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writingwisterias · 3 months ago

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Together

Vendetta!Leon X AFAB!Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, MNDI, Angst, Drinking, Nightmares, Hurt/comfort, Friends - Lovers, Near death experiences, PTSD, Depression, Alcoholism, Unprotected Sex, Needy Sex, Missionary,

Summary: The beauty of change is acceptance it will always happen. Leon's a man of many secrets but after one to many close calls he finally breaks needing you to help hold him together.

Words: 4k

Thank you @shymoob for beta reading again ily, also sorry in advance I just needed him to have a big cry....

Salvation. That's what he heard over and over again in Spain. Whispers in his head as he felt the parasite spread throughout his body, infecting each one of his nerves. It was a promise he would be eager to take now. Salvation from his sins. From the lives he couldn't protect, for the people he couldn't save. All of them now forever linger in the creeping darkness of his bedroom; the moonlight that filtered through his blinds wasn't enough to keep them away. It felt wrong to pray for something good as if he should even be given that option when he feels like all he has done was wrong. Mistakes that could have been prevented, saved people that didn’t have to die for him.

Leadership was something he always rejected, the responsibility of everyone's lives felt too much. Maybe that's why when it was one of the few times he was in charge, an entire squad of eager people behind him – died. It wasn’t his fault, there were forces out of his control but that just felt like an excuse now. He’s been through too much, repeated a situation twice, fought off literal nightmares that should have stayed as sketches in a horror movie storyboard.

Shouldn’t he have learnt by now? To expect things to go wrong, prepare for them.

You didn’t deserve this, this man he had turned into. It was never what you expected him to grow into when you were younger. In college where you bunked together after a bad day; spending the night holding each other as you stared up at the ceiling wondering what the future had to hold. Pinky promises to always be there for each other no matter what.

Life wasn’t that kind however. He knew that now, it was never going to be kind to him. He was a fool for thinking it would be. Even more of a fool that he now stood at your front door.

The rain drenched him, his dark hair sticking to his face. His body ached, his chest covered in bruises from things he couldn’t lie about anymore. The secrets that he kept from you for years were threatened to spill out tonight, perhaps that's why he showed up here. It didn’t matter how hard he tried to protect you from this backpack of trauma that he shouldered everyday. It would just be another thing he was going to fail.

It was late, he intended on going to a bar finishing the rest of his vacation deep in the bottle like he started before it was interrupted. His knuckle was curled hovering in front of the wooden door that separated him from you. From your embrace and kind words, the distraction he had pushed away for so many weeks in favour of a crappy resort with alcohol. The distraction he should have leaned for in the first place. He couldn’t help it, pushing you away. He didn’t want to stain you with the blood on his hand.

He knocked. Just once. His hand hidden in his pocket quickly, hiding the scrapes that decorated his fingertips.

You wouldn’t answer, normal people were asleep at this time. People who weren’t plagued by nightmares like he was. Maybe he could sit here instead, looking out at the plants you decorated the porch with as he waited until a more reasonable time. The rocking chair in the corner looked cosy enough to sit there for a while.

He didn’t get a chance to make up his mind, not when you opened the door. A gasp leaving your lips as you looked at him. “Bar fight?” You asked, your warm fingers examining his face, touching the cold skin of his cheek. He flinched slightly, the bruise that still lingered was tender to the touch. “You should see the other guy,” He joked. He was always good at that, getting a laugh out of you whilst using his humour to hide the turmoil inside.

You guided him inside, held his hand tightly like he was going to suddenly decide to leave. It had been months since you had seen him. The last point of contact was a blunt text about being out of town, nothing unusual in terms of news but it was the bluntness of the text that had planted a seed of worry that spread throughout your brain. You trusted him and knew his work was intense.

He had never been the same since he left for Raccoon City to start at the RPD, returning to you a few nights later with a hollow look in his eyes and some crappy excuse as to why he returned. You knew something was wrong then, with how he was now flinching at the sound of the weather, at the sound of dogs barking or if you walked too loudly throughout your apartment his head would shoot up with alarm. The day that he returned was the same one that he shut you out, kept you away from everything that went on inside in an effort to hide the fact he had changed. That he wasn’t the Leon you knew before.

“Do you need anything for the bruises? Or have you already treated them?” You asked him, ready to grab the first aid kit if he needed it. You watched as he gave you a delayed response, a small shake to the head. He sank onto the sofa, the cushions swallowing his form in comfort. With his blank expression it was clear his mind was elsewhere, stuck in some far away world that you didn’t know if you could pull him out of.

You sat next to him, laying your hand on his gently. It was only then being this close you could see the struggle he had in his eyes, the inside fight he was going through. “Leon, we aren’t kids anymore. You can talk to me” You whispered. His hand was stiff as you held it, your fingers ran along the back of it in soothing circles, going over the new scrapes and playing with the older scars that littered them. Each one holding a story you knew nothing about.

“I– want to but I can't,” He whispered, his eyes never leaving your hands. Leon flinched at the sound of your sigh, your gentle frustration. He knew that with some more prodding he would have caved this time, and spilled everything he has kept inside for years in some babbled mess. You never pried for information, instead you smiled softly at him guiding his face back to yours.

It hurt him to feel all this pain, it came crashing against him wave after wave. Suffocating him in a tight grip that it was always too much, nothing worked as well as alcohol to numb it even for a short while. However tonight, this was the longest he had been sober, his hands shaking with the need to fill them with a glass of something but instead they held onto yours. Tightly.

His eyes were so sad, like a puppy that had been scolded for doing something wrong. “I understand, would you like to shower and stay the night instead? I think I have some shirts and sweatpants I stole from you” You offered, your weight now leaving the spot besides him to stand and hold out your hand. A lifeline, a slither of hope. At least that’s what it was for him. Leon smiled slightly before nodding and following you. He watched as you rummaged through your wardrobe, holding out the clothes and a towel. “You didn’t just steal my clothes but also my favorite ones”

“Can’t help it when they are comfy”

He had showered before he came a quick one so that he didn’t smell of sweat and blood like he did when he sat on the helicopter. However, being surrounded by the smell of your shampoo and bodywash sounded perfect right now. As he welcomed the warmth of the shower spray, Leon found himself thinking of Arais’ reasoning.

Let the world burn for what it did to mine.

In some twisted way he understood the man – not enough to destroy the world himself, his moral compass was too strong to resort to that. But instead following along with the thought of what if something happened to you? He knew he would then struggle to know what to do with himself. He really won the jackpot with you, everything he did was to ensure you never saw the horrors he did. To not be reminded of their gruesome features when you sleep, you deserve to live in the warmth of this house. A safe place you had created not only for yourself but for him as well.

You have always been there to cheer him up and help him, whenever it was offer a place to sleep when the boys at the orphanage he shared a room with were mean one night, sneaking him through your bedroom window just to hold each other, or during college when you would be on the sidelines encouraging him to beat his best time as he ran around the track.

You were the cheerleader he needed, the sunshine in his cold, dark world.

The clothes you had given him were slightly looser on his body, most of his muscle he had gained in his 20s now shredded by his poor upkeep. Most of his fulfilling meals came from you, the pasta dishes were always his favourite.

When he approached the living room he spotted you pulling out the sofa for him, struggling to keep the fitted sheet on the corners as you adjusted the next one. It was amusing to watch, it always was. The blue flowers that decorated the linen were always a perfect mixture of the two of you. He used to grimace at the sight of the feminine bed sheets but today he didn’t seem to care. Not when he smelt your wash powder as you shook them out.

“There, do you need anything else?” You asked him, your arm touching his forearm guiding his attention away from the bed back to you. He still wore the sad look, his face now pink from the hot water. Few of the dark strands still fell over his eyes, but he looked somewhat refreshed and that was enough for you. Leon muttered a small thank you before shaking his head. His hands awkwardly at his side waiting for the hug you alway gave him before bed when he would come to visit. It was all about the little things with you.

You felt him cave when your arms wrapped around him, his body sagging against yours, his arms trapping you close in an attempt to hold you into him. “Are you sure you are okay?” you whispered into his shoulder, squeezing his form tightly like you were attempting to pour your love into him that way. He didn’t respond. His silence was enough of an answer anyway.

With yet another soft smile you pulled away, cupping his face. You watched as he pressed the cheek further into your hand, subconsciously chasing your touch after rejecting it for so long. “Goodnight” He whispered, pressing his lips against your soft skin with a timid smile.

“Goodnight leon”

He watched your frame walk away towards the bedroom, listening for that soft close of the door watching the light that slowly leaked out across the hallway floor disappear, leaving him now again in the darkness. The sheets were comforting at least when he slipped in them. He would stomach the springs and divots in the sofa to be surrounded by the scent of you. The pillow was always too soft for him, his head sinking down far too much for his liking but as exhaustion crept in he didn't care. His eyes shut slowly, succumbing to the darkness and for the first time in years doing it sober.

The whimpering is what you heard first, quiet and muffled through the door of your bedroom. You knew what it was, who it was coming from. You were quick to get up, wrapping your robe around yourself as you quickly ran to see him. The lamp that flickered on awoke him from his dream, half of his body hanging over the edge of the sofa, his hand touching the soft rug. You watched as his eyes widened in realisation before he shot up scooting away from the edge before curling into himself. Leon brought his knees to his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around them. It broke you to see him like this, to watch the broken man that tried so hard to hide it from you despite the tears that ran down his eyes.

You didn’t call out to him, only walked in front of him. Your hands a firm touch on his knees as you brought his attention back to you. “Oh leon…” You whispered as bought him close to you, cradling him into your chest as he cried. Finally cried. After so many years of holding it together. He seeked your comfort like an injured child would to a mother. Claimed your body as his source of comfort whilst he wept. His tears weren’t silent, no matter how much he tried for them to not be. The sobs that left his lips were sure to be heard from outside the house.

You didn’t ask him to explain or lift him away from you to wipe the tears away. Instead you held him closer like you were trying to squeeze them out of him. Drain him out of any bad emotion so you could refill him with your love instead. His sobs soon turned into small hiccups, his shoulders shaking off the final stray whimpers. You had questions, they lingered in the air and rightfully so. It wasn’t everyday that someone you loved, someone who was always so strong like Leon, broke down like this.

He could feel the shake of your chest with every inhale you did, the shiver in your breath as it exhaled over your neck. He shouldn’t have come, he should have gone to the bar and drank himself to sleep there. The shakes didn’t stop, it was getting hard to breathe now. It wasn’t just the numerous near death experiences he encountered last night, it was all the ones before that. All the times he failed and almost failed to return back to you whole. Unchanged.

He felt you tug at him, pulling him away from the sofa silently. Leon flinched as you turned off the lamp, your hand tightening around his in response as you led him down the hallway into the softness of your bedroom. The door trapping the darkness away.

