him to Chrysi’s room before he had to track down an orderly and ask for directions. Partway due to his own heartbeat.

Partway due to the ghost in the back of his mind.

Azure LaFaye couldn’t be kept from his Chryseis for long, it seemed.

His reappearance nearly sent Jacks into shock—medically. He’d already begun to grieve properly (and though he wouldn’t admit it outwardly, Jacks had been one step from finally shedding tears over the matter) when he felt the flicker of silent assurance and stoic heartache.

Then came Azure’s whisper, so close that it sounded almost like he was in the room with Jacks, with a simple, Thank you.

After that, his spirit curled up into a tiny ball in the corner of Jacks’s mind and began to rest, unquestionably still clinging to this side of the veil and unlikely to leave anytime soon.

Jacks wondered if Jack Vessalius dissipating from the manor grounds had given Azure leave to roam the earth. He wondered if it were all Azure on his own, dragging himself back to Chrysi’s side by sheer, bloody-fingered determination. He wondered if he himself had anything to do with it, the way he and Azure mingled, aligned in their desperate love for Chrysi, and now Azure couldn’t untangle himself from Jacks’s emotions for her.

No matter the situation, Jacks knew Azure didn’t mind. So long as Chrysi was well and healthy and happy, Azure was content to sit in the corner of Jacks’s consciousness.

For now, however, Chrysi was none of those things.

When he walked into her hospital room, his heart bunched up and pins jabbed through it. His throat ached with swallowed emotion—and a little bit with the lake water he’d inhaled while dragging Chrysi to shore.

She lay on her back, white curls fanned over her equally-white sheets, so pale and unmoving that she could’ve been a corpse, if not for the heart monitor beeping away by her side and the way her chest rose and fell.

Similar to Oz, the doctors were unsure about her unconsciousness.

When Jacks prodded at Azure to get his thoughts on the matter, he’d merely replied with, Let her take her time.

It sounded immeasurably sad from him.

Jacks wondered what Azure knew about this unconsciousness that he didn’t. But he didn’t ask, and Azure offered no further explanation.

Jacks pulled the visitor chair from its corner to Chrysi’s bedside and sat beside her. After only a second of debate, he took her limp hand in his. It was strangely soft and wrong, for all her rings had been removed by the hospital staff, as had her choker necklace.

Without her jewelry, Chrysi looked even paler.

Jacks startled as a tear slid down his cheek, unbidden. He glanced up to the dark window to find his reflection staring back at him. Silently, he watched as the tear that didn’t belong to him tracked down his face.

Azure didn’t say anything. He lurked only, as if reconciling with the fact that he was a ghost now, and Jacks was the one to comfort Chrysi. But his emotions burned through Jacks all the same, as clear as if Azure had whispered—begged, really—Jacks into caring for Chrysi.

He didn’t know what to say. Hard to comfort someone that was dead, he reasoned, and he was already being nice by letting Azure use his body.

Of course, it wasn’t like he had much say in the matter, one way or another.

So he didn’t say anything.

He and Azure both watched Chrysi sleep, the monitor beeping steadily away by her side.

She was safe, finally. And if either of them had a say in the matter, she would be safe for good.

—

Chrysi’s whole body hurt when she woke up.

The doctor had smiled when she informed her of this.

“You nearly drowned,” she said kindly. “In addition to everything else you went through, it makes sense that you’ll be in pain. But that’s your body on the mend. You’ll have a couple days of observation, then you’ll be free to go.”

Chrysi nodded vaguely at this, but she thought the doctor was wrong in her assessment.

Her whole body hurt because she had lost Azure and she was never getting him back. Even just thinking it sent a shock of pain through her every nerve.

But she didn’t say that to the doctor.

Instead, she quietly asked, “Are my friends here?”

This didn’t surprise the doctor.

“Only one, right now. Do you want me to send him in?”

Chrysi was silent a moment. She didn’t need to guess who it would be.

“Can we be alone when he does?” she asked.

The doctor raised her brow in a good-natured, wry way. “I’ve got other patients to tend to.”

Normally, Chrysi would’ve joked with the doctor. A sarcastic, Wait, really? I thought I was the most important patient here, with a whole doctor to myself! But the thought made her cringe into herself.

She couldn’t recognize that person now.

Her decided-upon response was merely a nod of her head. “Please.”

If her curtness bothered the doctor, she didn’t let it show.

She stuck her head out into the hallway and said, “Alright, lover-boy. She’s ready for visitors.”

A sting proliferated her chest, digging tiny rat-claws into her heart.

Because for a second—just a second—she believed the nickname was directed to Azure, to the only one she adored.

But reality sank in too quickly, with the reminder of the well and of the library, and Chrysi hurt.

Fortunately, she masked the agonizing disappointment before Jacks entered the room.

Right. Azure was never coming back.

Jacks looked bone-weary as he came in. His shoulders stooped and his eyes were half-open and his skin paled to an ashen color.

But something of a light flickered in his eyes when he saw her sitting upright.

“I’ll leave the two of you be,” the doctor said, studiously checking something in Chrysi’s paperwork rather than look at the two of them. “Call if you need any assistance.”

She waited until the doctor was out of earshot to turn to Jacks.

“You look like hell,” she informed him readily.

He raised a brow, trying desperately to appear insulted, but only succeeding in looking more exhausted than ever. “I’ll have you know that I was the first one discharged out of all of us.”

“Ha.” She leaned back against her pillows. They were fluffier than most hospital pillows, and she wondered if Oswald had rushed them to the nicest hospital in the area. The bouquet on her bedside table certainly supported this theory. “And I bet you didn’t sleep once afterwards.”

Jacks didn’t deny it.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, then pushed his hair back. When he let go, his blue locks stood out wildly, pointing every which way. His eyes looked tireder than ever.

Sighing, he said, “Well, I wanted to make sure everyone was okay.”

“That’s very out of character for you.”

He smiled halfheartedly. “Maybe I got hit over the head and the doctors missed it.”

“Maybe,” she agreed, then fell silent.

Maybe.

Chrysi didn’t remember any of what happened. Everything Jacks said could’ve been true, and she wouldn’t know. All she remembered was waking up on the lake’s edge, freezing and sore, her lungs aching from the ice-cold water she’d inhaled, and Jacks crushing her against him as he gasped out shuddering breaths.

“Did…” She bit her lower lip, hard enough for her overly-sharp canines to draw blood. “Did I hurt anyone? When I was…”

She couldn’t bear to finish the sentence.

When she was with Azure, in her memories, blissfully happy—all while she marched to her own doom.

She couldn’t bear to think of it.

Jacks seemed to struggle with what to say. Indecisiveness made his breath shudder and his eyes slid away from her face.

That was answer enough.

“Oh God.” Chrysi dropped her head in her hands. “Oh God.”

Jacks crossed the room and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, then slid it down her back. He sat beside her, the bed dipping under his weight.

“It wasn’t you,” he murmured, rubbing comforting circles into her skin. “You know that.”

Chrysi didn’t have the tears left in her to cry. All that remained was a dry, hot, sick feeling that clawed at her throat.

“I know.” The sick feeling worsened. “I’m just ashamed.”

For a moment, Jacks’s movements hesitated. A questioning noise lilted from him.

Chrysi scowled into her hands, because it was easier than trying to force out tears. “I should’ve been stronger than that. I should’ve been able to stop it.”

“It’s… not that easy, princess,” he said, voice quiet and intimate.

She tilted her head slightly in his direction. She still did not take her head from her hands. “What—did you also get possessed? Do you also have experience with it?” The question was bitter, rhetorical. “I am well-versed with the dead. I should’ve known better, been stronger. I shouldn’t have been under its control for so long.”

Jacks didn’t answer. The tiny circles he drew on her back ceased entirely.

The hot, sick feeling pushed through her body, until it made her lightheaded, and she itched to move around in an attempt to erase it.

Besides, she had other concerns to worry about.

She leaned away from Jacks’s touch and swung her legs over the opposite side of the bed. Standing was uncomfortable, unsteady, and she nearly collapsed the moment she put any sort of weight on her legs, but she bit down hard on her tongue until the weakness abated, just slightly.

When she turned back to him, Jacks was staring at her with an unreadable look, his forehead creased and a slight frown caressing his lips. His hand lay uselessly where she had sat moments before.

Chrysi set her jaw. “Are the children awake?”

He blinked long and slow, a mannerism strange on him—something Chrysi had never once seen before.

Softly, he said, “You were the last one to wake up. They’ll be discharged sometime tomorrow.”

Chrysi nodded. “Right.”

She had one last thing to do before she left this hospital. She just hoped that she would be forgiven for it.

—

Oz stared up at Chrysi, horribly ill-looking, dark circles so deeply etched below his eyes that she wondered if ever there would come a time that they would fade away.

“I’m sorry,” he said once more. It was smaller, raspier, like his throat had been coated with broken glass and it had been scratching up the fragile skin inside.

Chrysi knew how that felt.

It was a useless apology. No apology would ever be enough for what had happened, but Chrysi did not expect—nor desire—one from Oz.

She smiled wanly to cover up the tears she was sure had long since dried up. “It wasn’t you. There is nothing to apologize for.”

In her chest lay a giant fucking hole.

Oz looked at her doubtfully, like he could see that gaping chasm from here. Maybe he could. It certainly felt big enough.

He gripped the white hospital sheets in two tight, white-knuckled fistfuls. The look on his face was lost, but Chrysi knew very well that soon he would mask it behind emptiness—a bland smile and a deep, deep well of hatred and agony towards himself.

Above all else, Chrysi did not want this.

No more casualties. She didn’t think her heart could take it. That godforsaken house wouldn’t take anything else from her.

“I mean it, Oz.” Chrysi crossed the room and laid her hand on Oz’s head.

He shuddered with a suppressed sob. Her heart shattered apart.

How desperately Chrysi wanted to go back to the start—all four of them in that library, the last rays of sunset dying on the horizon as Azure studiously ignored the time and Oz and Alice took full advantage of it. The echoes of their laughter haunted Chrysi every night and day now. Once so full of mischief. Once so carefree.

As it stood now, neither Oz nor Alice would ever smile like that again. Everything was poisoned now, tainted forever.

Chrysi hugged Oz with her free arm, even as she placed her palm flat to his forehead.

“It had nothing to do with you,” she whispered. Her final comfort. He would only need these platitudes for a fraction of the next minute longer, but she felt she had to provide them regardless. Her chest ached. “You were innocent. You did not deserve to see any of that.”

“Miss Chrysi,” Oz choked, his voice full of unshed tears.

Eyes fluttering shut, Chrysi found her head suddenly felt too heavy. She leaned her forehead to the back of the hand resting on Oz’s head.

It was a cruel spell—she’d defined it as such the first time she’d ever seen it. Chrysi didn’t believe in the eradication of memories on principle. Such things dictated life, behaviors, relationships. To erase a memory was, at its core, an immoral action.

But Chrysi would commit such a crime if it meant she could see Oz smile carelessly again.

She wondered if Azure would want the same.

It was over in seconds, and when she’d carefully untied the last corrupted threads of memory from Oz, his eyelids had become heavy.

“Miss Chrysi?” he slurred, sleepiness becoming fuzzy over him.

Chrysi reached down and smoothed his hair over his forehead. She smiled in the way she used to, back when she would put Oz and Alice to bed, before everything went to hell, even though her smile felt like it was shattering.

“Don’t force yourself to stay awake for my benefit,” she said lightly, as if she had just been in there for a chat. “You’ve had a long day, Oz. You should sleep.”

His head was already nodding, and by the time she gently pushed him back against his pillow, he’d fallen asleep.

Alice had reacted in much the same way.

Chrysi’s heart squeezed.

Seven hells, she was a monster.

—

Jacks leaned against the wall as she exited Oz’s room, his arms crossed over his chest as he gazed sightlessly at the tile flooring. He’d been silently following her around ever since she’d left her room, but when she’d asked why, he’d only given her a shrug in response.

She wondered if it were, in part, due to the fact that she shouldn’t have been moving around so much right after waking up.

Chrysi could not bear to look at Jacks.

Her gaze slipped away from him.

“Do you think I'm cruel?” she asked in a cracking voice, looking at a tasteful watercolor painting hung on the wall rather than him. “For erasing their memories like that?”

She certainly did, though she knew she would repeat this choice no matter how many times she revisited this point in her mind.

Jacks did not answer for quite some time. Still, Chrysi didn’t face him.

When he did speak, it was with melancholy thoughtfulness.

“Who am I to judge,” he murmured, “what is cruel or not?”

She flashed him a curious glance, but Jacks was frowning at his hands rather than looking at her.

Her heart twisted.

For whatever reason, she felt like Jacks wasn’t standing beside her in the hallway at all. Like he had tucked himself away, somewhere far, far beyond her reach. The feeling frightened her.

Chrysi walked back to her hospital room, a distinctly unmoored feeling proliferating her as she went along.

She didn’t see Jacks look back up with an anguished look on his face.

Nor did she see the flash of red that stole over his eyes for just one second.

—

Azure hadn’t wanted Chrysi to be there when his body was extracted from the well, for reasons that Jacks agreed with, wholeheartedly.

But Chrysi was stubborn, and she was there anyway.

She stood silently during the entire process, her posture too rigid and her face a stone mask. Inside, Jacks knew her to be in agony. His heart ached for her. All he could do was stand close to her and pray that she knew what that meant.

Only when Azure’s broken form reached the surface did Chrysi sob.

It sounded like a tree splitting down the middle, like a thunder crack, like everything had crumbled to dust in that one moment. Her expression shattered into a thousand pieces. Tears coursed down her face.

Jacks wrapped his arm around her, grateful when Chrysi didn’t fight it.

As she buried her face into his shirt, Azure’s grief for Chrysi ran a serrated blade over Jacks’s own heartstrings. Every part of him reached out for Chrysi, fingers ghostly and never leaving Jacks’s body, and it hurt more than he’d expected.

Jacks stepped back to let Azure hold her instead.

Azure gratefully accepted. He held Chrysi tighter, closer, desperate and never intending to let go—the way it should’ve been.

He didn’t let go until his body was long out of sight. It was only then that Chrysi’s sobs trailed off and she realized it was Jacks that she was clinging to.

Azure let Chrysi go—doing a poor job of imitating Jacks, but thankfully, Chrysi was too deeply entrenched in her grief to notice—with great restraint.

Jacks had to watch silently as Azure’s heart breaking made his own ache painfully.

—

Azure had never asked Jacks to, but Jacks understood anyway—that there was a will to forge, and all Azure’s belongings to go to Chrysi.

It was made convenient by being a Fate with countless connections. Even more convenient when the second soul rattling around in his body could make an impeccable forgery with Jacks’s own hand.

Within hours of the discovery of Azure’s body, Jacks had managed to unearth a miraculously hidden will—something giving Chrysi a margin of relief.

He knew that Chrysi knew it was all fake. She could read him to the bone with that glint in her eyes.

But she couldn’t get down to his soul, and that was where Azure LaFaye still lingered.

His secret was kept.

For now.

—

Chrysi couldn’t remember much of the funeral. Her eyes had been swollen from tears, everything a horrible mix of wet and dry, hot and cold, and she couldn’t bear to look at Azure’s grave.

They’d flown to America for the funeral—though Azure had never said he visited it for long enough to warrant him being buried there.

Even more suspicious was that he was interred in the local Salem graveyard, in Chrysi’s home state of Massachusetts—a place Azure had never once visited, when he was alive.

Chrysi imagined that had a lot to do with Jacks, who had barely stepped two feet away from her since the service started. He studiously kept avoiding her gaze, keeping his eyes locked on the gravestone, the trees, the mausoleum beyond.

He was the only one with the connections to forge a will like that.

Perhaps it was the only way he could think to soften the blow. Azure would always be close to her home. She could always visit him. He wouldn’t be trapped in England, which he confessed to hating. He wouldn’t be out of reach in France, where his stifling family lived and his dead ex-fiancée was buried.

So she lowered her head, clasping the bundle of roses for Azure’s grave to her chest, and she murmured, “This is a strange consolation gift, you know.”

Jacks shifted at her side. Chrysi studied him from the corner of her eye.

It was strange, seeing him in clothing so pristine. He normally would’ve had his shirt untucked, his sleeves ragged, his boots scuffed.

But out of respect—something Chrysi didn’t think Jacks had—he’d worn neat black shoes, pointed at the toes (so much like the dress shoes Azure would wear in life, and her heart wanted to stop beating all over again, the grief that overwhelmed her was so great), and his slacks had a subtle pinstripe to them, onyx through midnight black. The ensemble was finished with a comfortable-looking black sweater with a high neck.

Chrysi hadn’t put half as much thought into what she’d worn. Her eyes were blurry from the moment she’d awoken, everything falling over her in a haze. Even her sister, normally so cold, had to take pity on her to help her prepare for the funeral of the love of her life. All she had to show for it was a black dress that she’d once worn when she’d dressed as Wednesday Addams for Halloween, and it killed her to wear something like it to Azure’s funeral.

Though, she wondered that if he knew, would he have laughed?

She hoped so. She could almost hear it, the way it would sound almost like a song when he was amused.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Jacks replied after a moment.

It startled her back to the present. The shade of Azure drifted away, the last half-remembered notes of his voice dissipating with it.

Chrysi thought she might shatter all over again, for the upteenth time since Azure died all those months ago.

(But nobody knew that, the police had put Azure’s death date to a few days before his body was found, all because of Chrysi’s attempts to keep the decay at bay, and nobody but Jacks now knew that Azure had died almost three months ago instead of two weeks ago, and the fact wanted to rend Chrysi apart.)

“Azure didn’t have a will,” she clarified with a broken-hearted smile. It chafed at her face, clearly not something suited for her. “Who has one, when you’re only twenty-six?”

“Rich people,” Jacks answered.

She shook her head. “He wouldn’t have asked to be buried here.”

Jacks sucked in a breath to counteract her statement, but she cut him off with a gentle, “I suppose that what I mean to say is ‘thank you’.”

He stopped. He looked down.

“You’re welcome.” His voice sounded scratched on the way up.

She lifted her head again and, hugging the roses to her chest one last time, she smiled sadly at him. The scent of crushed flowers wreathed around her head, the most like a hug from Azure she could ever get now.

Jacks cocked his head to the side strangely, a lock of blue hair falling across his eyes as he watched her silently.

(Another mannerism that she’d never seen from him, but Chrysi was slowly growing accustomed to the strange mannerisms now.)

Chrysi broke from his side to walk up to Azure’s grave.

She wasn’t sure who had decided on the design in the stone, but whoever had gotten it engraved knew her Azure well. Rose vines wreathed his name, a delicate bloom resting on the A and another tangled in the curve of the Y. The font chosen was Azure’s favorite (a fact that Chrysi used to tease him about—for who had a font they loved so dearly that they would put it in their gravestone?). The quote below his death dates broke her heart in how wholly Azure it was: It is night and I am reflecting on everything all around me.

She knelt down in the cold dirt—hard from the morning frost, and she hoped Azure wouldn’t be too cold underground—and lay the roses over the earth heaped under the stone.

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“This was for the best,” she whispered to the stone. She placed a hand on it, even though the coldness of the stone bit at her hand. “It has to be. There’s no other way that I can be okay with this if I don’t say that.”

Another tear slipped down her cheek.

“Please tell me you’re happy now, at the very least,” she begged. “Please tell me that you’re warm and happy and you’re beating all those angels at chess. Please tell me that there are lonely cats there that like to jump in your lap and purr while you scratch between their ears. Please tell me that you’re taking impossible photographs now that you don’t have the same physical constraints. Just… come down here, Azure, and say goodbye one last time.”

More tears came now, but they came too fast, hot and furious. They hurt against her cold skin.

“I can’t have our last goodbye be in that library,” she weeped. “I can’t live with that. Please, bunny, please.”

“Chryseis,” Jacks said behind her, then his hands were on her, gentle and warm in comparison to the icy dirt and the cold gravestone and the winter bite in the air.

Trying desperately to blink the tears from her eyes, she lifted her face to him.

Her eyesight was blurry, but she couldn’t miss the way Jacks’s face twisted in anguish.

“Let’s come away, Chryseis. It’s cold here.”

And she let him, because it felt more right to have Jacks’s hands holding her than to crumple at the rock that claimed Azure was there.

—

“It’s not fair,” Chrysi whispered one day, curled up in the deep corner of Jacks’s couch.

She’d taken to crashing at his home after the funeral, despite Oswald’s insistence that she can stay at the Manor for however long she wanted. Jacks couldn’t blame her. Too much poisoned the memories of that place, even after it had been scrubbed clean of its ghosts.

And, he figured, she came to him because of the semblance of familiarity between the two. They’d both been taken captive by the possessed Oz Vessalius. They’d both been sacrifices, new bodies for Jack Vessalius’s scheme. They’d both lost their best friend.

Lost him in a sense, Jacks reminded himself, for the fourth, unspoken reason that Chrysi came to him—one she would never know—still haunted deep inside Jacks’s body.

They were soulmates. He knew it just as well as he knew his heart thumped in his chest. Chrysi would recognize Azure’s soul, even if she didn’t know it.

“What’s not fair?” he asked, though he had a pretty good idea of all the recent unfairness in Chrysi’s life. Tragedy, more like it.

Her eyes greyed. She sank into the couch, until it looked as though it would swallow her whole.

“Everyone else got to say goodbye to him,” she whispered, tears trembling in her voice. “Everyone else got to see him one last time. But he never did anything like that with me. He left, Jacks. He left me.”

He stared at Chrysi, stunned into silence. Guilt pulsed in the crooks of his body.

Azure hadn’t said goodbye, that was true. But Jacks knew that there wasn’t any reason for him to. He hadn’t left in the first place—there was no goodbye for him to say.

But he couldn’t tell Chrysi that. Azure begged Jacks into silence, desperate to minimize the damage he’d caused from when he’d haunted her from the start. He claimed he could not bear to put Chrysi through that again.

Jacks thought it was horribly cruel.

And yet, he still promised Azure that he would keep silent. Jacks always kept his promises.

Even when Chrysi stared at him with tear-filled eyes and pain shrouding her.

“Maybe he couldn’t control it,” Jacks said around a clumsy tongue. “Maybe it was too hard to stay there, after Jack Vessalius wasn’t keeping him trapped.”

She stared at him, her mouth pressed tight to hold back tears. She gave a tiny shake of her head.

“No,” she whispered, and it was a heartbreaking sound. “That’s not Azure. He would’ve found a way. He could’ve found a way.”

He did, Jacks wanted to say. He did, and he’s decided not to use it to tell you, even when I think it’s the most selfish decision in the world.

But Azure’s presence bit at him, so Jacks instead said, “Sometimes you can’t find a way. That’s the way life is. It’s cruel and unfair, and it’s all up to the people in it to try and make it bearable.”

Chrysi laughed. It gouged at him like that dagger that had once been pushed into his chest.

“Life’s been pretty fucking unbearable so far,” she said bitterly. “And no matter what everyone does, it doesn’t help.”

Jacks knew it was pointless to ask—even Azure tugged at him, tried to get him to stop—but still he did.

“What would help?”

She looked at him then. That was when Jacks realized he was staring at a corpse of a woman, that she was a ghost trapped in a living, breathing body. The gold in her eyes looked like sick stars, destined to fall from the sky. Her face was pale as an illustration of a cursed princess. Her hair fell in tangles, a ruined wedding veil.

“Azure.”

Pain sparked from the ghost in his body. If it had been like that first night they’d coexisted, Jacks knew he would’ve collapsed from it.

Fortunately, he had time to acclimate to Azure’s emotions by now, and the worst of it merely made him dig his nails into his palms. Blood beaded there.

“He can’t come back, princess,” Jacks said softly, knowing damn well it was a lie.

He thought he heard Azure choke on a sob in the back of his mind. His hard-earned bitterness made him think that Azure deserved it, just a little bit.

Chrysi’s nose wrinkled. A single tear fell from the corner of her eye.

“Then how can I keep going?” she whispered.

Jacks shook his head. “That, I don’t know.”

Her face dropped further. His heart dropped with it.

“But if you’d like company while you figure it out,” he added, “then know that my door will probably never stay locked to you for long.”

She looked at him strangely, her mouth twisted at an odd angle, and her brows furrowed together. He realized it was an attempt at amusement from her.

Her laugh was waterlogged. “Right. Because if it were, I’d crawl in through your window.”

Jacks smiled too, just as cautious. “Yes. But also because I will give you a key to my house to offset that very scenario.”

Chrysi laughed again.

It still sounded broken, uneven, something that she’d forgotten how to do properly, but Jacks thought it was a step in the right direction.

—

It took a while for her to smile again and truly mean it. Jacks estimated two years had passed before she smiled and laughed in that genuine, sparkling way she used to.

And of course it was at his expense.

When Chrysi first unearthed the photos of the time he had blue hair, his reaction was to panic. They had been taken by Azure, back before everything had gone to hell and back again—and while Chrysi’s swept-off-her-feet grief days had become much, much longer in between, he didn’t know if the photographs might trigger another one of her episodes.

But Chrysi had merely shaken out her long white hair (longer now, much, much longer, so long that Chrysi asked him to braid it up for her more often than not) and laughed.

It broke over the room in a kaleidoscope rainbow, with fragments of color dancing in the light. It made Jacks’s heart surge, and it made Azure rise to attention in the back of his mind.

“Fucking hell,” she laughed, though she pressed a hand to her mouth in a poor attempt to save Jacks’s feelings. “I forgot how awful blue hair looked on you.”

I didn’t, Azure said helpfully.

Jacks ignored him.

He stared at her, then looked to the photograph again. In it, he was lounging on the bench in the Baskerville Manor’s gardens, an apple held in one hand while he lifted his chin in a lazy, wicked way. There wasn’t quite a smile on his face—too soon after Tella had broken off their marriage for him to smile—but there was a hint of cruel amusement on the corners of his lips.

And his hair was dark midnight blue, severe against his skin. His eyes looked like chips of ice underneath the unruly mop of it.

He frowned. “What was so wrong with it?” He touched his hair lightly. “Some days, I even miss it.”

You shouldn’t.

Jacks bit down on an annoyed retort.

At times like these, it was easy to forget Chrysi didn’t know Azure was inside of him, easy to fall into the habit of bantering amongst the three of them. At times like these, Jacks grieved the loss of their once-normal.

Chrysi rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m glad your hair is blonde again.”

Jacks frowned at her. Self-consciously, he tugged on a lock of hair, pulling it into his range of vision. He tried to superimpose the blue back onto it, but he couldn’t remember it properly. “It didn’t look that bad.”

“Hm.” Chrysi did not sound convinced. “Post-breakup hair dye is never a good idea.”

Now that Jacks found interesting.

He turned to her, curious. Even Azure didn’t seem to know what she was referring to, based on the way he hummed curiously in the back of Jacks’s mind.