Leon stood in the center of your room, watching with small sniffles leaving his lips as you turned on the fairy lights around your bed frame. The warmth glows off them, illuminating the room enough that you could still sleep. You pulled back the bedsheets for him, an invitation for him to join you. It was familiar the feeling as he tucked himself in, one arm under the pillow the other laid on top of the duvet just a hairline away from you. Leon looked into your eyes, he was sure he was blotchy with leftover tears. The skin becomes red and blotching following the tracks they left behind.

Yet, despite all of the sadness that radiated off him, the warning sign that he was too much for you to handle. That he was too broken to be healed, he found himself leaning in towards you. Laying close where your pillows met, the crease being the only thing separating the two of you.

It was only a few breaths of silence before you leaned in, tasting the dried tears on his lips in a soft kiss. He didn’t register it at first, thinking it was just some pretty after dream he often got after the nightmares. He still chased it when you broke away, whimpering slightly as you moved back. You didn’t realise how much he needed this…needed you after all these years.

Your fingers laced with the strands of hair that ghosted the nape of his neck, trapping him in a kiss again. Your lips desperate and needy as you fought for each other. His hand pulled you closer, his body dominating yours as he pushed you into the mattress. “We don’t have to do thi-”

“Please”

Leon’s beg was pitiful, he should be pushing you away not drawing you in closer so your smell suffocated him. He didn’t deserve the softness of your fingers as you pulled his shirt above his head displaying the fresh bruises that littered across his torso. “I’m an agent” He spoke between kisses against your neck. It was hardly the time to talk about this but he needed to, needed to get it out into the air as you pulled him closer. Let him into your heart as if he wasn’t already trapped in it.

“I have been for years, since I came back from Raccoon city…I was forced to do this”

It was hard to concentrate on his words as his fingers ghosted over the nipples through your tank top. Tweaking the small buds as his lips ghosted the words on your skin. Your breath hitched as he finally pulled the top above your tits, exposing them to the cold air of the bedroom. “I survived that night” He said as he kissed along your collarbone creating a trail towards your breasts. “I survived spain, rescued the president's daughter”

Another kiss on your nipple, you tugged him closer, suffocating him with the soft skin of your chest. Your smell calmed him as he worked his tongue around your nipple, circling the bud with insane precision. You whimpered when he pulled away again, your grip keeping him close as you guided him to the other breast. “I tried to save people, to stop them from dying”

Your heart broke at each confession, at each secret he revealed of his hidden life. The one that you would have supported him on, helped him work through his moments. “I’m proud of you” You spoke softly, lifting his head, trying not to whimper at the sight of his messy face. “You shouldn’t be, people have died on my watch…I get people killed”

“Am I dead?”

Leon looked at you, his eyebrows pinching in thought as his chest rubbed against yours. Your cores are needy for each other, waiting patiently for the pleasure that they seeked. “No,” he whispered. With a smile you bought him into a kiss, your hips grinding against his in a needy motion to feel his twitching cock. “Then I trust you to keep me safe. Just don’t keep me in the darkness anymore please…” You whispered against his lips.

It was only then his hips met your grind, pressing them against your clothed pussy pinning them to the bed. You watched him bite his lip to stifle a groan, his pupils growing darker as lust replaced the sadness. “I’m a bad man” He whispered.

Your fingers pushed against the waistband of your pyjama bottoms, exposing your weeping sex to him. “Not from where I’m looking”

Leon’s head dipped, clearly having a mental battle with himself before finally deciding to give in. To cross this line and let you inside again, it was only fair after all. He treated you like you were the only drug worth living for, an addiction he would never recover from. His cock slapped against his stomach as he finally exposed it. The tip eagerly beads pre-cum which he uses to work his sensitive cock. Each pump produces more for you in a steady supply.

You gasped when you felt him notch himself at your entrance, his cock twitching against your hole spreading his pre along your folds. Leon brought you into a passionate kiss as he finally sunk himself into you, your warmth welcoming him like the hug he had always needed. The type he has never been selfish enough to take from you. His shadow loomed over you as he began to thrust. A low grinding motion, almost like he wasn’t ready enough to pull away.

You had no idea how long he needed this, the release from hiding everything, the safe space to do so. Deep down he always knew it had to be you, the one he would grind himself deeper and deeper in such a vulnerable state. He thanked the heavens he was sober, so he could remember exactly how your walls felt as you hugged his cock, dragged him in further. Your grip so tight against his shoulders that you made your own marks along his back.

As if he pulled out anymore of his dick you would change your mind and push him away. He almost cried when your legs wrapped around his waist trapping him there, pinning his hips closer to your own. His name became a chant as it felt from your lips in deep groans.

The pain was welcomed compared to the aches in his joints that he still felt, pure desire willing him to take you like this. “You are so perfect” he whispered against your neck as his thrusts picked up, chasing the pleasure you were pleading him to give to you. “Please– leon” You whimpered as you arched yourself closer to him. Leon grunted in your ear, his heart beating wildly as he poured everything into you, thrusting his entire soul into your pleasure like it was the only thing worthwhile for him to do.

You were his everything. The only thing he needed, you felt it with every twitch he gave you. His mouth sucking against the skin as he whimpered at the feeling of you. Sweat dampened his body as he finally chased the high. “I love you” You whined, pulling his head away from your neck as you finally kissed him. Tears pooled in his eyes at your words, his head nodding in agreement.

Leon shifted his thighs underneath your ass, pressing you further into the mattress every thrust. In a pleading whine you finally orgasmed around his cock. The feeling was perfect, rejuvenating the energy he needed for his own finish. He needed you to feel the same warmth he felt inside, the same love that you offered him so gracefully. He loved you, he will always love you. He needed you to know that despite him changing, growing into a colder man, his love for you was the only thing that stopped him from freezing over entirely.

As he unravelled himself inside you, fucking his seed deep into your warmth with a whine. He entrusted that your grip would keep together, that your hold on him would slowly close the wounds that had bled for too long. As they had become infected and leaked over his soul in an angry attempt to kill his spirit.

Your chest greeted each other with each breath you took, unspoken words and confessions still lingering in the air, but in this moment he didn’t care. Not when you looked back at him with so much love. “I love you more” He finally whispered before pulling away to hold you to him like a weighted blanket.

The silence that filled the room was comforting as you both came down from your high, your minds working too much for sleep to take you in its graces. “I almost died yesterday…flung so far I broke through a glass barrier and hung on the verge of life and death. I knew it was going to happen someday…but I wasn’t ready. Not when I hadn’t told you that I loved you” Leon admitted. It was scary to listen to these words, your heart skipping a beat at the confession of his near death. Realising that this was the moment that made him panic earlier, his body hanging off the sofa in a similar fashion you assumed.

“Then don’t waste anymore time, I’m right here.”

Instead of panicking, just like you always did, you offered him a space to talk. An opportunity to finally go through everything he has, to listen to every heart breaking moment he shouldered alone. In hopes that together, you could help him move on and finally begin the process of healing.

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pineapple-downside-up-cake · 5 months ago

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TF!141 but they don't go to the bar together; not on purpose.

They're wound too tight, have seen the bad end of one too many bar brawls, to let loose with booze in public.

Instead there's one of those cozy coffee shop/bar type places not too far from HQ. It's not open all night, but it's open as long as you need it.

Mismatched furniture, plush but ugly, the lighting low and disarming - run by the vet behind the counter. She only plays soft acoustic tracks; nothing with a hard bass.

The team usually goes their separate ways, but they tend to end up there, trickling in throughout the night when the days are rough.

When the nightmares keep them from sleeping, or being alone with their thoughts is too much.

There aren't rules, necessarily - but it's unspoken that this is not fucking therapy. They don't talk about why they're not in bed, asleep. Everyone's got reasons.

Instead, they abuse the furniture, shut down in a place where they won't be alone.

Soap tangled sideways in his chair with a coffee - don't look at him, he wasn't getting shut-eye anyway - listening to podcasts in one ear, sketching idly on a napkin.

There's a collection scattered across the wall, his and others', and the owner let's 'em hang.

Gaz with a blanket on his lap, feet on an ottoman and an earl grey nearby that he never drinks, but orders anyway. He spends most of the time on the phone, but he holds the cup in his hands until every last vestige of warmth seeps into his skin.

The barista will refull his mug until the teabag brews clear. No questions asked.

Price sits in an armchair with the lone vintage telly on mute, watching football reruns and fishing championships. He drinks whiskey and a damned good thing someone does. They mostly stock it for him.

He thinks it helps him sleep, and some nights it does - sometimes he falls asleep in the stupid purple chair and wakes up with a blanket over him at closing.

Ghost sits on the floor. He's most comfortable there, with his back against the sofa, and the carpet is plush enough for someone like him. He drinks herbal tea, usually mint, let's the smell clear his head while he reads.

He reads the same two books on the loaner shelf until the spines break and pages start to fall from the binding, and one day they're replaced with the full series.

He realizes he actually likes reading, doesn't have to pretend just for something to do with his hands, and starts bringing in his cast-offs to swapout and take home.

They don't always make it there at the same time, or even on the same nights. Sometimes weeks go by without any of them showing up, when things are good or when they've been gone...

But they know they are always welcome to seek solace at The Treehouse.

#setting myself up for x reader options? mayyybe #simon ghost riley #john price #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #call of duty #the treehouse fic

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lassieposting · 1 year ago

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I like to think that once things have settled down post-game, Tav will start addressing Astarion's critically low self-everything issues.

Like, this man's obnoxious, vain exterior is a paper-thin sheet of ice over a bottomless lake of insecurities and negative self-talk, and we see that the whole way through the game. He's been taught to believe that his only value is in his body. He'll bitterly call sex the only thing he's good for. He's shocked if you dump another companion for him, because he sees himself as having nothing to offer but baggage. He knows, in an abstract way, that he's attractive, but he doesn't remember what he looks like.

Perhaps one evening he asks what they see in him, and when they ask what he thinks their answer will be, he's stumped by the question.

And Tav decides it's past time to do something about that, because there is so much about him that is worthy of love.

Consider: Astarion rolling out of bed at like noon, padding naked to the bathroom to wash and style his hair, and catching sight of something tucked into the frame of the mirror. It's a sketch of him, one of Tav's, and beside it, they've scrawled the words you're beautiful. He grins, and traces the charcoal strokes with a fingertip while he brushes his teeth, because that's not a difficult one to believe, and he's touched.

But then he starts finding more little sketches, and more little notes. When he reaches for the book he's been reading, there's one tucked into the page he's dog-eared - a little caricature of himself, curled up in an armchair reading a giant book, captioned you're clever. He snorts a laugh, a little self-deprecating. Loathe as he is to admit it, he's no Gale, and he has brain fog more often than not. But...well, he did graduate law school and pass the bar once upon a time, so technically they're not wrong.