“And what breakup did you dye your hair after?” he inquired.

She froze. Her eyes widened comically, her mouth pressing together.

“You don’t need to know that,” she finally said, delicately placing the photograph back in its place in his desk drawer. “But, for the record, the color I chose complemented me much better than the color you chose.”

Jacks shot her a doubtful look. “And what color did you choose?”

She grinned. “Pink.” Reaching out, she took a lock of his hair between her fingers, her smile becoming more thoughtful. “You would’ve benefited more from pink as well. It would’ve suited you more.”

Oh, but he wasn’t feeling very pink at the time, Azure muttered in the back of his mind. You’re different like that, Chryseis.

Jacks flinched slightly, hopefully imperceptibly.

He wondered if Azure forgot Chrysi didn’t know he was there too.

Perhaps out of pity, he falteringly used Azure’s words as his own: “I wasn’t feeling very pink at the time. Not many people do.”

It sounded strange in his voice. It would’ve sounded better in Azure’s.

Chrysi hummed. Her eyes flashed over his face—not quite searchingly, but there was a gleam to her eyes he couldn’t read.

Then she smiled a strange smile.

“No,” she said. “But I’m different like that, aren’t I?”

—

One year after that, and that was when Jacks admitted his feelings to Chrysi—only a week after he informed Azure that he loved Chrysi, to which Azure replied with, Clearly. How else did you think I possessed you so easily?

Jacks didn’t think of that.

He’d spent the rest of the day in an embarrassed haze, unwilling to look Chrysi in the eye when she’d wandered into his study after he hadn’t come to the door.

By now, Chrysi used the key he’d given her all those years ago liberally. Some days, Jacks awoke to her in his mostly-unused kitchen, prodding at his bags of apples and muttering under her breath. Other days, he’d return to her cleaning his house, windows ajar as she aired it out, her hair neatly pulled up into a kerchief and a cleaning apron tied around her waist.

He’d grown accustomed to her, and the days where he’d come home to his house empty of a certain Chryseis Diana Solstice, he found himself disappointed.

That night, they’d been walking home from a party Chrysi dragged herself to. Something about childhood friends, a personal high school reunion to make up for the one Chrysi missed, something where they’d gone and bought tickets to an exclusive art museum gala.

Jacks could tell that Chrysi had hated every second of it. Enough so that she decided she’d rather walk home in the snowfall outside rather than stay any second longer.

He looked at her from the corner of his eye. When he poked at Azure curiously, even he couldn’t come up with an answer.

“What did you hate so much about it?” he finally asked, his breath clouding in the air.

Snow drifted over her like a deconstructed crown of diamonds. Her eyes looked foggy, even when she looked at him.

“Hm? Oh. Well, it’s just all so stupid, isn’t it?” She tilted her face to the sky, her eyelashes fluttering over her freckled cheeks. Snowflakes danced over her skin, kissing along every freckle in the way Jacks sometimes imagined doing—in the way he’d accidentally saw Azure do once, when Azure’s memories slipped into Jacks’s dreams one night. “They’re all so different now. So am I. It was agony, trying to pretend that we weren’t.”

Jacks wondered how that felt. With all the other Fates, they never changed. Ever the same, ever cruel, ever obsessed with their own tiny schemes. He was the only one who had changed, but he could blame that on the spirit in his body.

Not entirely, Azure pointed out.

Jacks ignored him, like he always did.

“You couldn’t even enjoy the art?” he asked wryly.

Chrysi rolled her eyes. “They act like that hasn’t been there for years. It’s a stupid party that the city throws every year with the exact same exhibits every year.” She sighed, shook her head. “Sorry, I came on a little strong. The art was nice, but it was just that everything felt so suffocating. None of us could forget that the last time I couldn’t make it to the reunion was because… well, you know.” She dropped her head, studied the snow banks lining the sidewalk. Snow dislodged, spinning in the air from her shoulders. “Azure’s funeral ground a lot of things to a halt. It’s fine to be grieving on the day of, but after that… they didn’t know how to handle things. They wanted me to be the Chrysi from before, but I couldn’t be—and they know that, they do, but God, it’s horrible.”

She fell quiet. A wistful bitterness twisted her mouth.

“They stopped talking to me the moment it became clear I couldn’t be fun. I can’t fault them for it, but it still felt… very isolating, at the time.”

He was silent a moment, debating.

Then, quietly, he said, “I didn’t think you were horrible to be around after Azure died.”

Chrysi looked up, frowned at him.

“You’re lying,” she decided after a moment. “I was fucking miserable.”

Laughing lightly, he shook his head. “I’m not. You weren’t any different, just grieving. You were less mean to me, but that’s the only thing I can think of—and it was nice, not fighting for my life every time we spoke.”

That lit something up in the depths of her eyes. A tiny smirk flashed over her mouth.

“I can be doubly mean to make up for it,” she suggested.

“No, thank you. I’m fine.” He looked down at her, taken by how lovely she looked in the snowfall. He continued, “Don’t you remember when you went through my entire library and rearranged everything?”

Chrysi smiled questioningly, her brows knitting together. She gestured for him to go on.

“You took everything off the shelves, had everything dusted and organized, and completely ruined my filing system within two hours.”

“What filing system?” she interrupted innocently.

Jacks shot her a narrow-eyed look. “I slept through it all,” he finished. “And when I woke up, I couldn’t find anything. It was the hardest you’d laughed in months.”

Also the hardest Azure had laughed in months. Even though he had no breath, Azure had laughed so hard he’d become breathless. It had made even Jacks dizzy, though it hadn’t used any of his body’s air at all.

Chrysi snorted. “Yeah, well, it was an excellent reaction out of you. I should’ve done more than that.”

“I would’ve kicked you out of my house and changed the locks.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. You’d be bored without me.”

Jacks stopped walking then.

He stopped and he looked at her, and he was enamoured with every part of her. With her unnecessarily long hair, the way it would catch in the door sometimes and the way he found frighteningly-long strands of hair around the house and the way she would get irritated and ask him to braid it out of her way. With her bright, mischievous eyes and the way they would glitter whenever she knew something he didn’t. With her freckles, the way they danced over her skin, with the freckle on her bottom lip, left-hand side, and how Jacks would look at it and wonder what it would be like to kiss it.

With Chrysi Solstice and her immutable presence, the way it gave his home a feeling he’d never thought it could have, where he wanted to keep coming back to it, instead of staying at Mistress Luck’s or never staying anywhere.

Chrysi paused and she looked back at him with an arch to her brow. She gestured forward curiously. “It’s cold as hell out here. Aren’t you going to get going?”

“You’re right,” he blurted. “I wouldn’t have kicked you out. I never would’ve. Never will.” And not just for the reason that Azure would make Jacks’s life a living hell if he couldn’t see Chrysi. “I like it whenever you’re there.”

She ceased moving entirely. Her eyes bored into him, wide, unblinking even when a snowflake caught in her silvery eyelashes. A streetlight shone behind her, the light catching in her white hair and haloing it.

At times like these, it was like she was staring into his soul.

His throat felt too dry.

Still, he smiled.

“I’ve taken a liking to you, Chrysi Solstice,” he said. “More than I’d originally anticipated.”

She stared at him. “Oh, is that it?”

He froze.

She still didn’t move, her eyes still peering right into him, cutting straight to the core of him. “See, I thought you were going to say you loved me. And I was going to say that I love you too.”

“I…”

She rocked back on her heels, shoving her hands deep into her coat’s pockets. She didn't look away from him. “Should’ve had an idea you liked me since I could hear your heartbeat that night, but I really only figured it out last year. Goes to show how observant I really am.”

“Wait…”

Even Azure was somewhat stunned.

“…You knew?” he asked weakly.

Chrysi cast her eyes skyward. “Jacks, you gave me a key to your house and you let me use it whenever I want. That’s typically a couple steps into relationship territory.”

A flush spread over his cheeks, hot enough to combat the elements.

Why did he have to become friends with the two most observant individuals he’d had the misfortune to come across?

“Oh.”

…That was a bit forward of you, Azure agreed.

Oh, shut up, Jacks snapped. It was partway your idea.

Azure hummed vaguely. Jacks wasn’t quite sure what that meant.

Chrysi broke from her position and approached Jacks. She lay a hand on his chest, right above his heart.

It hammered in his chest, beating ever faster and harder with her so close.

A fascinated, satisfied curl twisted her lips upwards. Her eyelashes fluttered over her cheeks, hiding the look in her eyes from him.

“It’s cold as hell out here,” she repeated, softer.

Snow fell into her curls, blending in with the white of them. She looked like a princess from a fairy tale, and she was pressing against Jacks.

She looked up, and she looked even more beautiful. Light glittered in her eyes.

She grinned. “It’s warmer together, isn’t it?”

Jacks wrapped an arm around her waist, the other delving into her cold hair.

Then his mouth was on hers, desperate and warm and happy, and her mouth was on his, soft and gentle and kissing him, kissing him, kissing him, immune to his curse and more pleased still to be actually kissing him.

Chrysi was right.

It was warmer together. Much, much warmer.

—

Sometimes Jacks’s reflection was not his own.

It would always be in the corner of his eye—a flash of black hair and red eyes in the place of Jacks’s blonde hair and silver-blue eyes, a smile Jacks wasn’t smiling, a face that Jacks didn’t have.

And though he’d become accustomed to Azure and his constant presence, it scared the hell out of Jacks.

He frowned at his reflection in the window on one such occasion. In a coffee shop window, Azure stared back at Jacks instead of himself.

The illusion clung to him this time in a way it never had before. Azure’s eyes stared back at him instead of his own, intense and glimmering, made more startling by his long black eyelashes.

Jacks raised his hand cautiously.

The reflection copied him, but there was something slightly off about it. On a delay, as if Azure were forcing himself to move in the same way Jacks did.

A fraction of alarm began to make the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

What are you doing? he asked Azure silently.

Azure didn’t seem to have any answers—but from the silent fascination Jacks felt from him, it didn’t appear to be something Azure was doing on purpose.

It made Jacks uneasy.

“Hey.” A hand landed on his back, between his shoulder blades.

Jacks yelped and tore away from the window.

He whipped around to find Chrysi staring at him, her hand still lifted from when she touched him, and her eyes widened. A tiny smile curled at the edge of her lips.

Nodding her head at the window, she said, “You’re scaring the passerby, Jacky.” She propped her chin up in her hand. “What’re you looking at out there?”

“I…” He glanced back at the window, but his reflection was his own again—golden hair, blue eyes, and his skin pale, pale, pale from his fright. “Nothing.”

He turned back to Chrysi holding her drink close, her eyes curious and bright.

“Really,” he insisted. “It was nothing. I was just deep in thought.”

“I didn’t know you were capable of that,” Chrysi teased.

“Guess there’s a first time for everything.” He laughed, and it was too nervous for his comfort.

Her eyes flickered to the window, then back to him.

“Guess so,” she said.

—

Jacks got used to waking up in the middle of the night to Azure quietly tugging the control of Jacks’s body from him. It was years after years of it—falling asleep with Chrysi curled up in his arms, only to wake hours later to the familiar ghost of his long-dead friend.

“You could’ve taken your time,” Jacks muttered, like he did every night, but after all this time, there was no longer a note of bitterness to the words.

And even though he no longer had his own face, the ghost would smile.

Any time I take will never be enough for you, he said. You’re selfish with her.

Jacks couldn’t argue, because he knew it was true.

He would hoard all of Chrysi’s love if it came down to it. Each moment with her sparkled, brightened, and it meant everything to him.

But still, he stepped back and let Azure settle into his bones.

At least Jacks got the days with Chrysi. Azure stopped claiming them shortly after he’d died.

Jacks watched, half-asleep, as Azure brushed the hair from Chrysi’s face. He traced down the curve of her cheek with gentle fingertips, silently reverent. Everything he did reveled in her, lingered on her, studied her and catalogued it for when he couldn’t be the one holding her.

Chrysi shifted in her sleep.

Then her eyes opened, sleepy and pretty, brilliant gold and soft red, looking directly at Azure. A smile curved her mouth, made even more gentle by her sleepiness.

Azure smiled down at her. “Hello, Chryseis.”

She smiled back. She wrapped her arm around the back of his neck, played with the hair at the nape of his neck.

Then she tilted her face up, and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Hello, bunny,” she whispered back.

#w.mine #s.chryzure #s.chrysijacks #extended ending is both azure and jacks going ‘HUH’

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tnott · 1 year

Text

[18 December 1993]

“So,” Theo’s father said, “what would you like to do for your birthday next week?”

He had picked her up from the Hogwarts Express earlier that day, and now the two of them were sitting across from each other at the small table in the kitchen, partway through a meal of fried cod and spiced red lentils. Normally Theo would have been enjoying the food — it was one of her favorite dishes — but she hadn’t had much of an appetite lately, and so far she’d only managed to swallow a few mouthfuls.

She answered her father’s question with a shrug, pushing the lentils around her plate with her fork. She’d be turning fourteen on the coming Wednesday, but she hadn’t given the occasion much thought; she’d spent the past few weeks simply focusing on the fact that she would soon be home, home with her dad and her dog, and away from those horrible Dementors. Just riding past them in the thestral-drawn carriage had nearly made her sick, and she’d felt clammy and chilled for the entire train ride back to London.

“We could go to a museum,” her father suggested. “Or a concert, perhaps. A trip to the city would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

She shrugged again. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”

With her attention fixed on her plate, she couldn’t see the look in Leontius Nott’s eyes as he gazed at his daughter — weighing, assessing, and more than a little worried.