You're brave is resting on his pillow when he comes back from splashing his face in the bathroom one night, still trembling from a nightmare. His eyes well up when he spots it, and when he crawls into open arms and buries his face in Tav's clavicle he mumbles that he doesn't feel very brave at all. That's a hard one to accept, but they will keep telling him.

You care about me... is simply sitting on a dresser one day. Two little drawings with that one; in the first, he's bandaging a cartoonish bump on Tav's head. On the back, though...he recognises that image, Tav tied up and spitting rage at him through the night, lost to their Urges, as he kept watch. In smaller letters, his own words are reflected back at him: ...even when that's an objectively stupid thing to do.

You never gave up is in the medical kit kept under the bed, the one stocked with salves and oils for the bone-deep ache of two hundred years of consistent injuries. Tav will rub his shoulders for him if he asks, he knows that. But, well, two centuries of hiding any sign of weakness makes for a tough habit to break. He touches the reminder gently, as though it's fragile, and after a moment's hesitation, calls them in for help.

And on and on they go, dozens of little notes, a tangible list of things they love about him. Repeated, sometimes, some more than others, as and when he needs to be reminded of them. Often accompanied by little drawings that make him laugh or snort or cry - snapshots at how Tav sees him. His ridiculous bedhead. His unflattering blood-drunk expression, gawking into the middle distance, utterly lost in the sauce. The way his ears will sometimes twitch in his sleep. The Sexy Side-Lean pose he didn't realise he tends to do in doorways. His dramatic readings of appalling erotica.

And gradually, he begins to believe them.

#bg3 #bg3 headcanons #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion x durge #tav's drawings are either beautifully done sketches or chibis there is no in between

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anjelicawrites · 8 months ago

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Paring: Armand x reader

Synopsis: you're sitting in a pub, you start drawing the mysterious stranger sitting not far away from you. When he discovers you, you don’t realize you’ve picked the attention of a dangerous creature.

Warnings: reference to past injury, self doubt, allusion to past trauma.

A/N: reader is AFAB. They/them pronouns used.

The wind is howling outside the thick windows of the pub, dark clouds promising heavy rain and violent waves against the jagged coast not too far from the narrow road where the pub is built. The fire is roaring in the huge hearth, shadowed by too many people huddling there to nurse their drinks; the lights are dim against the old wooden panels, giving the overcrowded room a homely air.

You beer sits next to the small case full of your pencils as you draw in the dim lights of the overcrowded room.

Your head sits lightly on your free hand as the other rushes to finish the quick sketch you’re working on, before your, unintentional, muse decides to leave; you’re hoping the promise of heavy rain will convince the man to stay a little longer. Who knows if he will or he will try his luck, now that the wind has picked up even more violently.

You focus again on the black lines on the sheet of paper, finishing the outline to start working on the elegant sweater he’s wearing; you’re no expert but it looks expensive, and warm, and soft. A real nightmare to draw using only a charcoal pencil, since you are planning to add colors and you don’t want to put too many shadows that aren’t there.

“It has been a long time since anyone ever painted me. I was given the chance to pose back then, for hours, I have to admit.”

The soft voice makes you lift your head in surprise; dimly you think that there is an accent you can’t truly pinpoint, his words almost neutral in their intonation.

“It’s actually a drawing, not a painting.”

You want to drown in your own sweater at how stupid your response sounds.

“May I sit?”

You can’t see his eyes, hidden behind his wraparounds sunglasses and his expression is hard to read: you’d hate to cause a scene, not everyone appreciates being portrayed in secret.

“Please, do.”

Carefully you move your beer more on the side of the small round table, the too long sleeve of your sweater uncovering partially the black burn glove on your left hand, despite you racing to hide it again.

The man sits down, gracefully and only now you notice he has no drink with him: he must have entered the pub to escape the oncoming storm. He only lays an elegant cigarette case on the battered table, the ornate, intricate designs catch your attention from the rowdy crowd of the pub.

He is stunningly beautiful, but this you realized when you eyes had landed on him, whilst you were sipping your beer and wondering what, or who, you could sketch to pass the time; what truly draw your attention was his aura, so calm, yet it gave you the sense of someone who keeps a tight lid on their emotions, like a summer evening when you know it’s going to rain soon.

“Are you an artist?”

Again, his soft voice drags you back from your thoughts, the musicality of it makes you want to listen to him reading his grocery shop list, if that meant just hearing it.

“No, not really, it’s just a hobby.”

“You have a great deal of sketches in your book, and in your little case.”

Almost on instinct you want to grab your work and curl around it in protection; it’s the gut reaction of a second, you aren’t in that position anymore, this man will not tear your works into shreds for no reason.

“It’s something I haven’t done for a while and then I had decided to pick it up again. We can’t only work all the time, can’t we? We need to treat ourselves.” You say with a smile.

“I am acquainted with that meme.”

It surprises you that he feels the need to convey his knowledge: what a strange man.

“This is my way to treat myself.”

“By drawing unsuspecting strangers?”

There’s no heath in his words, no rage, perhaps a bit of curiosity.

“By drawing what, or who, catches my eyes.” You answer, parroting his words. “I love to hang somewhere and just let my eyes wander. I can stop sketching you, if you want, I know it’s disconcerting for some people.”

You can truly feel the weight of his gaze, still hidden by the sunglasses, even now that the pub is bathed in the dark light from outside. This stranger is not simply looking at you, you feel as if he’s taking you apart to catalog every single piece of yourself he can find, like an entomologist does with a pinned butterfly.

You know you shouldn't feel so calm under his scrutiny, that you should bid your farewell and go home, but you can’t help yourself: you want this stranger to keep looking at you like he would the pieces of a puzzle he desperately needs to put together. No matter how dangerous the consequences.

A shiver runs down the damaged nerves on your left arm, and you decide to ignore the warning.

“Why should you? You’re very talented.”

All of his nervousness now shows itself in the way his index fingers fiddles with the cigarette case, his hidden gaze fixed upon you.

“It’s a shame it’s not possible to smoke in public places such as this one anymore.”

How strange! You think. The law passed here in 2004 and he talks about it as if he had experienced how it was before. He can’t be that old!

He seems to have made his mind as his hand gently grasps the sunglasses, as if ready to remove them.

“Please, don’t!” In your haste you lift your hand, almost to stop him. “The most interesting part is to guess and imagine. Do keep wearing them.”

There’s a slew of small expressions playing on his face, all to hide his surprise and, perhaps, curiosity?

You grab the charcoal pencil in a tighter grip and go back to your work, losing yourself in the quick, almost nervous motions of your hand on the paper: you don’t know why you feel like you have to rush, to capture the fleeting essence of this nameless man, but you do.

With every ticking second you believe you’re going to lose the feeble hold you have on the ideas crowding your mind, with every stroke you fear you’re drifting far away from the first image of sadness and loneliness that lighted up in your mind, as soon as you saw him, sitting alone in the pub, under lights that enhanced his otherworldly beauty, the very thing that set him apart from all the other men present.

You only need to glance at him sparsely, to make sure to capture the texture of his hair and the folds of his sweater, the long lines of his fingers against the battered wood of the table.

Only when you’re finished, you realize you have been holding your breathe for most of the sketching and you have to force yourself to take a big gulp of air, before turning your sketchbook to him, while grabbing your beer again.

You’re learning not to be shy, when it comes to your creations, to share them with the world, to accept the criticism and the compliments; not now. Now you’re crawling out of your shell again, trying to draw while being filled with self doubts and hating every single piece you created, those past months disappearing in your mind, along with the strength you built for yourself.

His piercing gaze is now turned on your drawing, that analytical stare that cut you into layers and layers, now is doing the same to your work, and to himself: you’d do anything to know his thoughts, now that his face shows nothing.

Under the stillness a maelstrom rages. The man looking back at him from the page is a knot of everything he’s always felt and never told. Through the fast strokes of his eyes, he can see all his hardships, all he’s done and lost for centuries, pain and desperation, in a way a simple mirror would never show him: how a simple mortal like you could read him so deeply after staring at him, comes as a surprise. You’re nothing but a child, compared to him, yet you have the understanding of a much older person, as if you’ve experienced the depths of hell, only to expose it in your art, and to him.

It takes a lot of restrain for Armand to show nothing of his internal turmoil: it has been so long since someone managed to pin him down so precisely, so perfectly, he has to fight the instinct to stand up and storm out, away from you and your keen eyes; he wonders if you have done the same to other people, read them so perfectly and bluntly putting them in front of their own soul, like his fledgling had done to him. Do you know how dangerous you are? Do you have any inkling of how easily you could destroy a person’s life? Would you do that in the name of the truth?

“It’s awful, isn’t it? It’s not worth keeping.”

You reach with your good hand to slip the sketchbook away from his grasp and he stops you with elegant fingers on your wrist. His grasp is not strong, it doesn’t hurt, but holds a secret strength you can feel traveling up your arm and makes you shiver with the need for more.

“It’s beautiful.” He says, after a heartbeat, still holding you in place. “The one who painted me wasn’t as good an artist as you are, he lacked the depth you hold.”

His face is now turned back to you, his hidden, piercing stare focused on your features, analyzing you again, as if wanting to explore the hidden crevices of your soul.

“Thank you.” You stammer. “I’m glad you like it.”

Still, he says nothing, making you feel self-conscious of your own existence in this small pub on the coast.

“Would it be too forward of me to ask you to gift me this sketch?”

You’re too dazzled yourself to notice the small quiver in his soft voice.

“Oh! That’s the first time anyone has asked me that.”

Right now the people around you two don’t exist, nor is the wind beating down the old windows and stones of the building. There are no passing cars outside, nor are the waves crashing against the high cliffs, just a handful of miles from here.

“I thought I wanted to color it.”

“I think it’s perfect this way.”

He knows a finished work will incinerate him on the spot, because he will never be able not to stare at it, at himself, like Dorian Gray, to face all his centuries on this Earth.

“You’re too good to me. It’s really just a small sketch.”

“You’re selling yourself short. You have something many professional artists lack.”

When his big hand releases yours, the spell you were under breaks and all the sounds around you attack you again, adding to the fog you’re still feeling clouding your brain.

Almost through a dream, you take the sketchbook from his hand and cut the page off with the small pocket knife you keep in your pouch to sharpen some of your thicker pencils.

“It’s yours, my personal thank you for appreciating my work.”

His fingers touch yours again on the thin piece of paper and only now you notice how cold they are, despite the heath in the pub.

“Thank you.” There’s no calculation in his words, he feels real gratitude, the feeling burning brightly in the scorched desert of his soul. “I don’t even know your name.”

When you answer his question, you feel like he’s got a hold on your soul, like in the stories about the fairies.

“My name is Armand.”

A french name to someone who hasn’t a french accent, but nowadays people call their children anything, you think.

“Are you here on holiday?”

You can see the cheeky way his mouth turns when he smiles at your question.

“I thought I was simply passing through, but I am fascinated with how this area has changed, I think I am going to stay, for a while.”

You almost don’t notice the way he refers to this place as if he’s visited it years and years ago. Almost.

“Do you have somewhere to carry it? My sketch I mean. It has just started to rain.”

“Unfortunately I don’t. And I don’t wish to ruin it.”

“Here, use this!”

With much too haste, you empty the case where you carry your bigger pieces and hand it over to him.

“I can’t possibly accept it. Your other works will be destroyed by the rain.”

“I can roll them up and keep them in my bag, it’s big enough. Besides, that one is fresh, if you do the same to it, it will get ruined.”

“I still need to refund you yours.”

“There’s no need. If you’re staying, you’ll give it back whenever you can. There aren’t many meeting places here.”

The old trick always works: you are all so easy to manipulate.

“Then I shall give it back as soon is possible.”

His hands don’t tremble when they take the case from you, touching the sketch again doesn’t burn him the same way the first time did, but he knows he’s still affected, and needs to understand why.

“Regrettably, I need to go now.”

He lies, a part of him wants to stay to take your brain apart until he knows all the ways the mechanisms work there, but it’s too early for that.

“It’s raining pretty hard.”

“My car is parked nearby and your lovely sketch is safe.”

He doesn’t have a car, but he has faster means of transportation that defy such a small thing as rain.

Before you can stand up, he gracefully takes your hand to kiss the palm, ignoring the smudges of charcoal. He does it the classy way: his lips don’t touch your skin.

“Thank you again for your gift.”

“No, thank you for humoring me. I hope I’ll see you soon!”

Oh, he thinks, you have no idea how ‘soon’ can become ‘now’.

#armand x reader #armand x y/n #iwtv #armand #amc iwtv #interview with the vampire #amc interview with the vampire #the vampire armand

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a-babe-without-a-name · 2 months ago

Text

Sit Next To Me

Chapter 7: 65 Days

You had created two rules for yourself.

Rule One: You could do whatever you wanted. Get the degree you want, party when you want, cancel plans when you want, love who you want. Whatever you really wanted to do, you were going to do, anxiety and guilt free.

Rule Two: You could do whatever you wanted, except for have relationships with classmates. No sex, no dating. If they were on the same course roster as you, they were off limits.

Easy enough, right?

…Right?

Viktor x Female!Reader - 18+

A.N. Sorry for the delay on this chapter!! My laptop broke, so that kinda put writing to a halt for a bit. We're back in business, though!

ALSO!! In incredible and crazy news! @nervousandaggressive made fanart for this fic?!?!?! Which is so cool and I am so incredibly honored that my writing inspired it. I straight up cried when I got the notification, because this is genuinely the coolest thing ever. Links below for the art, and check out their page for their other work :)

Vik in his party outfit from last chapter

And some Vik + Rio sketches!!!

Read on AO3

When you woke in the morning, you told yourself that the memories of last night had just been a dream, the type that turned into a nightmare right before waking up. The ache in your jaw and Lest’s empty bed told you otherwise. Viktor’s heavy coat was still wrapped tightly around you, holding in an unnecessary amount of body heat. You shifted uncomfortably, sitting up on your forearms with a groan. You felt dirty, in the same sweat soaked clothes as last night, makeup smeared around your eyes, and teeth unbrushed. Which, considering the service you had provided last night, was particularly uncomfortable.

You slid off the bed. You hadn’t felt drunk when walking home last night, but a wave of nausea and the way your legs shook told you that your body was still struggling against the alcohol in your system. You steadied yourself against the bed, waiting out the feeling. When you were sure you’d be able to walk without throwing up Red Bull and vodka, you pulled the blinds shut and began to peel off last night's layers.

You shrugged out of his coat, inspecting it for any rogue makeup or glitter you may have left on it. Luckily it stayed clean while you slept. During your examination, you did find ‘V. Sýkora’ stitched sweetly into the back of the collar, just above the flannel lining. The red thread was faded and fraying on some of the letters, worn in with the jacket over time. You pressed the collar to your nose, breathing in the scent of him. It was stronger on this than on either of the shirts you had stolen from him, you wished you could live in it forever. He wore this coat nearly every day though, he'd want it back. He probably wanted his t-shirts back, too. Tears pricked your eyes, not at the idea of giving him back his clothes, but at how much of a mess you had let this become.

You sighed, draping the coat over the back of your desk chair and continuing to get undressed. You had fallen asleep fully dressed, only managing to kick your sneakers off before climbing into bed. The tall socks had left itchy red lines around your thighs and the grass stains on the knees reached your skin. You tossed them, along with the rest of your clothes, into your laundry bag before heading to the shower where you were sure to spend most of your time overthinking.

-----

Before your hair even had time to dry, you were hesitating in front of Sky’s door. Every time you were about to step foot onto her cutesy welcome mat, a fresh rush of cowardice would send you reeling back down the hall. You stood there, fine-tuning the apology you had written in the shower for a few more seconds before walking back to the door. You did this what felt like a dozen times.

You did this until Sky’s door opened on its own as you retreated once again. You gasped and spun around, expecting to see Sky heading out to enjoy her Saturday. Instead you were met with the sight of Viktor in the open door frame. He furrowed his eyebrows, taking you in for a moment before glancing over his shoulder and shutting the door behind him. He took a hesitant step, fist tight around the handle of his cane. His face held the same slight tension as when he was pouring over a new concept in class he didn’t quite understand yet. He opened his mouth, words hanging just behind his teeth, but decided against it. You couldn’t speak to him. Not right now, and to some degree he could tell. He let out a short, shaking breath and walked past you without a word.

That was enough to force you to Sky’s door, giving a sharp knock before you could back down. Your fists were balled at your sides in an effort to keep you from picking at the skin around your nails. Instead you opted to dig the tips of your nails into the palm of your hands, hard enough to leave marks. When Sky opened the door a tired question of Viktor’s name was halfway out of her mouth, falling short when she saw it was you instead.

“Oh,” She eyed you with a tired hesitation.

“Hey,” You said, curling your shoulders in on yourself and slouching, hoping to ease any idea that you came here in anger, “Could we…could I talk to you?”

She nodded, still watching you cautiously as she let you into her room. Her bed was unmade and she was still in her PJs. Viktor must have woken her up. Part of you felt bad for interrupting her morning, but this had to happen now or you knew you’d never do it.

“What’s up?” Sky shifted her weight from foot to foot, her arms were crossed over her stomach protectively, fingers yanking at a loose thread on her sweatshirt.

“Sky I…” Your throat closed up, the apology speech you had rehearsed on the walk to her dorm room drying to a crisp on your tongue.

“Listen, It’s fine,” She let out a heavy sigh, shaking her head as she tried to brush you off, “Lest shouldn’t have said anything, it doesn’t need to be a thing.”

“It already is a thing,” You pointed out, nails back to digging in your skin, “Just…give me a second, okay.”

She sighed, looking at you the same way someone would look at a wet stray cat, with pity and disgust.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” She said, turning to the counter under the window behind her. Two used mugs already sat there, she must have offered Viktor the same thing.

“Yes please,” Having something in your hand would make this easier.

Sky pulled out a fresh mug, dropping a teabag in as she started the kettle up. You followed her lead as she took a seat in her desk chair. The other one already angled towards her, where Viktor had been only minutes ago. The water only took a few seconds to boil, already warm from earlier, and she stayed sitting as she reached over to fill the mugs. You took the one she slid towards you, holding it tightly. Letting the hot water reach through the ceramic to burn your palms. She watched you expectantly, waiting for you to say what you came here to say.

You took a heavy breath, hoping you didn’t look too pitiful when you told her, “I’m so sorry, Sky.”

She nodded, taking a sip of her tea. Letting you go on.

“I’ve been a horrible friend,,” You tried to organize your thoughts from earlier, “and I don’t…I don’t expect to be forgiven. I just need you to know that I know. I know how I’ve been acting. I know I’ve been childish and nasty. I knew you liked him, I knew you were talking to him first, and I still crossed that line. I tried to lie to myself and say it didn’t matter, that I wasn’t doing anything wrong, but we both know that’s not true…”

You let out a shaky breath, realizing your apology was on the verge of becoming a jumbled mess, “And I’m so so sorry. If I could go back and undo it all, I would…but I can’t. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Sky stared into her mug. Chewing on the inside of her cheek as she conjured up a response.

“Viktor turned me down,” She told you, meeting your eyes and giving a sad laugh, “Just now. Part of me knew he would when I asked him out, but when he didn’t give me an answer right away, I just…hoped I guess. I shouldn’t have, I mean, he’s obsessed with you. I don’t think everyone else sees it yet, but for months I’ve been watching him watch you.”

“Sky I-” You shook your head, trying to protest, but she raised a hand to stop you.

“C’mon, I know you know,” She scoffed, rolling her eyes at you, “How couldn’t you? It honestly baffles me that you won’t just date him, like fucking around with him at parties and spending all your time with him isn’t practically the same thing.”

You tried to hide the way her words made you flinch. You wondered if the rest of your friends could see what was going on. If you were really this obvious.

“I never thought you’d be…mean?” She said the word like it wasn’t quite the right descriptor, “To me. Despite all of it. Despite the fact that I am certainly not a threat to whatever it is you want from him. Then last night you went out of your way to get what you wanted, because you always have to get what you want.”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself, she didn’t let you.

“Don’t pretend like it wasn’t on purpose. I saw you.” She said, leaning forward in her seat, “I saw you last night, watching us. The second you decided he was giving me too much attention, you took him back, blew him in the backyard to remind him who he really wanted.”

You couldn’t help the tears that welled in your eyes, blinking them back. Urging them not to fall. It was an odd feeling, to be scolded by the kindest person you knew. It was embarrassing.

Sky gave an exhausted sigh, “But, at some point I think I moved on without realizing it. I expected it to hurt when he told me no. I expected to be a mess, the kind that can only be cleaned up by romcoms and a pint of ice cream. But, when he gave me his answer, I didn’t care. I’m glad he apologized for being a dick,” She laughed softly, “But I’m also glad he didn’t decide that he wanted to be with me all of the sudden, because that's not what I want anymore.”

You stared down at the undrank tea in your hand. Still hot, but going cold as you tried to piece together what she was saying.

“Basically,” She huffed, “I just don’t give a fuck anymore. You and Viktor can do whatever the hell you want. Fuck him, marry him, kill him for all I care,” She snorted a laugh, you could feel the tension ebbing away, “I don’t want him. All I want is for everything to go back to the way it was. I miss hanging out with you without feeling like you want to push me into traffic.”