“You’re not eating,” he said gently. “Are you feeling well, Theo?”

Once more, she shrugged. “I’m not really hungry,” she said. “I think I’ll go to bed early.” She didn’t wait for permission, but got to her feet, pushed in her chair, and placed her half-full plate on the counter beside the sink. Nell, the house elf, would take care of it. Then she kissed her father on the cheek.

“Goodnight, Dad,” she said.

He squeezed her around the shoulders and said, “I’ll come tuck you in once you’ve changed, all right, my girl?”

She nodded, once more missing the look of concern on her father’s lined face, and then left the kitchen. Hal padded along behind her, his collar jingling as they climbed the stairs; the dog followed her nearly everywhere when she was home, keeping her company as she read or played, and spending his nights sleeping at the foot of her bed.

When she reached her room, she closed the door behind her and sank onto the mattress, staring up at the familiar blue ceiling with its smattering of silver stars. She didn’t change right away, but simply lay there, feeling too listless to move. She’d thought she would be all right here, safe at home, far from the looming Dementors and the dark castle and her beastly classmates. She’d expected the leaden weight that had settled in her chest to fall away when she finally saw her father. But it hadn’t. She felt no less hollow or tired or cold than she had yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that.

Part of her wanted to tell her father, but something held her back. Not fear, precisely; she knew Dad would never be upset with her. But she didn’t want to disappoint him. She didn’t want him to think that she was weak, that she couldn’t cope with a simple Dementor. No one else at school seemed to be affected by them the way she was, except perhaps Potter. But then, Potter was always having funny turns. The Dark Lord’s curse had addled his brains, or so Mr. Malfoy had once said.

Still, even Potter’s fainting spells occurred only when he was physically near the Dementors. Theo didn’t have to be near them; their chill seemed to follow her throughout the castle like some miasma of despair, leaving her breathless and sleepless, empty and cold. Even here, safe in her bedroom with Hal beside her, it was hard for her to feel anything but a bone-deep sense of exhaustion.

Eventually she roused herself, fetching her flannel pajamas from beneath her pillow and changing into them. Not long after that, there was a knock on her door, and her father called, “Theo, are you decent?”

“Yes,” she said, sliding off the bed and walking across the carpet to the door. Her father entered, still dressed from dinner, and for a brief moment it struck Theo how old he was — grey and stooped, his round face wrinkled and his knuckles swollen with arthritis. He was old, and someday he would die. He would die, and he would go in the ground with her mother, and then Theo would be alone.

Abruptly, she burst into tears.

“My girl,” she heard her father say, “my girl, what’s wrong?” But she simply shook her head and fell into his arms, crying harder than she’d cried in ages.

She didn’t know how long they stood there, her father holding her tightly as she sobbed into the folds of his robe, Hal padding over to sit beside her, grounding her with his warm weight as he leaned against her leg. It was only when her tears had receded to hiccoughs that her father spoke again.

“Come here,” he said, guiding her out into the hall. “Come with me.” He led her to his own room, Hal following, and shepherded her onto the loveseat in the corner. Then he pulled out one of her mother’s knitted afghans and wrapped it around her before sitting down beside her.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” he asked softly.

That set off another flood of tears, and it was some time before Theo calmed down enough to speak. “I don’t feel right,” she managed to choke out, wiping her streaming eyes on the corner of the afghan. “I don’t— I don’t—”

She dissolved once more into sobs. Between gasped breaths, she told her father everything — about the Dementors, about that horrible boggart, about her falling grades, her sleepless nights and, most of all, about the hollow, echoing despair that seemed to have settled into her very bones.

“I’m so tired,” she hiccuped, once her torrential confession had subsided, “always, all the time, but I can never sleep — I don’t even know when I last slept. If I could just freeze the world somehow and really sleep for a few months—”

“Shh,” her father said, holding her close. “It’s all right, Theo.” He brushed a strand of hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. “You’re having a melancholy fit. I had hoped you would escape them, since they passed over me, but I’m afraid they do run in the family.”

”Is there a way to make it stop?” she asked, sniffling a little.

”There’s no cure,” he said, and his blue eyes were sad as he looked at her. “But there is a special tea that I can teach you to make. I’m afraid it’s not like Pepper-Up; you won’t feel better right away. But if you drink it every morning, it will help.”

A wave of relief seemed to be washing over Theo, and she leaned sideways to rest her head against her father’s shoulder. He knew. He knew what this was, and he knew how to fix it, and he didn’t seem disappointed in her at all. He just seemed concerned.

”I think, right now, we should start by getting you a good night’s rest,” he said. “I’ll give you a sleeping draught, and we can tackle the bigger problems in the morning.”

She nodded and then asked, softly, “Can I stay here tonight?” She would feel safer with her father near than she would alone in her own room.

“Of course.” With a wave of his wand, her father conjured up a pillow and placed it in Theo’s lap. As he went to fetch the sleeping draught, Theo settled herself on the cushions, burrowing under the afghan and then whistling Hal up beside her. The dog bounded onto the loveseat, his golden tail wagging, and curled up by her feet.

”Here you are,” her father said a moment later, returning with a glass of purple potion.

Obediently, Theo drank the lot before laying her head down on the pillow and closing her eyes.

”Sleep,” she heard her father say, just before she drifted into slumber. “Hal’s here. I’m here. We’ll take care of you.”

#hc list #headcanons #v; what did you learn in school today?#c: leontius nott #c: hal #mental illness #wizard angst #depression cw

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nctsworld · 3 years

Text

reigniting

SUMMARY ⇾ your hate for your dance captain (and ex-best friend) melts and evolves into something more for the night. WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ smut (near the end), car s*x, swearing, angst in backstory RATING ⇾ mature FOR ⇾ @markleesflathead

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ yes i’m bitter that most of my fics in ask form don’t show up in tag so i might have to post them as individual fics hhh || @markleesflathead idk how this ended up into car s*x but i’m sorry if it isn’t what you really expected slkfmd also i’m v flattered to be one of your fave writers *_* thanks for the bday wishes!!

“I missed this.”

Mark suddenly says into the air after catching his breath from all the laughing he just did. With the hand that’s been resting on the steering wheel since he parked the car fifteen minutes ago, he swipes his thumb against it.

Your laughter subsides too, turning your head in the passenger seat to get a good look at him.

The closest street lamp isn’t near enough to cast a light to see all his features clearly, but you don’t need much lighting to see the waver behind his bespectacled face, nor the way his Adam’s apple bobs.

“I missed you,” he whispers softly, then matches your eyes with a tilt of his head.

The beginning was simple. You and Mark, best friends since middle school, about to attend the same university and were going to do everything together, including extracurriculars.

Which included the university’s main competitive hip-hop dance team, since both of you were on your high school’s too.

From what you heard from upperclassmen, every year, the team offered at least five spots open. Of course, Mark and you were confident in yourselves and each other to make the team.

But during your first year, only one spot was available on the team.

The straining of your friendship began to slowly occur, since you saw less of each other in order to train more individually for the auditions.

And when the auditions happened, there was a new tension between Mark and you. Still friends, but competitiveness was a prevalent wall between you two.

The wall grew larger, tangled with vines of jealousy and bitterness, when Mark received the spot, not you.

Both parties tried hard to keep the friendship afloat, but it eventually came crashing down.

“You’re just fucking jealous that I got in and you didn’t.”

“Yeah,” you said. “and I should be, because I’m the better dancer.”

“As if.” he scoffed. He spat out the next words venomously—

“If you were better they would’ve chose you, but you’ve just never been as good of a dancer as me.”

That was the last time you spoke to Mark... for a while, at least.

When second year came by, you decided to prove him wrong and obtain a spot on the team. Successfully, you did, but partway through the term, the captain dropped out and, to your dismay, Mark was given captaincy.

Fast-forward to today, Mark constantly gave you shit during practices and you knew it was personal.

Sure, you could’ve quit, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. However, you always did wonder why he didn’t decide to kick you off the team when he had the power to do so.

Following one practice, Mark ordered you to come by the studio on a separate night for a talk. He claimed it to be extra training, but you were mentally prepared for him to finally remove you from the team.

However, you were wrong and the unexpected happened—the wall between you two began to crumble. The hostile professionalism during the extra session grew into an area of familiarity, remnants of a lost friendship. After the session, Mark swallowed his pride and apologized about what he said back then, even offering to take you out to dinner.

During the meal, both of you caught each other up on the last year or so, and at the end of the night, Mark drove you home.

Laughing, smiling, and talking with you like the last couple of years were a nightmare faded into nothingness.

And you didn’t mind it, because you missed him too.

But instead of telling him that, you nibble on your bottom lip and rock your head forward with a small smile.

Continuing the conversation from where you left off, after Mark agreed to stop giving you such a hard time during practice, you say, “Can I ask you to stop doing one more thing during practice?”

“What’s up?”

“Please, for the love of God,” you say with your hands clasped in a prayer. “Stop rolling your shirt sleeves up, it’s terribly distracting.”

A hearty chuckle escapes from Mark, leaning his head back into the headrest. “Why is it distracting?”

“You know why!” you exclaim, beaming. “I know you do it on purpose!”

He cocks an eyebrow playfully. “And why would I do that?”

Rolling your eyes, you reply, "Because I know the oh-so humble Mark Lee still loves it when he gets attention."

The driver runs his tongue over the bottom of his teeth in a smirk, hand still on the steering wheel.

"And what about you?” he retorts. “You must still have a thing for arms if you think it's distracting."

You gasp inaudibly, unsure of how he could still remember that tidbit after all these years, and you twist your upper body to inch near him, glaring at him accusingly. "Is that why you do it?"

"Maybe, maybe not..." he shrugs nonchalantly. Leaning closer to you, parroting your stance, he adds in a teasing whisper along with a squint of his eyes.

"You'll never know."

There’s a passing beat as your eyes lock, one that carries the weight of the years of loving each other as friends, hating each other as enemies, working together as dancers, and everything in between.

A moment of connection that represents what everything has been working towards to for a long time, even if you never thought you’d have the chance to ever have Mark in your life again.

His look falters for a millisecond, flicking to your lips, then straight back to your eyes as if he shouldn’t have done that.

The corner of your mouth lifts slightly.

"Are you going to kiss me, Mark,” you whisper daringly. “or are you going to keep staring?"

You’re awfully aware of both of your breathing. Yours, heavy and wanting. His, light and barely existent.

"How do you know I wanna kiss you?" he croaks, a small crack in his voice underlying his question.

Because maybe a little part of you always wondered what it’d be like for Mark Lee to want to kiss you since you were kids—for him to send you that anxious starry-eyed yearning that could send your heart into cardiac arrest.

And now, from first-hand experience, you know it really does.

You hold your breath and question back—

"Am I wrong?”

The tension in the air snaps. He’s fast to cup your cheeks and crash his mouth into yours. Soft lips move in tandem with yours as you rest your hands on his shoulders, lightly tugging at his body.

The first, tender kiss is quickly thrown aside, along with your shirts. The desire escalates immensely and you’re suddenly straddling him in the driver’s seat, now pushed back to give extra room for both individuals.

"Should we slow down?" you ask offhandedly at one point while Mark’s mouth leaves a hot trail down the side of your neck. At the same time, his fingers glide and grip onto your bare waist, making their way to grasp your breasts.

Mark jerks away from your neck and carefully caresses the back of your head. "Do you want to?"

"Mm-mm,” you hurriedly shake your head and drag him into another strong kiss.

The exciting rush continues to run through both bodies present. When you return to the passenger seat momentarily to rid of your pants, Mark shimmies his bottoms and briefs down to his ankles and pulls a condom from his glove compartment.

“How often do you have car sex?” you joke, straddling him once again after he wraps himself.

In his reclined position, Mark looks up and scans your body quickly, both indulging in your natural beauty and in disbelief that you are here with him right now, after all these years.

“Hey, a guy’s gotta be safe—fuck, God.”

All quips and logic are thrown out the window when you sit on his length.

You have one hand pressed against his defined stomach, the other on the car ceiling. Bouncing with no end in sight, you allow the pleasure to enrapture your senses. Muffled whimpers reverberate against the inner side of your wrist as you feel him deeply with every movement.

On the other hand, Mark tries his best to keep his focus on you, but the intensity breaks him down. He groans in pace with your moving body, and he tightens his hold on your waist.

“Mark—” you cry. You rip your hand from the car roof and, without thought, frantically push it against the driver’s window, smudging the frost that all your collective breathing conjured up. You’re surprisingly already coming undone, and so is your lover beneath you.

“I’m close,” he pants thickly. His hazy gaze attempts to meet your half-lidded eyes, but you’re losing control. All you can do is barely nod and as you’re about to bounce more vigorously, Mark releases your waist and raises himself upward, clutching your back and neck to lock lips fiercely with yours.

You barely can thrust against him, but you don’t need to at this point, because the kiss is simply enough to draw out his climax.

You’re pulled back to reality after a few moments, panting with your foreheads tipped against one another.

“And to counter your question from before,” Mark grins, still breathing heavily. “I’ll only stop rolling my sleeves up during practice if you stop tying your shirt up to show off your waist.”

You try to stifle a smirk, but it can’t be helped. You reply to him with a flutter of the tip of your nose against his.

“No deal, captain.”

nctsworld’s birthday week celebration!

#mark lee #mark lee fluff #mark lee smut #mark lee x reader #mark lee imagines #mark lee scenarios #mark lee fanfic #nct smut #nct fluff #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fanfic #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 smut #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 fluff #nbwc2021 #nctcreations

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hansoulo · 3 years

Text

lay back in cloying sin

part three of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NSFW-ish; references to marks and bruises, kissing, probably inaccurate descriptions of ballroom dancing, fluff, mentions of alcohol consumption

Word Count: 3.3k

Gif Credit: (x) by @/ktfhett

A/N: boba & reader: [tyler the creator voice] oh no i hope i don’t fall

༓ series masterlist ༓

Dinner was a tedious affair, filled with hollow pageantry. It was one last hurrah before the send off of the honored guests, one of which you’d never talked to and the other who was nowhere to be found. The former, Lord Vader, sat at the head of the long table and made for very unamusing company. You had the distinct impression that he’d rather be anywhere than here, having to listen to his uniformed subordinates squabble in grating voices and your father simper about mining collectives. That made for two of you.

But the cavernous banquet hall was always beautiful, if a bit ostentatious, and the food never disappointed, so you consoled yourself with a loosened corset and the promise of a second dinner by servants who pitied your forced small portions.

You floated into the large room, shuffled through by the compounding procession before an older man offered to help you into your seat. The ornateness of your evening wear made you grateful for the help, watching in sincere thanks as he pulled out the high-backed chair.

“Thank you, um…” the color of his robes and the softness of his hands signalled high rank and you chanced a guess. “Duke...?”

“Sagcock,” he finished for you. “Jovron Sagcock.”

He has got to be joking.

Evidently, he wasn’t.

If the man saw you choke on a laugh, sputtering it into a hiccup as you sat down, he pretended not to notice. After all, princesses knew better than to be unbecoming or crass or know why any part of that exchange could be fodder for humor.

Fighting down one last cough, you attempted to regain some sense of decorum. What a wonderful start to the evening.

The arrangement of persons on this particular night was strange though, even disregarding the title of the man now seated beside you. There were more people than usual filling out the hall tonight, all fancily clad and buffed to shining. Boba wasn’t anywhere to be found.

The supposed importance of the occasion probably necessitated a shuffling of seats to soothe egos and encourage conversation, but you weren’t used to being so close to the head of the table, near parallel with your mother. Usually your elder sisters sat higher and provided you the benefit of distance. Of course, they were all gone now. Your brother was still too young to be at evening dinners, so there was no buffer between you and your parents’ ire.

Maybe this was the Maker’s way of getting back at you for your tiny tryst. Maybe they all knew about what happened in the garden and were just waiting for the shoe to drop, branding you as a harlot and finally letting you free. Vader’s static words travelled down the table and mingled with your father’s but you were too busy entertaining worse-case scenarios to understand conversation.

People were observing you, you realized partway through the first round of courses. Watching you with strange eyes as if you were the last scrap of halfway-spoiled meat for imperial officials and all the nobility that had come to pay their prostrate respects. No one had really given half a damn about you before, which made it all the more strange.

A heel foot softly kicked at yours underneath the table, breaking you out of your glazed thoughts. The fork you had been mindlessly moving across your plate stopping mid-swirl. Looking up, you met the quiet glare of your mother and cleared your throat.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you asked. Your question was punctuated with a smile too large to be genuine. The queen’s head jerked towards the grizzled man seated to her right and you turned towards him at her behest, face open in trained invitation. “Oh, hello, General.”

General Enes, current commander of the army of Quas Killam. Not strictly Imperial, but aligned close enough to have him in the king’s good graces and to reside permanently at court. He was also a Duke and probably a cousin thrice removed, but who was counting?

“No need to stand on pleasantries, your Highness,” the gray-haired man assured you, one large hand resting over his stomach as servants replaced the dirtied plates in front of you with new ones. You only sipped delicately at your algarine as he chortled and remembered, “It seems like yesterday that you were running around the palace with your sisters. A little sprite of a thing, weren’t you?”

Was he drunk already? “Yes, I remember,” you tread pleasantly; carefully.

The general settled and let out one last chuckle before his eyes grew hawk-like again, trained in the jewelry and accoutrements that signified your being old enough to marry but young enough to have not yet been taken. Like a prize. Or a charity donation. “You’ve grown into quite the young woman, you know.”

So that’s where this was going. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and tried to look gracious. “Thank you, sir. That’s a high compliment.”

“How old are you again, dear?”

Masking your surprise at the forwardness of the question, you supplied your age to a nod of approval from both him and your mother.

“A good age, I’d say. ‘Round the same as my youngest.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” you shot a look down the table and caught a glimpse of cropped flaxen hair, its owner sitting enough seats down to prevent any shared conversation. You counted your blessings for it and smiled, tight-lipped. “Your son and I shared company when we were children.”

“Well that’s very nice,” the queen interjected quite loudly and looked around the long table with a light laugh but cold eyes. “Isn’t that nice?”

Your father looked at you for the first time all evening as if on cue, boring a hole into your face with the words he seemed to be telepathically trying to put in your mouth.

The taste of bitter wine on your tongue made your thoughts fevered, though not borne out of alcohol so much as the memories of someone else’s touch in the same places. “Yes,” you repeated vaguely. “Very nice.”

Darth Vader apparently didn’t remove his helmet. You wondered why he came to dinner at all.

The remaining evening hours had been whittled away by dessert and drinks. Everyone who cared to stay shuffled into the ballroom, a behemoth of a thing filled with inky windows and sparkling artifice. It was a blur of waltzes and predetermined couplings with boys you’d been ignoring since you were old enough to kick them in their shins, but you didn’t care enough to go to pains to avoid it. They broke up the monotony of introductions, at least, and let your mind and body be somewhere else for a while.

All compounded, the night left you flushed and tired. You needed alcohol. Or air. The latter was probably the more reasonable choice of the two.

Being in the midst of ballroom theatrics allowed for an easy enough escape, and a side entrance to a balcony overlooking the palace grounds became the object of your attention.

The tall double doors lay open in their glass encasings and spilled out lamplight refractions on the guests’ gaudy clothing and gaudier jewelry, everything sparkling and warm. But you were far enough away from it to still be chilled by the night air, a balm for your flushed cheeks and fizzling temper.

Usually guests ignored it in favor of staying indoors, so you were fairly confident in the promise of solitude and an undisturbed breeze.

But someone apparently had the same idea as you.

“Hello,” you ventured out a greeting to the silhouette not yet fully in your vision. You stepped closer and the heels of your shoes echoed on clay tiles. “I’m sorry, am I bothering you?”

Royal Highnesses shouldn’t really care about whether or not they were disturbing strange party guests, you could make them leave if you felt so inclined, but something in you was feeling magnanimous tonight. You tried not to think about why.

The figure didn’t turn back towards you, still facing out towards the blurry glitter of urban lights far off in the distance. It looked pretty this far away, all glowing masses and amorphous buildings that scraped the sky. You’d never been close enough to see all the dinge and smog that made its home in places not populated by princesses. Marble felt more familiar than metal.

The man wore metal too, and his voice scraped at your chest when he answered. “You’re not bothering me, princess.”

Oh.

You ventured cautiously towards the balcony’s edge, next to the man you now could recognize as Boba. The thick stone railing was cool to the touch. “Hello.”

His helmet tipped to the left, which was probably his way of saying it back.

“I didn’t see you at the dinner,” you noticed quietly. Would it be presumptuous to assume he was avoiding you? Intellect said yes, but ego didn’t listen. You leant forward, the speckled marble digging into your elbows as you mirrored Boba’s sightline out into the city. “You know, you wouldn’t have needed to make conversation. Lord Vader was the guest of honor and all he did was sit there.”

“I don’t like crowds.”

“Ah.”

A silence lapsed between you, awkward as if you were strangers. You were though, weren’t you? Strangers. Not friends. Not lovers. Not really.

But if he asked you to crack yourself open for him, you would. You would rip apart every satin petticoat and snap the boning in your corsets until your hands were raw if it meant he would touch you; skin to skin. You’d run away and cite a hidden fountain as the reason why.

You didn’t know what he’d give up for you, if anything. Boba didn’t seem like the type to have much in the first place. Either by choice or by necessity.

The garden afternoon nagged at you after having time to form coherent thoughts, and the fizzy shine of palace lights reflecting off his helmet reminded you of what you’d been meaning to ask.

Night made you softer-spoken. “Why did you let me take off your helmet?”

Night made his edges sharper. “Why did you want to?”

“I asked first,” you volleyed back as reason enough to get an answer first.

Boba wasn’t a Mandalorian in the true sense of the word, at least that’s what gossip told you, so it didn’t really matter if he took the helmet off or not. But he kept it on in front of everyone else.

The hunter gave you visor-silence and your impatience made you concede. “I just wanted to see you,” you breathed out, still not looking at him. The admission sounded much more naive than you intended.

His words held their characteristic aloofness but were edged by gentle teasing. “What if I said the same?”

That he wanted to see you?

You still didn’t understand half of why he did what he did and what he wanted, but you turned to face him head-on anyway. Cold moonlight fell on your neck and the air cracked with fever. You tried to reply in jest. “Then I’d say that you were being stupid.”

“You’d be right.”

A swallow bobbed in your throat. He always seemed to take up your vision; fill it and suffocate you with seemingly no effort. “And then I’d ask you to do it again.”

“Do what, princess?”

He knew. He just liked seeing the words come out of your mouth.

“Let me take your helmet off.”

This time, he guided your hands up himself. They were slow and almost careful running across your palms, placing them on the mechanisms your fingers found in quick memory. Set on the balcony railing, the helmet seemed to be a prop. An upside down bucket filled with all the things you had yet to say to each other, spilling out onto the ground in a fog.

“I like you better without it,” you decided when he turned back towards you, his weight still resting on the railing with one cocked hip. Everything about the way he looked was dark: inky black curls and scarred brown skin and eyes that pushed the air in your lungs with a stall and a catch. They looked even darker next to tan clothes and green armor.

His voice wasn’t entirely lacking in humor. He did that. Humored you. “Do you now?”

“Mhm.” you nodded with fake seriousness, slightly giddy and slightly too brave. You blamed it on an excess of wine and good company. “Better-looking.”

He only scoffed, a flash of pearl-white canines serving as one half of a smile. A smile that had been wider when it was against your collarbones, your neck, your mouth. A smile that you wouldn’t mind being in other places.

You nudged Boba’s shoulder with your own when a waltz kicked up in the background, faint through the open ballroom door. “There’s music,” you implied, half-joking and half-expectant. There had been this whole time, of course, but acknowledging it now seemed better than never. “You should ask me to dance.”

“I’m not one for dancing, your Highness.”

The title made you roll your eyes, a commonplace formality that you usually insisted on but now found overly facetious. Coming from him, that is. “Clearly not,” you almost snorted. Pushing away from the marble ledge with a finality that seemed almost comical, you held your hand out and waited, eyebrows raising and fingers beckoning. Well? your face seemed to say, Are you coming?

His sigh was bone-deep and settled in your chest like chunks of black plaster, but it felt good. “You’re not going to let me leave, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” you replied, as if it’d be ridiculous to expect anything else. Princesses danced with men at parties. You were a princess. Boba was a man at a party. In a roundabout sort of way. “It’s easy, I promise,” you assured, wrapping your hand around his wrist and pulling him away from the balcony. His glove slipped down a bit; just enough that your thumb could press one soft circle against the tan skin over bone.

Uncomfortable wasn’t really the correct word for how you thought he felt. You doubted Boba could ever be uncomfortable. No. No, the right word would probably be… bemused. Like he was in a menagerie watching a creature, something exotic and pretty, with mild interest while it still had his attention. But you did have his attention. That was something.

“You put your right hand on my waist,” you moved to reposition the large fingers more accustomed to blasters than they were to bodices. Boba smirked, almost boyish, when you caught his hand wandering someplace else. “Not that low,” you chided with quiet exasperation, placing your palm atop his and guiding it back up.

The pale leather was warm underneath your skin and you bit down a smile, almost awe-struck at how strange your hand looked next to his. Yours was polished, weighed down by heavy gold bangles and softened by years of idle play. His, you suspected (for you didn't actually know; hadn’t yet actually seen), was anything but.

“That’s good,” you supplied lightly. “And then I do this,”your other hand reached to rest on Boba’s shoulder. “And then- no, no you give me your left hand. Hold it out- good.”

Still looking down, you were careful not to trip over your skirts or his boots. “And now we just-” you breathed out and glanced up, surprised to find his expression strangely careful. Almost tender. You gulped down the quiet notch in your throat. “-now we just um… sway. Like this.”

You eschewed complication in favor of a simple rhythm, just letting your feet fall wherever they liked so long as they didn’t tangle in themselves. Now wasn’t the time for anything laborious; you didn’t have faith enough in Boba’s footwork. But he actually wasn’t too bad all things considered. A bit stiff and a bit gruff, but those were part and parcel. It was a bit like dancing with a tree trunk. A very handsome, very broad, very taciturn tree trunk. It was easy to let yourself sink into it a little with how solid he felt.

The man arched an eyebrow when your fingers stretched to thread together with his. “Just sway?”

“You’re welcome to do a jig instead if you’d like,” you replied wryly as your weight shifted from foot to foot. The hand around your waist stiffened at the prospect and a grin escaped your face.

“Nevermind.”

The amusement that had previously only been in your throat escaped in a quiet laugh. “Thought so,” you whispered, victorious. Tension, bunched up in your shoulders and collected in your bones, melted completely when he pulled you closer and let your head fall against the space of his neck. Sinew fit against silk like puzzle pieces and warmed the quiet moment that followed. Neither of you spoke for fear of disturbing the fresh peace.