Her tone was joking, but the idea that she had been able to sense the misplaced animosity you harbored was rough.

“I…okay,” You nodded, setting the tea to the side, “So we’re good?”

“Mostly,” She said, as you both stood up, she let you pull her into a hug, her curly hair tickling your cheek as she decided to reciprocate, holding you close to her. She laughed against your shoulder, “You and him are still dickheads, though, and you’re lucky I’m not vindictive.”

You laughed, “I know. I’m glad you're being…cool about this. But I want you to know I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t forgive me. I do really love you, Sky, I should never have let myself act like that.”

She pulled away, hands on your arms, “Do me a favor and work on that jealousy thing, yeah? You’re too pretty to act like that, really.”

“Okay, mom,” You laughed, “Can I get you lunch today? I know you said we’re good, but I’m still willing to buy your forgiveness.”

“Not today,” She said, squeezing your arm and stepping back, “Me and Lest have plans, but next time we get drinks, it's on you.”

You tried not to flinch at the mention of Lest. She had spent the night here as far as you knew. She must have been heading back to the dorm as you were on your way here. Sky was quick to forgive, even if you didn’t deserve it. Lest, on the other hand, was going to be a wild card. She was most likely still carrying all the rage that Sky refused to cling on to. You wondered if she’d still be in the room when you got back. You weren’t sure if you wanted her to be or not.

On the way out, you grabbed Viktor’s jacket from a coat closet that probably hadn’t been used since the dorm had been built over half a century ago. You had hid it there as you came into the building, knowing that wearing his coat to talk to Sky would’ve been a bad look. You realized you should have told Viktor to grab it on his way out. It’d be fine. You were heading to his house anyways, your truck was still parked in his driveway. If you were lucky you’d be able to drop his coat off and snag your keys without running into him.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him. It was that you had no idea what to say to him. You had created this mess of friends and feelings and bad decisions, and it was going to take more than one conversation with Sky to smooth it all over completely. You didn’t bother zipping up the coat as you stepped outside. You let the cold air slither in along your body, embracing the bite of it as a kind of punishment for your mistakes.

You flinched as a grey car came to a stop against the curb a few feet in front of you. You bristled, preparing to tell off whatever man felt like bothering you today. When the window rolled down, you found yourself wishing it had in fact been a random man.

Viktor watched you in the side mirror, “Where are you going?”

“Home,” You lied, refusing to move closer to him.

“Your dorm is in the other direction,” He pointed out, when you didn’t say anything he sighed, “Would you like a ride to pick up your truck?”

“No, it’s fine.” You shook your head, “I can walk.”

He scolded you with your name, “It’s five degrees, you’ll get sick.”

“It was colder last night,” You said stubbornly, feet planted.

“Yeah, well you were drunk and upset last night,” He said, “And you shouldn’t have walked home in the first place.”

“Why do you care so much?”

“God above,” He groaned, shaking his head. The backlights of the BMW lit up as he shifted into reverse and backed up until his window was where you were standing. “Because you are my friend and I care about your wellbeing. “

You crossed your arms over your chest, fighting off a shiver as a particularly strong gust of wind pushed against you, “I’m fine.”

He rubbed the space between his eyebrows, eyes squeezed shut, “Get. In. The. Car.”

You resisted the urge to stomp your foot on the ground like a toddler. Instead you walked around the front of his car, dropping yourself into his passenger seat. You shut the door with more force than necessary and turned to him with a huff, “Happy?”

“Yes,” He nodded, putting the car into drive, “Put your seatbelt on.”

“Put your seatbelt on, please,” You leaned over, looking at him pointedly.

He rolled his eyes, then plastered a sickeningly sweet expression on his face, “Will you please put on your seatbelt, Darling.”

“Hm, that’s more like it,” You turned up your nose, sitting back in your seat and buckling up.

“Spratek,” He muttered under his breath as he pulled the car away from the curb.

You wouldn’t admit it to him, but you were glad you accepted the ride. His car was warm and overly clean and smelled like him. It felt like him, too, all clean lines and stoic shapes. Your European car knowledge was certainly lacking, but there was something eerily familiar about the interior of his car.

“Is this a…Touring,” You asked, running a fingertip over the handle of the door.

“Yes,” He confirmed, “19…89, yeah, 89. Not the nicest car in the world, but it does the job.”

“It’s the same car my first boyfriend had,” You scoffed, thinking about the junker you had spent too much time in, “I hated it. It was ugly and red and a mess all the time… lost my virginity in that piece of shit car.”

“Oh, hm, I’m…sorry,” He said it like a question, a little taken off guard by the admission.

“I like your’s more,” You mused, leaning back and watching campus grow smaller in the side mirror, “It’s nicer, feels better. The car, I mean… well, I guess the sex, too.”

You laughed softly at your own words, looking over to find a blush gracing his cheeks.

“Thank you,” He nodded awkwardly, staring straight ahead. The way his demeanor shifted never failed to amuse you. One second he’s demanding you get in his car like he owns you, the next he’s turning red when you mention you liked having sex with him.

“So…” You led, spinning one of your bracelets around your wrist, “What did you say to Sky? You don’t have to tell me… just curious.”

“I apologized,” He said, shrugging, “and I told her that I am not interested in her in that manner, and I shouldn’t have led her to believe that I was by not turning her down immediately. I did tell her that anything that is happening between us is none of her concern.”

You hummed to yourself, taking in his words. The way he said ‘us’ left a weight in your chest. Us. Us. Us.

“What about you?” He asked, glancing over, “What did you say?”

“I apologized for being a jealous bitch,” You scoffed, picking at the edge of your nail, “For being mean to her, breaking ‘girl-code’ and all that.” You rolled your eyes, feeling childish.

“I don’t understand,” He frowned, “What are you jealous about? What’s girl-code?”

“Girl code is basically, like, rules we’re supposed to follow,” You shrugged, realizing you had never had to explain the weird intricacies of being a girl to a man other than your father, “I mean, not like hard and fast rules, but basic stuff. Guys have the same thing, I’m sure. Things like keeping secrets or protecting each other, ya know. The number one rule, though, is to never ever fuck around with a guy your friend is interested in. Like, ever.”

“Hm, that only seems partially reasonable,” He said, “I told you that I was not interested in Sky before we had sex.”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t matter,” You said, “I knew she liked you, and I fucked you anyways. That wasn’t cool.”

“But even if we had not had sex,” He frowned at the road like he was looking at chemistry on a chalkboard, “It wouldn’t change the fact that I am not interested in Sky.”

“Yes, I know, but that's not the point,” You exasperated, “It’s the principle of it.”

“That is dumb,” He said plainly.

“Well, fine, you can think it’s dumb,” You tossed your hands up, “But that doesn’t change the fact that I hurt Sky’s feelings.”

He was quiet for a moment, “How did she respond?”

“Graciously,” You sighed, “As always.”

“Why do you sound disappointed?” He asked, the car slowing as he pulled into the neighborhood.

“I’m not, It’s just that it felt,” You hesitated, trying to find the right words, “too easy? I guess.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know… I mean, she said that she doesn't care anymore,” You shrugged, “that she wants things to go back to normal and everything to just be cool, but I’m worried she’s still upset. That she’s just forgiving me to make it go away?”

“Well, if she is forgiving you before she’s ready,” He said slowly, “Then, that would be her problem, no? It’s not like you forced her to forgive you.”

“I mean, yeah, I guess?” Damn him for being so practical. You opened your mouth to continue to debate but he cut you off.

“Listen, you are not responsible for how other people feel,” He looked over sternly, “You apologized to Sky and, whether she’s ready to or not, she forgave you. At this point, it sounds more like you don’t forgive yourself, regardless of what she is feeling.”

Read you like a damn book. You huffed, dropping your head into your hands and scoffing a laugh, “I didn’t realize you were so introspective.”

“Jinx called me a fortune cookie last week,” He told you, “I’m not introspective, I’m just observant…and I think you are being too harsh on yourself. What good comes from dwelling on something that you aren’t even sure of?”

“I’m a scientist,” You laughed, leaning back in your seat, “Dwelling on the unknown is kind of our thing, right?”

“Kind of,” He agreed with a soft laugh, “But this is unproductive dwelling, not scientific dwelling.”

He slowed to a stop outside his house, car idling but not in park, both of you hesitating. Raindrops were beginning to darken the sidewalk and slide down the sides of your truck that sat waiting in the driveway. The wind whipped around a tree in the front yard.

Viktor spoke your name cautiously, “Do you have plans today?”

“No.” You said, looking over and meeting his eyes.

“Do you want to go on a drive?”

“Yes,” You spoke before he even finished his words and he was pulling away from the curb as you finished yours.

Picking up your truck and going back to your dorm room ment you’d either be laying around all day overthinking or you’d be having a conversation with Lest. You wanted to talk to her, you did, just…not right now. Sky had seemingly forgiven you, but that wasn’t a guarantee that Lest was in the same mood. Being on the good side of Lest’s rage, you knew how long it took for her to cool down. Being on this side was new to you, but you knew well enough to leave her alone for as long as you could. You weren't sure of Viktor’s reasoning for not going home, but you were grateful either way.

He just drove and you let yourself relax into the passenger seat. You watched him drive. Watched the perfect side profile of his face as he focused on the road, only moving as he glanced in the mirrors. He looked relaxed for the most part, but the tiniest motion of his eyes and lips let you know that thoughts were racing through his head. He glanced over you sideways, the corner of his mouth tugging just slightly upwards as he met your eyes.

“What?” You caught the slightest sight of his canine when he smiled.

“Nothing,” You shrugged not looking away from him, “You’re just nice to look at, is all.”

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the blush creeping past the collar of his sweater, “You are a strange girl.”

“Maybe,” You said, leaning forward to pull his jacket off your shoulders, you kept it gathered up on your lap.

“Here,” He grabbed his phone from where it was under the radio, an aux cord already plugged in, smirking as he handed it to you, “Stop staring at me and be useful, yeah?”

You scoffed, teasing him, “You thought I was useful last night…”

Another blush, he looked away from you this time as he sputtered, “Just- Just play the music, okay?”

“Yes sir,” You nodded firmly, taking his phone already opened on his music app, “Any requests?”

“Hm, no you choose.” He told you, hitting the blinker as the highway entrance came closer, “Just no Radiohead.”

“No Radiohead?” You mocked a gasp, “But If I wanted to be insufferable today?”

“I was insufferable enough for the both of us this morning,” He told you, “Pick something else.”

You laughed thinking about him listening to Thom Yorke whining over his radio as he drove to apologize to Sky, “Fine, but if it starts really raining later, we’re listening to In Rainbows, it’s only right.”