You found yourself dwelling more and more on hypotheticals. Unrealistic and stupid, you knew, given who you both were. But still you dwelt, unable to fathom a reality outside of the last nine hours and inside a reality within which Boba was gone.

Would he fit here, with the stucco and plaster and ivy? With all the sheltered society of an insignificant court? With you?

You wondered if he dwelt on hypotheticals, too.

Swallowing cold air as Boba thumbed the collar of your dress, you felt the light scatter of broken blood vessels from hours before smart again. Your cheek pressed against the pauldron of his beskar, but neither of you were really dancing anymore. “I- I wanted to talk,” you began quietly. “About earlier.”

“Did you not like it?” Did you not like me?

“No! No, I…” you shook your head, trying to rid yourself of his assumption. The crystals hanging from your headpiece tinkled with every soft movement. “No, I… I liked it. I like…” The lump in your throat seemed to travel down back into your stomach. “You,” you finished, swallowing the final word and leaving all its implications to settle in the night.

He could feel the rise and fall of your chest; delicate and airy and resigned. You spoke again. “But you’re leaving tomorrow and... and we could’ve been caught. And the more I think about it the more I really am not looking forward to the idea of some court scandal or being cloistered up like a nun because I—”

He called you your name.

He’d never used your name before.

You lifted your head off his shoulder, desperate-eyed and looking for answers you both knew he couldn’t give. “Yes?”

“Kiss me.”

You barely breathed out an okay before the arm around your waist tightened, crushing you against cold metal and a warm body.

He kissed you how a lover would. Like how a first kiss should’ve been.

It was gentle. Warm. Tender-mouthed and aching, placing promises down your throat with a soft hand and closed eyes. It was… It was…

It was broken up far too quickly.

A voice called out your name from somewhere far-off, regally accented and not at all welcome. It called your name again, first middle and last with all the titles in between with much less patience. Your mother, queen consort.

The groan of displeasure that escaped you was muffled in Boba’s mouth and swallowed up before it could give either of you away. He recovered much faster than you did, peeling back from your body with eyes already alert and scanning the shadows for passersby. There were none. For now.

“It’s my mother,” you whispered, letting your eyes roll seemingly out of your skull. “They’re probably doing some send-off for Vader’s entourage.”

Neither of you mentioned the fact that Boba was part of that entourage too.

Your last words were rushed before the footsteps became too close and the mercenary pulled away. You didn’t really want to stay to hear the answer. “Will I see you again?”

Boba Fett, you’d come to learn, wasn’t the kind of man to offer more than what he knew he could give.

The helmet went back on. “I don’t know.”’

#boba fett x reader #boba fett/reader #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x you #boba fett imagine #boba fett oneshot #star wars fanfiction

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undertaker1827 · 3 years

Note

Hi there! I love your writing so much, it really captures all of the characters so well and I admire that. Anyways, if it isn't too much, could you possibly do a scenario where Undertaker meets a formerly deceased significant other who has one way or another become an immortal, please?

Thank you so much! And of course, hope you enjoy! (It turned out a bit angstier than intended!)

❗️Warnings; angst, mentions of death

Masterlist

Undertaker genuinely though he was hallucinating. It wouldn’t be the first time after all; he had imagined and wished and dreamed for many things that he would never see again. That was the problem with being immortal, he supposed. Any relationship you have with a human can only ever end in sorrow. He simply kept walking, tall stature striking a resounding figure against all of the other people who walked the same streets as him. Workers, idle shoppers, people just out to enjoy the day. Life tended to lose its spice when there was no risk involved in living it. Still, this was better then the years he wasted working hour after pointless hour for dispatch.

The only truly interesting thing that was left in life was humans. Even now, they remained an enigma to the reaper, so unpredictable and changeable. That said, he was very close to swearing off becoming close to another one ever again. The melancholy that enveloped him now was unlike any other; the thought and loss of past friends and loves, the thought of you. In those darker moments, the ones where he was by himself in his now very outdated parlour, he couldn’t keep his mind from you. The words you spoke to him, the things you did together, all transcribed into his memory in minute detail. Remembering old times so well yet being helpless as you watched them slowly fade into darkness was both a blessing and a curse.

You couldn’t say you were surprised that he just walked past you, given that he thought you were dead. Your elation at seeing him again declined sharply of course, and you were left with an empty, hollow feeling that maybe he wouldn’t be as excited to see you as you were him. He seemed somewhat deep in thought as he was walking though, so maybe he would be happy. You followed behind the reaper at a respectable distance, knowing he would tack on to it almost immediately, even if he didn’t let himself believe it was really you. That meant you knew exactly why he turned down an empty side street that led quite definitely away from his parlour, and you were fully prepared for something to go wrong when you continued following him.

He stopped partway down the street and you carefully, carefully approached him, fingers crossed that he would give a chance to explain and not just think that this was all some cruel joke. You couldn’t blame him if he did though, not with everything else he had been through in his life.

“Can I help you?” The mortician hummed cordially, not even turning his shoulders by a fraction. You swallowed down your nervousness. You realised your hands were trembling and you curled them up to prevent it, gaze locked on the head of silver grey hair in front of you.

“Undertaker,” you murmured softly, and you felt his heart shatter even if his outward appearance betrayed no emotion. “Undertaker, it’s me.” That was when you saw his façade break, just a little. He too had curled up a hand, the other shoved deep into his coat pocket. His next words were soft, voice calming to the one he only used for serious conversations, yet you knew him well enough to know that his tone meant there was a fierce anger hiding just below the surface. You knew he wouldn’t believe this was real.

“Why are you doing this … and what do you want?” Your eyes felt moist in spite of yourself because you knew this anger was stemming only from immense grief and pain.

“Please,” you tried again, voice now barely a whisper, “please just turn around. It’s not a trick, I swear, and I’ve missed you just as-”

You cut yourself off as the reaper spun around to face you, each hand moving to either side of your head and tears beginning to run over your cheeks as you stared into his fierce chartreuse gaze. You could feel the tremors running through his fingertips as they rested against your head, despite how well hidden they were.

“How...” the mortician took a deep, shuddering breath. “How can you be here? I watched you die.” You slowly raised your hands to his face, giving him time to back away if he wanted to.

“I don’t know,” you told him truthfully, “I don’t know, but I’m here now.” The tears were falling over his thumbs now as he gently stroked your cheekbones, standing close enough that he could see you without the need for glasses despite his poor eyesight.

“Does that mean you’re immortal now, then?” You nodded and mouthed, unable to say out loud the word yes. As it was, you didn’t have to. One of Undertaker’s hands moved to the back of your head and he took a single step forwards to close the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours hard just a moment later. His kiss was as desperate as your reciprocation of it, tears flowing freely from both of you and holding each other like you would never let go. You could hardly breathe when you each pulled back to rest your foreheads together, watery eyes seeing nothing but each other.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered out between breaths, “I’m so sorry-”

He kissed you again to cut you off, lightly shaking his head.

“Don’t apologise. I love you.” You smiled at that, wider than you thought possible. You thought you would never hear him say it again.

“I love you too.”

#kuroshitsuji undertaker x reader #undertaker x reader #black butler undertaker x reader #undertaker #black butler undertaker #kuroshitsuji undertaker #adrian crevan #adrian crevan x reader #black butler #black butler x reader #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji x reader #black butler reader inserts

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emilia3546 · 3 years

Text

Shadowsinger Part 2 - Gwynriel

ACOSF Spoilers! Do Not read this unless you have finished ACOSF and the Azriel bonus chapter

Part 1

*****

Gwyn hadn't seen Azriel for days, not since she'd found him on the roof, he'd been called away for some sort of emergency, and she hadn't even been able to explain that she wasn't following him, she should never have joined in, he'd clearly wanted to be alone, perhaps that was why she'd run away. She groaned, and tried to focus on the pages in front of her, tried to disappear into her book like usual, but something kept her mind on the Shadowsinger, she found herself reading the same sentence three times while thoughts of him swirled in her mind. It wasn't that the book was bad, it was actually one of the best ones she'd read that month, but she couldn't help but see herself in those pages, herself and Azriel.

She almost threw the book across the room in disgust at the beautiful declaration of love, book Gwyn had no trouble talking to book Azriel about her feelings. She rolled over in her bed and pulled the blankets tighter around herself. She was such an idiot. Each time he'd been at training, she'd made sure to ask him for help, just to be closer to him, but maybe he thought she was pathetic now, that she couldn't do anything. Not that she was perfect, but she probably didn't need one-on-one training for swordplay and hand to hand combat, archery yes, but that had been the first time she'd ever shot a bow. Although if he was away much longer, Mor would have had time to teach her all she needed to stop personal tuition.

Was she so wrong for wanting to spend time with him? He'd seen her at her worst, her absolute worst, and he hadn't flinched, he'd just protected her when she couldn't protect herself. She still remembered the undiluted rage in his eyes when he'd killed the males pinning her down, still remembered the gentleness of his touch when he'd given her his cloak. Perhaps he still thought of her as that scared girl, perhaps all her asking for help was annoying, but how could she find another way to spend any sort of time with him?

*****

Azriel hated Windhaven. He hated Devlon. But mostly, he hated his own cowardice. Gwyn had found him that night because she was meant to, but he had been too slow, he had allowed her to think he didn't want her there. And then he had run away, faking an emergency. He struck the target again, and it splintered under the force of the blow, the sword cleaving straight through the wood, earning alarmed glances from the males around him. It was true that the camps needed inspection, but that could easily wait until Cassian got home, it wasn't urgent enough that he should have made Mor take over training the priestesses. He rotated his wrist, striking the second target with a backhanded blow that almost cleaved it in two.

For hours he worked through his thoughts, leaving far too many training targets in splinters, much to Devlon's dismay, who glared at him when he walked off the pitch. Azriel ignored him, heading straight for Rhysand's mother's old house. He fell into his old routines, dumping his weapons in the rack by the door, checking the house for any unwelcome visitors before a bath. He even left out a bowl of stew on the side for the female who had taken him in when no one else had, muttering the familiar prayer to keep her soul, and her daughter's soul safe in the afterworld. He should get back to Velaris, but even once he had tidied up the kitchen, even once he had cleaned the entire house, by hand, twice, he couldn't force himself to go outside.

He didn't get out of bed the next morning, only emerging at noon when someone pounded on the door. He dressed, and glared daggers at Devlon, standing on the doorstep like he owned the house.

"What?" he snarled,

"I assume you're here for a reason,"

"What's it to you?"

"This is my camp. I don't appreciate spies. The other bastard 'inspecting' is bad enough without you sniffing around as well. Tell Rhysand-"

"High Lord."

"What?"

"Tell High Lord Rhysand,"

"Whatever, tell him that if you two don't leave me be-"

"What? What will you do? And besides, I'm inspecting the camp, while Cassian is with his mate."

"Poor girl," Devlon muttered, and Azriel's attention snapped straight back to him, anger burning in his eyes,

"What?"

"I said, poor girl, whoever she is, to be mated to that sorry bastard." Something snapped, and Azriel sent a fist flying for Devlon's face, the sense of satisfaction when the camp lord's nose crumpled under his fist dragging him out of his wallowing.

"Do not talk about my brother in that way. Do I make myself clear?" Devlon just glared, and cradled his nose, "Do I?"

"Yes." Azriel snarled again, "I said yes, Spymaster."

"There, how hard was that? If I hear you talking shit about your General again, I won't be so forgiving." Azriel slammed the door in Devlon's face and packed up his kit, he'd finished the inspection yesterday anyway, and winnowed home.

The library loomed before him, but Azriel banked away, aiming for the House of Wind. He left everything in his room before reluctantly flying across the city to the River House. Rhys had said that there would be a family dinner if he was back, and he didn't want to upset him but not showing up.

*****

The shadows in her room flickered, and Gwyn leapt out of bed, almost screaming as they moved towards her. Not like the ones that followed Azriel, these moved maliciously, following her when she darted out of the room. She grabbed the dagger from her training leathers, and tested to see if she could fight them, she couldn't, and the moment she touched one, it spread, trying to wrap around her.

She backed out of the room, grabbing a candle as she passed, which did seem to keep the darkness at bay, but it slowly tested the light, as if trying to see if it could actually stop it. Gwyn found her way into the main library, finding the whole place wreathed in the darkness from its depths, and the moment she stepped out, all of it shot for her, making a beeline for the candle she held. No one else had woken, and she opened her mouth to scream, but darkness surrounded her, blocking out the sound. She scrambled backwards, sprinting for the light above her head, the moon shone bright, perhaps the shadows were confined to library, if she could just get out, she would be safe. She was mere steps from the door when the darkness clouded again, partially barring her way.

She took a deep breath, marking the exact location of the door handle and barreled through it, sobbing in fear until she burst through to the night outside. Cool air filled her lungs, but the darkness from the library didn't follow, she stared back at it, sobbing again in fear when a tendril of darkness ventured beyond the doorway. She didn't know where she could go, but she ran.

*****

Azriel forced a smile as Mor breezed over to him, glad to see him finally, and ushered him to the dining room. He grinned for real at the sight of Rhys on the couch, holding baby Nyx with one arm, the other wrapped around Feyre, asleep against him. His brother grinned at him when he entered the room,

"Finally decided to join us then, brother." Feyre stirred beside him, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, chuckling as she opened her eyes, squinting in the light, and buried her face back into his chest, "C'mon, darling, dinner." Feyre sighed, and disentangled herself from her mate's arms before joining Azriel at the table.