He just shook his head at you lightly as you scroll through his music to pick something. You took your time combing through his music. You always thought that music taste was the most telling aspect of a person. Some were what you’d expect from a guy like him - Radiohead, Arctic Monkeys, Fiona Apple, Jeff Buckley - some others you were a little surprised by - Paramore, Boygenius, Maya Hawke, Deftones - all of it what you’d consider good music. You were pleased to see female artists in the mix, older music, newer music, some classical and jazz, a few movie scores. Most of the albums were in English, a handful were in what you were pretty sure was Czech, and you could see one or two that were in Spanish - the same albums Jayce had put you onto.

You picked one of the ones you thought was in Czech, the green and white cover art interesting enough to get your attention. He made a little noise of surprise when the first song started playing.

“You know this band?” He asked, an eyebrow raised as he glanced at you.

“No,” You told him, the music was definitely pop, teetering on the edge of bedroom pop, “The cover looked cool, what does ‘nedělní Luka’ mean?”

“Sunday Luka,” He told you, “This EP is good, I’m not a huge fan of the stuff they released after this. They're a pretty good band, though.”

“Hm, interesting,” You tapped your thigh to the beat, listening to the words you didn’t understand, “I like this alot actually.”

“Even though you don’t understand the lyrics?” He smirked.

“Eh, I mean I like the Cocteau Twins and I definitely don’t understand the lyrics even though they're mostly in english,” You shrugged, “I’ll google the lyrics to this later, probably. Can I text it to myself?”

“Yeah, of course.” He nodded, “I can send you more czech stuff if you want?”

“Make me a playlist?” You asked, knowing how hopeful you sounded.

He laughed softly, “I can do that, I’ll pick the best stuff. Round out your music taste a little.”

“Hey, I have great music taste,” You scoffed in mock offense as you copied the link to the album and opened up his contacts.

You found your own number easily, starred at the top of the list along with Jayce and who you figured was his mother. You bit back a smile at the little ‘<3’ he had put at the end of your name. The picture above it wasn’t one you remembered him taking. It was from much earlier in the semester, when the weather was still nice. You were laying in the grass, probably on the quad telling by the abandoned textbook next to your shoulder, wearing that white sundress that only came out when the weather was particularly good. Your hands were behind your head, eyes closed as you basked in the sun. It was a good photo, you wondered if he’d be embarrassed if you asked him to send it to you.

A little embarrassment of your own was lifted off your shoulders. Clearly he stared at you as much as you stared at him.

You closed his phone before the urge to scroll through his camera roll became too strong and put it back where he had it originally. The eastbound highway that stretched out in front of you was fairly empty, rush hour having just ended. He stayed in the middle lane, shifting gears as he passed other cars he deemed to be going too slow.

“Where are we going?” You asked idly, reaching over to his hand that rested on the gear shift and pulling the cuff of his sweater between your fingertips. It was a little rougher than you had expected, You wondered if it was homemade.

He pulled his hand away from the shifter and caught your hand, fingers lacing into yours. In a friendly way of course, “Unsure, anywhere you’d like to go in particular?”

“Hm, wherever,” You told him, rubbing your thumb over the side of his hand.

“Let’s just see where we end up, I guess,” He shrugged, glancing over at you, “Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect,” You agreed, squeezing his palm.

You learned pretty quickly that Viktor preferred to drive fast. You noticed him glancing over for your reaction each time he really stepped on the gas. It was sweet, though you didn’t mind the speeding. You trusted him not to kill you in a fiery car wreck, maybe a little too much. When the highway had narrowed, he was forced to slow down, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel and clearly doing his best not to tailgate the people in front of him.

------

You weren't sure how long you had been on the highway. You hadn’t taken notice of the time when getting in Viktor’s car, but it was long enough for the suburban sprawl of Piltover to give way to dense pine forests divided only by farmland and tiny towns. Eventually the highway narrowed down to two lanes, winding through the trees until it hit the coastline where it took a sharp curve north. You watched the sprawl of the Atlantic outside your window, the waves dark and rough due to the weather. It had stopped raining above you, but out over the water you could see torrents falling in dark grey sheets.

An irritated noise from him pulled your attention away from the oceanscape to your right. He was pouting at the car in front of him, thumb bouncing against the side of the steering wheel. You looked ahead at the car in front. An old sticker covered a Subaru wagon, not going below the speed limit, if anything it was probably going almost ten over. Clearly that was not fast enough for Viktor, and a fairly consistent stream of traffic on the other side of the highway kept him from passing.

You laughed, leaning forward to examine the stickers on the car in front of you, “You’re in quite the rush to go nowhere, aren't ya,”

“Hey, I’m not rushing,” He insisted waving a hand at you, “I just want to be driving faster.”

“Well chill out speed racer,” You rolled your eyes at him, “You’re probably freaking out this poor lesbian in front of us, she’s gonna start break-checking you.”

“How do you know she is a lesbian,” He scoffed, but eased off the gas to give the subaru more space.

You leaned forward and read the sticker that had caught your attention, “I like my men how I like my coffee. Not at all, I prefer tea.”

Viktor barked a laugh, “Sounds like Cait.”

“Oh my god, literally,” You giggled, wondering if you'd be able to find a similar one online to gift her. You read out another sticker, “Honk if you think the moon landing was fake.”

“I don’t understand those,’ Viktor admitted, “Does that mean the driver thinks the moon landing was fake?”

“No, I think it means, like, ‘if you honk at me for my bad driving, you're actually admitting you think the moon landing is fake’ or something like that,” You explained, remembering when Lest had explained the same thing to you only a couple of years ago.

“Hm, Interesting.” He nodded.

“What do you think?” You asked, leaning back in your seat.

“About?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“The moon landing,” You said, “Do you think it was fake.”

He side-eyed you, eyebrows furrowed in concern, “Do you think it was fake.”

“Well, not exactly.” You shrugged.

“Not exactly!?” He gaped at you, glancing between you and the road, “Actually, we’re going home.”

“No no, wait listen,” You laughed waving your hands at him in defense, “I don’t think the moon landing was fake! I one hundred percent believe that those guys were up there in ‘69.”

“Sakra, ‘those guys’?” He scoffed, “Really, are you not a scientist.”

“Hey, listen I know their names. But the good one is dead and the other is a psycho republican,” You laughed, “plus I’m not a space gal, you know that. I find the ocean far more fascinating.”

“Okay, okay, anyways,” He steered the conversation back to your original question, “Do you think the moon landing was fake?”

“No, like I said, I’m sure they were on the moon, but,” You held a hand up at Viktor, forcing him to let you finish, “I wouldn’t be that surprised if one day it was admitted that the footage everyone knows is fake.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, fighting back a smile, “I supposed that is an acceptable take, but you’re on thin ice.”

“I can give you some more of my bad takes if you’d like, but you might not want to hang out with me anymore,” You laughed, a growl from your stomach cutting you off.

“It’s past noon,” Viktor pointed out, laughing with you gently, “What was the last thing you ate? Did you have breakfast?”

You thought for a moment about the question. When you realized what had technically been the last thing you put in your stomach, you burst into a fit of laughter, and covered your reddening face.

“What?” He asked, confused as you tried to pull yourself together.

“Nothing, it’s just, uh,” You bit back a smile and glanced down to his lap pointedly, “nothing.”

“Oh, fucking gross,” He scoffed, pushing your shoulder away from him playfully.

“You didn’t think it was gross last night,” You pointed out, teasing him with a poke in the arm.

“Stop,” He pleaded, looking away from you, his face turning red as he resisted laughing.

“Oh come on,” You said, leaning closer to him, chin almost resting on his shoulder as you invaded his space and dropped your voice, “You don’t have to be shy about it, you can admit you loved coming in my mouth.”

He swallowed hard, hands tightening on the steering wheel in your peripheral vision, “You are very hard to deal with sometimes.”

You tapped your fingers against the bottom of his chin quickly before retreating back to your own space, “You wouldn’t like me very much If I made it easy on you,”

He didn’t respond to that, just shook his head as he hit his blinker and pulled into the center lane, “Well I’m making you eat something that has calories.”

“I’m sure cum probably has some calories, right?” You said only to get a rise out of him.

It worked perfectly of course, he whined your name, “stop talking. If you mention that one more time, I’m sending this car into the ocean with us in it, I swear to god.”

You raised your hands in defense, silently vowing to keep quiet as he waited to turn into the parking lot of a worn out roadside diner.

“Thank you,” he sighed, rolling his eyes as he pulled into the lot.

Gravel crunched under the tires as the Beamer slid into a parking spot. The diner was incredibly unassuming. Weathered and faded, but fairly busy with a Saturday crowd. You stretched when you stepped out of the car, shoulders popping as you pushed your hands to the sky. Viktor freed his cane from the back seat, waiting for you by the hood. When you reached him, he was twisting his spine awkwardly, a hand on his hip and a grimace on his lips as he tried to pop his stubborn joints.

“You good?” You asked gently.

“Yeah, I’m used to it,” He groaned, then motioned for you to come closer, “Actually, could you come here.”

You stood in front of him, looking up as you were only a foot away. He took your hand gently, placing it on his hip, “Just, like, resist against me when I turn, yeah?”

You nodded, pressing against his hip. You did as he asked, holding his hip back as he rotated his upper body the other direction. A loud pop came from under your hand, and he hissed sharply before relaxing. He sighed, straightening up and grabbing his cane from where he lent it against the hood of the car.

“Feel better?” You asked him, looping the hand on his hip around his lower back instead of retreating,

“Very,” He nodded, dropping his arm over your shoulders and pulling you closer, he squeezed the top of your arm, “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” You returned the gesture, squeezing his hip where your hand rested as the two of you walked up to the diner door.

Inside it was warm, the smell of coffee permanently staining the air. The space was narrow but long, almost ironically classic in the way it was set up. A long counter was against one side and booths were pressed to the windows. The counter was occupied by blue collar men in their work clothes. This close to the coast you were sure they had all just come in from an early morning catch. They reminded you of your dad.

“Go on ahead and find a seat anywhere, kiddos,” An older woman behind the counter waved at you before pouring another cup of coffee, “Someone will be with you in just a second.”

You nodded and followed Viktor to an open booth, untangling yourself from him to slide into the vinyl seat. He watched you from across the table for a moment before dropping his gaze.

“What did you mean earlier, by the way?” He asked, picking at the edge of a sticky menu.

“What?” You tilted your head, unsure of when exactly earlier was.

“You said that I wouldn’t like you if you made it easy,” He said, mouth quirking to the side as he thought about the moment, “What did you mean by that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” You shrugged, chewing on your lip, “I guess…just most of the time, guys tend to like the chase more than the actual girl. It’s fun.”

“And you think I am like this?” He asked, meeting your eyes almost sadly.

“I don’t know,” You said honestly, “I mean, you don’t have me. Who's to say you’d still like me as much if you did?”

“I would,” He said firmly, “I know I would.”

Before the conversation could continue, a waitress appeared at the end of the table. An overly sweet smile plastered on her face, curly blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail on the crown of her head. She looked between you, eyes hesitating on Viktor just a second longer than you would have preferred.

“Good morning, my name’s Nancy, I’ll be taking care of y’all today, ” She said, her voice was high and smooth, “How are you two doing?”

“Good Morning Nancy, we are well, and you?” Viktor responded, polite as ever.

“I’m doing just fine, thanks for asking,” She smiled wider, glancing at you briefly, “Can I get ya started with some drinks?”

“Just coffee for me,” Viktor told her, looking to you for your response.

“Me as well,” You nodded, attempting your best polite smile. She was just being friendly, you told yourself. It’s her job to be nice.

“Two coffees,” She repeated as she scribbled down the order, “Room for cream?”

“Yes please,” Viktor answered.

“Mine too,” You copied him. Normally you’d just drink diner coffee black, but that nasty little voice in the back of your head was answering for you.

“Easy-peasy,” She said, “I’ll have that right out for y’all.”

You watched Nancy walk away, curls bouncing as she went to get the coffee. Viktor was paying no mind, already skimming through the menu. You picked up your own. Standard diner food, easy enough to choose from.

“What’re you getting?” You asked casually, glancing up at him over the menu.

“Hm, unsure,” He hummed, glancing up and catching your gaze, ��Choose for me?”

“That’s a lot of trust,” You laughed, leaning back in your seat and raising an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged, “I trust you.”

“Okay, then,” You looked over the menu again, “Breakfast or lunch? And what do you hate?”

“Breakfast,” He nodded, “And nothing, I don’t think…eh, actually, no sourdough bread.”

“You don’t like sourdough? That’s crazy, it’s like the best bread,” You scoffed, offended on behalf of the baked good.

“No, actually, I really like sourdough bread,” He said, “but, I’m sorry, it’s not very good in America.”

“That's a very European take,” You rolled your eyes, “You guys always think you’re better.”

“Listen, with this I am right, trust me.” He assured, “America does have some better… things.”

“Hm, like what?” You smirked at his tone.

“Most fruit is better here,” He nodded with an air of nonchalance, “Oranges and pineapple, mango as well.”

“Oh yeah?” You asked, pretending to be busy with the menu despite having already made a decision, “Good fruit is a plus, for sure.”

“The women here are different, too.” He nodded, “All smiles and low-cut shirts. Very…eager to please.”

You scoffed, glancing back up at him with a retort on your lips already. It died in your mouth when Nancy, with her low cut shirt and wide smile, returned to the table with a set of mugs and a pot of coffee.

“Sorry about that wait,” She laughed, setting the mugs down and beginning to fill them, “Technical difficulties.”

“No worries at all, Nancy,” Viktor said smoothly, sitting up, “Thank you.”

“Of course, honey,” She drawled, you tensed at the term of endearment, “Are you ready to order or do you want a few more minutes with the menu?”

“We’re ready,” You jumped in, immediately regretting how snappy your voice was.

“Perfect,” She stayed facing Viktor, “When can I get going for ya?”

Viktor turned his face to you, nodding for you to go ahead.

“We’ll have the Florentine benedict,” You told her, placing the menu down in front of you.

“Perfect,” She said, turning halfway to you as she wrote it down, “Fries okay with that?”

“Yep.” You nodded and before she could ask, “and he’ll have the same thing.”

She turned to him anyway with a questioning look that he either didn’t see or chose not to acknowledge, “Okay, well, I’ll have that out for you here soon. Holler if you need anything.”

“Thank you, honey,” You gave a tight smile as she walked away.

“Ah, I see it now,” He nodded, narrowing his eyes at you slightly as he pulled his coffee towards himself.

“See what?” You leaned your chin on your hand, circling the rim of your coffee cup with the other.

“That jealousy you were speaking of earlier,” He smirked, “I hadn’t noticed it before. Maybe you hid it better, maybe there was too much going on.”

You hummed, nodding slowly as a blush creeped up your cheeks, “Maybe you just didn’t notice me.”

“That is funny. If there is anything I notice in a room, it is you,” He told you, then casually as if he hadn’t just said what he said, pushed the bowl of cream and sugar packets towards you, “Sugar?”

You swallowed hard, then pushed your mug towards him, “Make it for me?”

“Are you sure? I make mine sweet,” He warned.

“I trust you,” You pushed the mug farther until it was next to him, “I’m not jealous, by the way.”

“Oh really?” He raised an eyebrow at you in disbelief, “So you were just glaring daggers at the waitress for fun?”

“I…I wasn’t,” You huffed, poorly defending yourself.

“You know,” He began, tearing open a few packets of sugar and pouring it into your coffee, “I don’t find jealousy attractive, but on you…it’s endearing.”

“Well, that’s sweet, but I’m not jealous.” You said sternly.

“Ah, okay,” He poured the same amount of sugar into his own drink, followed by a couple creamers, “So, you wouldn’t mind if I asked Nancy for her number.”

“Viktor, don’t fuck with me,” You deadpanned, frowning at him.

He laughed, sliding your made up coffee to you. Before his hand retreated, he grabbed you gently by the wrist. He held your hand in his, lifting it off the table and examining your palm, “Jealousy does look good on you, but you should know by now,” He flipped your hand over and leaned closer, “It is wholly unnecessary, milá.”

He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, lingering for a moment as he watched you through his lashes.

You swallowed hard, cheeks burning as he pulled back from your hand. He held your hand for a moment longer before letting you retreat. You picked up the coffee he made up for you, taking a sip. It was sweet, sweeter than you’d normally make it. You liked it. You fought off the idea of tasting the same coffee on his lips.

“You like?” He asked, siping his own drink.

“Yeah, it’s good,” You nodded, taking another sip before setting it down, “Thank you.”

“Hey, tell me more about these theories of yours,” He said, setting down his mug.

“Theories?” You tilted your head.

“The moon landing happened, but the footage is fake,” He laughed, “You said this earlier, I’m interested in what other baseless theories you have?”

You barked a laugh, “Okay, sure. My other space theory is that I do believe aliens exist. Like, the universe is theoretically infinite, right? It’s crazy to think that we are the only planet with living things on them, advanced or not. That being said! I do not believe aliens have ever been anywhere close to Earth.”

“Oh, really?” He mused, thinking about it, “Why?”

“Because, what the fuck do aliens want with us?” You shrugged, “Plus, if they’re gonna go through all that trouble to make ships or do whatever it would take to get from there to here for whatever reason, you really think they’d let themselves get caught by the American government? No way.”

“You’ve really thought about this, haven't you? ” Viktor laughed.

“Yeah, well my mom was obsessed with that ‘Ancient Aliens’ show when I was a kid and even at, like, nine years old I knew it was bullshit. Okay, Pretty Boy, your turn. What are your conspiracy theories?”

Viktor hummed, thinking to himself for a moment before speaking, “You know those people who say the Earth is flat?”

“Viktor, no,” You gaped, “There is no way you believe that.”

“No, hush, let me explain,” He laughed, waving you off, “I think people who say they think the Earth is flat are completely lying.”

“What?”

“I mean, I think they know that it is completely untrue,” He explained, hands gesturing in front of him, “but they like the attention they get from saying they believe the Earth is flat.”

You laughed, “Oh my god, like toddlers. Negative attention is better than no attention.”

“Exactly!” He snapped his fingers and pointed at you, “That’s exactly it.”

You covered your mouth, lowering your head and laughing into your palm to stifle the sound. Well aware of the looks thrown your way by the regular inhabitants of the diner. As your giggles died out, Nancy returned with your plates.

“Here we are, two Florentine benedicts,” She set the food down on the table, “Plates are a lil’ warm, be careful.”

“Thank you,” You said, settling down, Viktor repeating the words as he slid a roll of utensils towards you.

“Of course, is there anything else I can get for you?” She asked, hands on her hips as she oversaw the table.

“I think we are okay,” Viktor told her, looking over to you for confirmation.

“Yeah, we’re all good,” You agreed, “Thank you.”

“Perfect, if you need anything, just let me know,” She told you before heading away from the table.

Viktor held his fork out to you, “Cheers, darling, to baseless theories.”

You laughed, and clinked the tines of your fork against his, “To baseless theories.”

-----

When Nancy brought the check, she brought two. Setting the little slips of paper down in front of each of you before picking up your empty plates.

“I assumed separate checks were fine,” She said, glancing down at you briefly before sliding her gaze to Viktor, “And, I’m sorry, I just have to ask! Where is your accent from?”

“New Mexico,” Viktor said flatly, a tight smile on his lips, “And the checks will be together, actually.”

He reached over and grabbed yours from in front of you, folding them together and handing them back to her.

“Oh, uh okay,” She nodded, taking the checks back from him, trying and failing to hide her look of disappointment. You rolled your eyes as she walked away.

“I will admit,” Viktor said, “Normally I believe people read too much into others intentions.”

“Of course you do,” You scoffed at him.

“But, I do believe that that girl was being quite forward, no?” Viktor glanced over to where the waitress was making up a new receipt behind the counter.

“Oh, you think?” You laughed sarcastically at him, “Viktor, that girl wanted you so bad, she would have let you fuck her on this table if you wanted to.”

“Always so graphic,” He grimaced, “Does it bother you?”

“No, I wouldn’t say it if it did,” You snorted a laugh.

“No, not that,” He waved you off, “That she wants me. Does somebody else being interested in me bother you?”

You thought for a moment, about whether this was something you could convincingly about. Decided it wasn’t, you told him, “Yes, I hate it.”

“Why?” He tilted his head, waiting for another honest answer.

“Because, I… you’re very want-able,” You stumbled over your words, letting an awkward laugh slip out, “You could be with whoever you want in a second. The fact that you have so many options just kinda…makes me nervous.”

Before he could respond Nancy swooped by the table, dropping off the combined check and muttering a quick, “Sorry about the confusion.”

You reached for the check and Viktor scoffed, snatching it up before you could.

“Absolutely not,” He said, keeping the check away from you as he pulled out his wallet.

“Vik, you drove, let me get it,” You told him, trying to pull out your own card.

“No way,” He shook his head, pulling cash out, “I just insisted that we were together, I’m not letting you pay.”

“That’s misogyny,” You pouted.

“Brand me a misogynist then. You aren’t paying.” He laughed, leaving the cash on the table as he slid out of the booth, steadying himself on his cane with one hand and extending the other out to you, “Maybe I’ll let you get it next time…maybe.”

You rolled your eyes, but took his hand as you slid out of the booth anyways. You let him lead you through the diner. You let him hold the door open for you. You even let him open the car door and shut it behind you when you got in. Not because you needed or really wanted him to do these things, but because you could tell he enjoyed it. It was sweet.