"Nyx keeping you up?" He asked, and Feyre groaned,

"He always demands a feed like half an hour after I've managed to fall asleep, then won't fall asleep for ages afterwards. And it's not like we can just take it in turns either, Rhys can't feed him, and he won't settle without it." Azriel squeezed her shoulder,

"You're doing a wonderful job, both of you, babies are tough, but he'll only get easier to cope with." Feyre grinned, and laughed as Rhys set Nyx on the table beside her, leaving him to crawl across to his mother, grabbing for her, sighing happily when she swept him into her arms. Amren rolled her eyes, but Azriel could sense the happiness in her at seeing the baby.

Partway through dinner, Nyx started crying and wouldn't settle, no matter what Feyre tried. She was on the brink of tears herself when Azriel sent a shadow towards the child, leaving him hiccuping and giggling as he tried to catch it, but each time it slipped between his fingers. He grabbed for it again, and Azriel sent it twirling around him, earning giggles of joy as he played with the shadow.

"Thank you," Azriel almost lost concentration at Rhys' voice, "She feels like a bad mother when he gets like this,"

"She's not," he said, still watching both mother and son playing with the shadow, Feyre encouraging Nyx to try to catch it, and laughing at his squeals of joy.

After dinner, Azriel made to take off, but something left him deciding to walk up to the House instead. Wandering through Velaris' silent streets, he finally let go of the fear around talking to Gwyn. He would make sure to talk to her at training tomorrow, make sure she knew he wasn't annoyed that she had been there that night.

*****

Gwyn sobbed again as the darkness almost surrounded her, nipping at her feet, trying to trip her up as she ran. She spied a figure through the darkness of the evening and sprinted for them, not caring who it was. The moment she got close enough to see it was a male, he turned towards her, and started to run for her, wings flapping to give him more speed. Wings?

"Azriel!" She sobbed, and crashed into him, shrinking back as he pushed her behind him, the darkness swirling and eddying but not approaching him any further. Shadows swirled around her, but these were safe, protecting, they were there to look after her, not hurt her. Tears slid down her face as Azriel studied the darkness, trying to figure out what it was. She crashed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably when it vanished, leaving her alone in the street with Azriel staring after the darkness, clearly debating whether he should follow it and deciding against it, taking over from his shadows in looking after her.

"Gwyn," she barely heard him, but didn't flinch from his touch when he gently squeezed her shoulder, "I'm going to take you up to the House, is that okay?" She nodded, not sure she could speak without crying harder, and buried her face in his neck when he lifted her into his arms, holding her against his chest as he took off.

The view must have been magnificent, but she was still too scared to even marvel at the fact that she was flying. She was still crying when Azriel landed on the balcony and carried her into the House.

*****

Gwyn's scent was drenched in fear, and Azriel silently swore to end whoever had scared her, whoever had sent that darkness to hunt her, because that's exactly what it had been doing, hunting her. He had wanted to follow it, to find out where it had slunk off to, but with his shadows warning her that Gwyn needed to feel safe, he couldn't leave her, retribution could wait.

She was still crying when he set her down on a couch in one of the living areas.

"What happened?" He murmured, gently brushing her hair out of her face,

"I don't know," she whispered, "I was getting ready for bed, and it just - I don't know,"

"Hey, it's okay, you're safe now, it can't get you here," she nodded, and sniffed again, and he became painfully aware that she was only in her nightgown, and he grabbed a blanket to wrap around her, leaving his shadows to watch over her while he went to fetch her a hot mug of cocoa.

His anger had subsided a little once he returned, just enough that he could fully focus on looking after Gwyn. Her feet were still bare, and the rough stones of the street had torn into them, but she seemed to hardly notice the pain as he cleaned the cuts, and gently wrapped them in bandages. She hadn't said a word since his return, just silently nursed her mug of cocoa, staring into the distance.

Not knowing what else to do, he sank onto the couch beside her and squeezed her hand gently. She drained the mug, and fixed him with her gaze, tears still shining in her eyes,

"What was it?"

"I don't know." He admitted, "But I'll find out, and I'll deal with it. It can't hurt you, I won't let it." She nodded, and another tear rolled down her face, Azriel reached up to wipe it away, expecting her to flinch from him, but she didn't, she let him gently wipe away the tears stating to fall again.

"It scared me. I couldn't fight it. I did try."

"I know, I know," she thought he'd think less of her for whatever had happened, and he couldn't face that, "Gwyn," she didn't look at him, her head still lowered to hide the fear in her eyes, even as her scent betrayed her, "Gwyn." She did look up this time, "You are not weak. You are stronger than most people I know for even trying to fight that. I know many seasoned warriors who would've pissed themselves and gotten themselves hurt or killed. You did everything right. Running was your only option."

"Why did it run from you?"

"I don't know," he said again, "Maybe it feared my own shadows," the same shadows that were now gathering around Gwyn, trying to shield her from everything, twining into her hair, and making her smile from the tickling sensation. "There, do that again."

"What?"

"Smile." She did, and he mirrored the smile, his breath catching when she pulled herself into his side, resting her head on his chest, an arm around his waist. He rested an arm across her shoulders, and allowed a wing to curl around her. She sighed,

"Thank you, Az."

"Whatever for?"

"Not thinking me a coward." She wasn't talking about tonight, he realized,

"I was the coward for not going to you earlier. I'm glad you were there, and I'm sorry I ran away the next day." She mumbled something he couldn't hear, and snuggled into him, the fear in her scent slowly vanishing with each breath. They sat in silence, and Azriel started to absent-mindedly stroke her hair, soothing her gently as he held her. "Do you want me to take you back to the library?"

"No!" she gasped, "Please," she was still shaking her head violently, when he caught her hand,

"It's okay, you can stay here if you want, Nesta's old rooms are still empty. Mine are the level above."

"Can I stay with you?" She whispered, and he froze, "I'm sorry, I just - I feel safe with you."

"Okay, there's a set of rooms across the corridor from mine that haven't been used in a while." He silently asked the House to get them ready for her, and a warm breeze brushing through his hair told him that his request had been carried out.

*****

Gwyn still held the blanket Azriel had given her as he carried her up to the room she was to sleep in. He set her down on the bed, and offered her another smile, which she returned, before slipping out of the room. Almost immediately, the darkness in the room seemed to creep in on her, and she clutched the blanket tighter. She was being silly, Azriel would never have left her if there was any danger, but she still wished he was there, even the two doors between them were too much.

Despite the darkness, she managed to fall into a fitful sleep, tossing and turning on the bed, until she woke only an hour later, drenched in sweat, and screamed. Moments later Azriel threw the door open, and ran across to her, dropping to his knees next to the bed,

"Are you hurt?"

"No, it was just a bad dream. Just a dream." She repeated, her fear fading as she remembered where she was, who was protecting her. "I'm okay."

"You sure?" He brushed her hair back, out of her face, and she nodded, trying to settle back down.

"Can you stay?" He paused, and she almost let him leave, but she couldn't, "I just - it's dark. I'd feel safer with you here."

"Of course, if that's what you want." he said, pulling a comfy chair across to rest next to the bed, sinking into it, even as he kept a hold of her hand while she drifted back to sleep.

*****

When Gwyn woke the next morning, Azriel was still in the chair, wings drooping onto the floor beside him, his head dropped sideways onto the back of the chair. His hair was all over the place, and she couldn't help but tidy it up, freezing when he opened his eyes.

"Your hair was messy," she said as an explanation.

"My mother used to do that," he murmured, more to himself that her, and she met his gaze, her hands still in his hair,

"Is she who you were singing about the other night?"

"Yes. That was the only lullaby anyone ever sang for me. Your voice, it was like the song was written for you to sing it."

"I was only copying you," she admitted, and squeezed his hands, and he smiled,

"Let's get some breakfast."

Part 3

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #a court of silver flames #acosf #gwyn #azriel x gwyn #gwyneth berdara #gwynriel #gwyn acosf #azriel #fanfiction #fanfic

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zukkaoru · 3 years

Note

Top 5 comfort characters? <3

only five?? okay well let's see here,,

(in no particular order)

1. thalia grace (riordanverse)

literally she is everything to me. i formed an unhealthy emotional attachment to her from the moment i met her at the end of sea of monsters and it has not gone away. my username on my personal instagram account was literally thalia.grace._ until partway through high school. when my friends and i were in middle school, we assigned each other fictional characters from the riordanverse that we would be and i was thalia because she was my favorite. i simply adore her. if i'm asked for my top fictional character of all time, i always default to her bc she's been everything to me since i was ten years old (wait i just realized that's literally half my life what the frick)

2. robin hood (once upon a time)

there's just something about characters who deserve so much more than what they're given that makes me attach myself to them. and there's something about the way that he looked past regina's flaws and her dark past and loved her anyways. the way he was selfless and kind and loyal. the way he poured himself out into everyone he ever loved so much that he might have lost who he was in the process. the way that he helped me through one of the roughest parts of my life from beyond the grave. literally he deserved so much better and if i think about it for too long i will scream and tear my hair out

3. cherry blossom / kaoru sakurayashiki (sk8 the infinity)

he's my baby my partner my father my mother my poor little meow meow-- no okay but seriously i love cherry too much for it to be healthy. i have never felt as much gender envy as i do whenever i see him. it's about hiding your emotions under false apathy bc you can't get hurt if you don't let anyone close enough to hurt you. it's about hardly ever letting anyone close enough to see the real you. it's about losing yourself in the personas you display for other people to the point where you don't even know who the real you is. why do i love so many characters with identity issues. but it's also about feeling the betrayal of the full swing kiss deep in my chest because yeah. i get it. i get putting your trust into someone who made you empty promises because you were young and naïve only for them to turn on you and say you aren't worth their time. it's about learning that closure comes in many forms and sometimes, you have to teach yourself to be okay with what you got. it's about finding the people who are willing to put in the work it takes to break your walls down and who aren't scared away by the defense mechanisms you've spent years perfecting. it's about slowly but surely allowing yourself to open up to love again. i just. i have a lot of feelings

4. zuko & mai (avatar: the last airbender)

they come together because they're besties. also bc i can't choose one over the other and i have one more character i need to do for 5. but anyways. it's about learning to love who you are despite being raised in a society that told you you could never be lovable unless you managed to conform to their impossible standards. it's about learning to stop trying to reach that love you can never win and instead living your truth. for zuko, it's about overcoming the cycle of hatred you've been taught and raised in. for mai, it's about needing to look like you don't care because you've been taught caring (or expressing any emotion, for that matter) is bad. and it's about finding the people who love you for who you are instead of who they think you could be.

5. simon saunders (rise)

oh boy. oh boy. you know when you start watching a tv show or reading a book or whatever, and for the first time in your life, you see a character who is just. you? yeah. that was me with simon. the religious guilt over your sexuality? struggling with what you believe vs what you want to believe? wanting to go after love but being terrified of your parents' reactions and God's reaction and not knowing whether or not you believe the love you want is sinful? yeah. yeah. simon was the first character i came into contact with who fully and entirely resonated with me, down to the bone, into my soul, so deeply it hurt. wherever he is now, i hope he's doing well

#I WROTE SO MUCH FOR CHERRY OOPS #i wrote so much for this just. in general #haha #actually this post should probably be shown to a therapist instead of the tumblr mutuals #but i don't have a therapist so you all get it instead :D #anyway. yeah. i have a lot of thoughts and feelings #also what the HECK is with me and characters who have identity issues😭#actually no don't answer that. i think i answered it myself while talking about simon #ANYWAY #i'm gonna stop now #thank you for the ask kit!! i really enjoyed this one!!#kit tag #ask game #tw religion #tw religious guilt #tw homophobia

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obeyme-kaidii-writes · 3 years

Text

Sick

Mammon x gn!MC

Words - 3275

Content warnings - fluff, crack, my attempt at humor, adult humor I guess? but no smut

Prompt/Inspiration - Mammon gets sick and MC cares for him

Summary - Mammon gets a very minor case of the sniffles and is determined to milk it for all its worth. But he doesn’t realize you know exactly what he’s up to and have a plan of your own in mind.

AO3

It’s not often demons get sick, you’ve been told. Since their bodies heal quicker and are generally more resilient than humans, they are much better at fighting off disease.

So imagine Mammon’s surprise when he woke up one morning, shivering. Yes, he sleeps au natural, but his body temp runs warm to begin with and he kept plenty of sheets and blankets on his bed to keep him nice and snug. If he bundled up right, he’d create his own little cocoon of warmth that he was always reluctant to leave.

But this morning he was cold. After a few moments of staring at the ceiling he decided he should text you and ask you to bring him something to drink.

Of course he wasn’t really after the drink.

He was after your attention.

It’s not often demons get sick after all...and he was going to milk this for all it was worth.

As you headed towards Mammon’s room with the bottle of water he requested, you were a bit annoyed with him. You couldn’t figure out why your boyfriend couldn’t get it himself, and it was way too early in the morning on a Saturday for you to get out of bed. But you figured if he was going to wake you up, the least he could do was let you climb into bed with him and steal his warmth. It seemed like a pretty fair trade.

Only when you got to his room, he didn’t greet you like normally. Instead, you heard a faint coughing sound coming from his bed. Thinking maybe his throat was just dry and that’s why he begged for the water, you headed over to him and sat down on the edge of his bed. Mammon finally rolled over partway to face you, and you immediately noticed how flushed his cheeks looked.

“Thanks,” he said, weakly.

“Are you ok?” you asked, handing him the water and reaching out to touch his forehead. He seemed a bit warm to your touch, but you had no idea what a demon fever was supposed to feel like so you couldn’t tell if he was running one.

“I’m jus’ tired. And a little sore. Nothin’ The Great Mammon can’t handle,” he replied, coughing again, before taking a sip of his water.

“Maybe I should get Lucifer?”

“No!”, he yelped, with a surprising amount of energy, causing you to raise an eyebrow skeptically.

“I mean...it’s jus’...” more weak coughing, “I’ll be fine if you’re here. Prolly just a cold ya know?” He offered you a weak smile.

“A...cold…?” Do demons even get colds? You hadn’t the faintest idea. You knew it was possible for them to get sick, but you heard it happened so rarely you honestly didn’t think you’d ever get to see it for yourself. You were about to ask if it was ok to talk to Barbatos at least, but a tiny niggling feeling at the back of your mind told you not to say anything out loud for now and just to text him later.

“Can ya just...hold me?” Mammon asked, looking at you with the best puppy dog eyes he could manage.

Ok, something was definitely up, you thought.

“Sure babe, let me just get some stuff from my room and I’ll be right back.” You leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead, before standing up and leaving his room. As soon as his door closed behind you, you pulled out your DDD and sent Barbatos a text, hoping he might already be up early. And fortunately for you, he was.

"Hey Barb. Kinda an odd question but can demons get colds?” “Not usually. It would be exceedingly rare. Is one of the brothers sick?” “Mammon says he has a cold. But I don’t know enough to tell how bad it is.” “Can you tell if he’s running a fever?” “He seemed warm and a little flushed. If he was a human I would say he had a low grade fever. Nothing serious.” “Ah. He will be fine in that case. Demonic fevers run very hot to the touch. You would know immediately if there was cause for concern.” “Thanks Barb. You’re a lifesaver.” “It’s not a problem at all. You can message me anytime.”

With a better understanding of Mammon’s ‘condition’ under your belt, you felt relieved to know it wasn’t anything serious. But that still left you to figure out what exactly to do for him. Should you just pretend you were none the wiser and indulge him? Or should you call him out on it?

You continued thinking about this as you gathered up your things - a book, your DDD charger...when a brilliant idea struck you. You knew just what to do to make your poor, sick demon boyfriend feel better.

————

“Hey Mammon, I’m back. Sorry it took so long,” you announced as you entered his room, carrying a large bag. You carefully sat it down on top of Mammon’s pool table and began to unpack.

“What’s all that?”, he asked. Mammon had rolled over on his side to watch you.

“Oh just some human realm cold remedies. I thought I could take care of you like how my family used to take care of me. I’m not sure how effective some of this stuff will be, but at least it’ll make you feel better.”

You turned around and gave Mammon a brilliant smile, and he relaxed into his bed, pulling his blankets snug around him. You were such a good human, looking after him like this. He almost felt guilty for making you work so hard for his sake when he wasn’t all that sick. Almost.

“Where’d ya get all that stuff?”

“Oh Barbatos helped me out. Turns out Lord Diavolo has quite the collection of human things stashed away in his castle. Food too. I guess it was part of his research and preparation for the exchange program,” you said with a shrug.

“Barb?” Mammon tensed up imagining Barbatos talking to Diavolo, who would certainly talk about his “illness” with Lucifer. And he really doubted Lucifer would let him get away with this if he knew.

“Don’t worry, he promised not to mention it to anyone for now. But he wants me to get back to him if you’re not better by the end of the day, because that could mean it’s something much more serious.”

“Oh. Okay. I’m sure I’ll be fine by then. Just need a day ta rest is all.”

Mammon wasn’t sure how he felt about you talking to Barbatos, but it seemed that the butler hadn’t blown his cover, for which he was grateful. Now all he had to do was sit back and enjoy your undivided affection and attention. All. Day. Long.

“Give me your feet,” you said, walking towards the foot of Mammon’s bed.

“Sure babe,” he replied, wiggling his feet free of the covers so you had easier access. You had never given him a foot rub before, and he was getting excited at the thought. This was the life.

His dreams were quickly dashed though, when he felt something cold, wet, and kinda slimy pressed to the bottom of his foot as you tugged some thick, wool socks over them.

“What the hell is that?!” he squeaked, trying his best to keep his voice down and not react too much. He didn’t want to give himself away after all.

“Oh this? It’s a home remedy. You put onions in your socks and it draws out the toxins in your body so you can recover faster,” without batting an eye, you moved on to his next foot.

Mammon really did not like how those socks felt on his feet with the onion slices against his skin. But if this was something you were doing to help him, then he guessed he could let you be. You were being so attentive, he really couldn’t complain.

“Alright, there you go. All wrapped up,” you said, patting the bottoms of Mammon’s feet, laughing inwardly when you noticed him flinch at the sensation, before tucking him back in.

“So can ya cuddle now?”, he asked, making sure to punctuate his sentence with a cough. He really wanted you to hold him and run your fingers through his hair like you always did. Maybe he could even convince you to give him a neck and a shoulder rub too.

“Of course.”

You grabbed a small thermos and your book from the pool table and then returned to his bed, climbing in next to him, “Here, this should help with your throat,” you said as you offered the thermos to Mammon.

He couldn’t help but smile at your thoughtfulness. You really were the best. He wasn’t expecting to get a nice warm drink, but you had gone above and beyond what he had hoped for. Propping himself up in the bed slightly, Mammon opened the thermos and poured himself a small serving.

Yummm, warmed milk, he thought.

But as soon as he took his first sip he realized something was wrong. Very very wrong. Not wanting to insult you after you had tried so hard, he forced himself to swallow, shivering as it went down.

“Err, babe...I think there is something wrong with the milk. It tastes umm...a little funny…?”

“Oh that must be the garlic,” you replied, giving Mammon a warm smile, “It helps with aches and pains, plus it’s supposed to help fight infections.” You returned to your book, careful to position it so that Mammon could not see the stupid grin that had now spread across your face.

“Right...umm...thanks…” Mammon looked down at the portion still left in the lid of the thermos and realized he had to drink at least that much if he was hoping to close the container at all. He gulped, and then decided to just treat it like a shot and tossed it back, trying his best to prevent it from lingering on his tongue any longer than possible.

As soon as he started to put the lid back in place however, you stopped him, “You need to drink all of it or it won’t work.”

“Ha...yeah...of course...makes sense,” Mammon chuckled nervously. The whole thing?! You really expected him to drink this whole thermos?? That had to be at least 4 other servings in there. He almost felt like crying at the thought, but then reminded himself that once he was done, he could get back to his comfort cuddling. If you offered him anything else later, he’d just have to tell you he was still full.

“All...done,” he said, tightening the lid back on the thermos before handing it to you. He was so thankful right now that the thermos wasn’t any bigger. He remembered how you mentioned your family used to do these things to help you when you were sick, and immediately felt bad for your childhood self. Being sick as a human must be awful.

Hands finally free, Mammon turned over and curled up beside you, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he rested his head in your lap. Finally he was going to get to rest and cuddle all he wanted. He let out a sigh of contentment when he felt your fingers start to carefully comb through his hair. Now this was what he had been waiting for.

You peered around your book at the adorable, malingering demon resting so peacefully on your lap. You were honestly surprised he had managed to drink all of that vile milk concoction. You had thought for sure that would be the thing to make him fess up. You however, were prepared for this scenario and had one final trick up your sleeve.

But first, you were going to let your sweet demon of Greed get a bit of rest and some real cuddles in. You did love him after all, and you did enjoy cuddling with him. If he had just asked you to be spoiled for a day, you would have happily obliged him. Instead, he gave you an opportunity to tease him that was simply too good to pass up.

After a couple of hours had passed, you sat your book down and stretched your arms above your head. You had gotten a little bit stiff maintaining your position for so long, but Mammon had fallen asleep and your book was better than you had been expecting, so you hadn’t wanted to move.

As you stretched, Mammon started to stir and hugged your legs closer to himself. You smiled at him and gave him a small pat on the head, which caused him to reposition himself a little so that he could better see you.

“Hey, how are you feeling now?”, you asked.

“About the same,” he coughed a couple times before continuing, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it down ta lunch. Ya think you could bring my food up to me?” He gave you another weak cough, then tugged the blanket up to his chest so only his head was exposed.

“Really? You don’t think you can even make it downstairs?” you asked, feigning concern.

“Yeah,” cough cough, “It’s just so far to walk ya know? I’d probably get trapped on the stairs.” Mammon laughed weakly at his own joke, a pleading look in his eye.

“That’s starting to sound serious Mammon. I’m getting kind of worried.”

“Nah it’s fine! I’m sure. I just need ta rest. No big deal.”

“I don’t know Mammon. I'm thinking I should go get Lucifer just in case.”

“Hey, that's really not necessary ya know.”

“Well, I do have one more thing I can try,” you said, sighing, “But if you don’t want to try it then I’ll need to get Lucifer.”

Mammon thought for a moment. So far his luck hadn’t been the best with your home remedies. His feet felt awful, and he could still remember the taste of that milk. But maybe if you didn’t have him eat anything he’d be fine? If it could get him out of talking to Lucifer, then a little bit of discomfort would be worth it.

“A’ight, whatcha got?”

“It’s just medicine. Don’t worry. Nothing you have to eat,” you replied, with a saccharine sweet smile. You really wished you had thought a bit further ahead and set up a video camera, because you were sure his reaction was going to be amazing.

Mammon rolled off your lap, resting on his stomach with his arms crossed under his pillow. He watched you as you went back to your stash of things you had brought with you, and picked up a small green box and began opening the end, removing the products carefully.

“Ok Mammon, I need you to lay on your side, facing the wall.”

“Umm...ok.” Mammon rolled over as instructed, thoroughly confused as to why he had to face away from you to receive medication. Maybe it was some sort of topical cream and you were going to rub it on his back?

“Great, now I want you to pull your top leg up towards your stomach, and keep your bottom leg straight.”

“Alright….” He was starting to get a little anxious now. This position seemed really odd to him, and sorta vulnerable. In fact, it vaguely reminded him of a sex position. Which was silly, he thought, it wasn’t like you were going to try to make a move on him when he was supposed to be ill.

“Perfect,” you said, as you started pulling down the blankets and sheets to get a good view of Mammon’s ass. As soon as the cool air hit his backside though, he became very concerned about what was about to happen next.

“Wh wh wh what are you doing back there?” he asked, trying to crane his neck so he could see you, which was very difficult to do from the position he was in.

“I’m prepping the suppository. I just need to apply a bit…”

“THE WHAT?!” he yelped, slapping his hands over his butt as he scrambled to sit upright in bed.

“The suppository,” you replied. It took all of your concentration to keep a straight face at this point.

“I I I I...really don’t think that’s necessary. In fact! I’m feelin’ better already! See?” Mammon flexed his arms, as some sort of show of strength, “Look, even my cough is gone.”

“I don’t know Mammon, I really don’t want to take any chances. If you’re not comfortable with this, I’ll just go get Lucifer, it’s ok.”

“NO! Uhhh... really, I’m feeling much better now.”

You could hear the panic rising in his voice, and the sadist within you laughed in glee. Oh this precious, precious man. How boring would your days be without him?

“It’s fine. I’ll just get Lucifer,” you said, standing up and heading towards the door.

You barely made it a single step though before you felt Mammon grab your wrist, as his confession started pouring from his lips…

“imnotsickpleasedontgetlucfierpleaseimfineiswearimfinenobuttstuffnoluciferpleasepleasepleaseplease.”

You couldn’t contain your laughter any longer, and just started... cackling . There really was no other word to describe it. Tears fell from the corners of your eyes as you laughed and laughed, completely doubled over.

Mammon blinked in confusion. That was not the reaction he had been expecting. As he stood there watching you struggling to compose yourself, he became aware of the fact that he was still completely naked, and not only that, he was standing in his onion socks and the feeling was...not pleasant.

He couldn’t decide if it was safe to let go of your wrist yet, since he had no idea why you were laughing as hard as you were. Would you make a break for it if he tried to grab some shorts to cover himself? Or should he just pick you up and crawl back into bed so he didn’t have to stand anymore in these disgusting socks?

As he was weighing his options, you finally seemed to be calming down, and after taking a few deep breaths you turned to face him.

“Ok...I’m good...I’m good now...phew…” you wiped the tears from your eyes and continued, “Mammon, I know.”

“What do ya mean ya…?” realization started to dawn on him, and Mammon’s cheeks flushed crimson, “But all th th that stuff?”, he stammered out.

“Just some old wives tales and folk remedies.”

“Why…! You…! I drank THAT! That disgustin’ rotten milk!”

You tried to stifle your laughter with your free hand, but were not very successful.

“And...the socks! These nasty slimy socks! You…!”

It was getting harder to contain yourself again as Mammon kept pointing out all you had put him through. Watching you struggle not to laugh made him blush even harder, which only left him more annoyed.

“That’s it ya brat,” he said, and without any warning, scooped you up in his arms.

“Ack! What are you doing?!” you yelped, as you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck to steady yourself.

“We’re goin’ to take a bath and ya scrubbin’ my feet ‘til the onion is gone.”

“What?! Why do I have to do that? You’re the one who faked ill!”

“Th th that’s besides the point…!” he stuttered out, while walking towards his bathroom, his socks making a sickening squishy sound with each step.

You wrapped your arms a little tighter around his neck, giving him a hug, as you laughed softly to yourself. He really did keep your life interesting.

#gn!mc #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #mammon x mc #obey me fluff #obey me fanfic #obey me crack #mammon fluff #mammon crack #mammon fanfic

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