“You’re wrong, you know?” He told you as the car hummed to life.

“No, I’m never wrong,” You shook your head, “What am I wrong about?”

“You say I can have whoever I want,” He repeated your statement from earlier, turning in his seat to look at you, “But that’s clearly not true.”

“Hmph, and why do you say that?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Because, the only person that I want is you. And clearly I can’t seem to get you, so…” He shrugged, the slightest pout on his lips.

Like usual, he managed to floor you with his words. Stopping all coherent thoughts in your head as he looked at you with those perfect amber eyes. You let out a shaky breath, reaching up to touch his face. He leaned into your hand, rubbing his cheek against your palm and letting his eyes fall shut for a moment.

“Viktor…” You breathed, thumb brushing across the pout on his lips.

He said your name softly, opening his eyes and holding your gaze, “Please let me have you. You're always just out of reach. Please, I just want you.”

“Vik...,” You muttered, running your hand over the side of his head, fingers combing through his soft hair, “Listen, I just… I can’t yet.”

You could have cried at the look he gave you. A harsh line formed between his eyebrows as they pulled together. His eyes were soft, half closed with blown pupils as he leaned into your touch.

“Today’s the 11th?” You asked, hand on the back of his neck, tugging gently at the short strands there, “and our last class is on December 15th, yeah?”

He nodded as you thought about the numbers.

“That’s 65 days.” You told him, squeezing the back of his neck, “In 65 days, if you still want me, I’m yours.”

“65 days…” He repeated, closing his eyes and dropping his forehead against yours, “65 days and you're mine.”

-----

It wasn’t terribly late when you made it back to town, but the winter sun had long set. Viktor insisted on holding your hand for as long as he could, only giving up the contact when switching gears became more frequent. The animal part of your brain found the way he drove incredibly attractive. He was relaxed and confident, never panicked as he checked his mirrors and smoothly switched lanes. You resisted the urge to reach out to him at stoplights. The red glow sinking into the lines and curves of his face, lighting the front of his hair. You stared shamelessly, memorizing the way he looked, and he pretended not to notice.

“You can totally tell me to fuck off if you don’t want to answer this,” You said as he slowed to a stop at one of these lights, “But why do you drive a manual? Isn’t it difficult with your leg?”

“It’s not easy, but it’s how I learned to drive,” He glanced over at you, and shrugged, “I either had to learn to drive a manual or not at all.”

“Hm, that’s fair,” You nodded, it made sense to have to learn to drive in what was available, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think it’s incredibly hot that you drive a manual, but did you not consider getting an automatic when you moved here?”

He rolled his eyes at the compliment, a tilted smile on his lips, “No. It’s probably childish, but I drive this way out of spite. I’m used to the way it feels, and I just have to be okay with the fact that on bad days I’m not able to drive.”

“You’ve never struck me as someone resistant to accommodations,” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m not,” He shook his head, “Only for this, I guess. I understand that I have limitations, but I…I don’t know. I want to drive this way, so I do. It’s as simple as that.”

You hummed and nodded, pulling your knee up to your chest and resting your cheek on it, “I get that, like not personally, but I understand your stubbornness.” You laughed softly.

“I’m glad you do, because most people don’t,” He scoffed, “Jayce practically begged me to get a different car. I had to explain to him that not only am I very capable of driving this way,” He gave you a sideways glance, “But women tend to find it sexy.”

“Ah, so you do know you’re hot,” You teased back, grinning against your knee.

“I think you give me more credit than is due in that department,” He scoffed, “But when you’re staring at me all the time, it tends to go to a man's head.”

“It’s not all the time,” You defended weakly, chewing on your lip.

“Uh-huh,” He hummed, smirking over at you as the light turned green, “Sure.”

You swatted at his leg gently. He caught your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and holding the back of your hand to his chest. You could feel his pulse on either side of your hand, steady and just a little fast.

“Do you want to take your truck home tonight?” He asked, squeezing your hand before releasing you, “Or I can bring you back to campus and I can pick you up tomorrow to get it?”

You thought for a moment. If you went to his house to get your truck right now, he’d ask if you’d like to come in and say hello to Rio. You’d say yes. You’d sit in his bed. You’d let him put his head in your lap. You’d talk to him for hours. You’d have to force yourself to leave at some early hour of the morning. You’d drive home with an ache in your chest.

“I can get my truck tomorrow,” You offered, thinking quickly of a way to see him soon without destroying yourself, “If you wanna drive it over we can finish up the lab notes for Monday? If you feel like it.”

“That works,” He nodded, beginning to take turns towards campus, “Should we tell Ekko and Jinx?”

“I think they have plans tomorrow,” You told him a half-lie, they had plans tomorrow night, but you’d really rather work on the notes with just Viktor, “But we can handle it, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course,” He agreed, then laughed, “We’ll make them do it next weekend.”

“I like the way you think,” You snorted, sitting up in your seat as he pulled into the parking lot of the dorm, “Come over at eleven?”

“Sure,” He nodded, putting the car into park at the curb, “If you end up wanting to get your truck tonight, just let me know, it’s not that late.”

“Thanks.” You opened the door, hesitating and turning towards him, “I’m glad we went out today, it was…nice.”

“Me too,” He gave a soft smile.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned into him and pressed a quick kiss against his cheek, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You hopped out of his car, leaving behind his coat and darting away before you could register his reaction. He didn’t pull away from the curb until you were fully inside the building and waving a goodbye through the glass wall.

You let the warmth of the gesture fill you as you climbed the stairs to your dorm. The promise of 65 days you had given him resonated in your ears. Maybe it was too lofty of a promise. Maybe it was one that would never come to fruition. Maybe whatever you felt for each other would fizzle out and die before that last day of class. You weren't sure what would be a harder end to this.

You were wrapped up in idle thoughts of him, you didn’t take notice of the soft giggles coming from inside the room, or the fact that the little sign on your door had been flipped to ‘do not disturb’. It wasn’t until you pushed the door open that you did finally notice what was happening. A few facts hit you at once. Lest was back. Lest was topless. Lest was straddling someone. Lest was straddling a girl. The girl Lest was straddling was Sky Young.

“Oh fuck,” You yelped, stumbling backwards out of the room and slamming the door closed, “I’m sorry!”

You could hear Lest curse on the other side of the door and the sound of them shuffling around as they pulled clothes back on. Lest is straight. Lest was straight. Sky you had never been sure of, but yesterday she had very much been into Viktor. As you stared in shock at your overly decorated door, puzzle pieces began to fall into place.

They had been spending a lot of time together, you had figured it was because of their shared class. Apparently that wasn’t the only reason. Lest’s anger at you over hurting Sky’s feelings made more sense now. So did Sky’s easily offered forgiveness this morning…after Lest had spent the night with her.

You began to realize how little attention you had paid to any of your friends this semester. You were paying so much attention to a man that you didn’t even notice your best friend was switching sexualities. You wondered what else you had been missing. Were Mel and Jayce married? Did Jinx finally adopt Isha? Did Vi kill Maddie? As your thoughts began to spiral, the door in front of you was yanked open. Lest, now fully clothed, grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you into the room.

“Sit.” She told you, nudging you towards your desk chair.

You did as she asked, the fact that the only light in the room was a single desk lamp made you feel like you were being interrogated. Sky, also dressed, was sitting on the edge of Lest’s bed, arms crossed tightly over her chest and cheeks redder than you had ever seen.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see anything, really,” You said to Sky, hoping to ease whatever embarrassment she was holding

“What happened to knocking?” Lest asked, pulling your attention to her, hands on her hips. You tried not to stare at the mouth shaped bruises on her neck.

“I’m sorry! I wasn’t paying attention,” You stumbled over your words, “I didn’t think- I’m sorry.”

Lest sighed, rubbing out a line between her eyebrows, “It’s fine. Just… don’t tell anyone.”

You scoffed a laugh, “Who am I gonna tell? You two?”

“And Mel.” She pointed out, “Who would tell Jayce, who would tell Cait, who would tell Vi, who would-”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” You held your hands up in defense, “I’m not gonna tell anyone, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Well, you’ve been a dick lately, so…” Lest shrugged, and then relaxed when you flinched, “I’m sorry. I just.. We’re not ready to share this yet.”

“Yeah, no, I get it,” You assured her, “Not gonna say anything, I promise.”

“I’m gonna head out,” Sky said, standing up awkwardly and pulling her bag onto her shoulder, she hesitated between the door and Lest.

“I’ll walk you back,” Lest offered, reaching for her own coat.

“No, it’s fine,” Sky insisted, “I’m supposed to meet Stebb at the library in a bit anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Okay,” Lest nodded, squeezing Sky’s hand before she left. When the door shut behind her, Lest collapsed onto her bed with a groan.

“Is this why you were so angry at me last night?” You asked, not moving from your chair.

“No…kinda?” Lest tugged at the ends of her hair, “I don’t know, man, this is new… like new new.”

“Like, last night new?” You wanted to know everything, but you weren't sure how much she was willing to give you right now.

“More like an hour ago,” Lest scoffed, shaking her head as she stared up at the ceiling, “Honestly, I think I’ve liked her for a while now, I just didn’t fully get it. Then last night, I…you made her cry, dude. I love you so much, but I could have killed you last night.”

“I know, I’m sorry…I agree, I’ve been a dick,” You chewed on your cheek, then laughed awkwardly, “I talked to her this morning, it makes sense why she was so forgiving.”

“You’re lucky she is,” Lest told you, finally looking over, “I stayed with her last night, that’s when it clicked. I wanted to kiss her so bad, but she was drunk and sad. I left before she woke up. Part of me hoped she wouldn’t remember it.”

“But she did?” You concluded.

“Yep, every sappy fucking word.” She rolled over, groaning into her bed, “It was so embarrassing.”

“Why?” You laughed softly, nervously testing the waters, “I mean, clearly she likes you, too.”

“Yeah, but when I told her she had just been crying over a guy,” Lest said, voice half muffled, “I should have waited until she wasn’t so upset, that would have been the polite thing to do.”

“Things happen,” You offered, “Trust me, I know.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” Lest said, on the verge of being choked up, “All I wanted to do was talk to you, but I was supposed to be mad at you…”

“Are you still mad at me?” You asked, eyeing her carefully.

“No, I’m never mad at you, not really,” She sighed, rolling back over and pouting at you, “Even when I should be.”

“Good, I’m glad,” You nodded, standing up and edging towards her bed, “I’m sorry I made you want to be mad at me.”

She held her hand out in the offer you had been waiting for. You crossed the last of the space between you and crawled into her bed. She wiggled into your arms, resting her head on your shoulder and holding onto you. She smelled like Sky’s perfume.

She said your name softly, “I’m scared.”

“Why?” You smoothed a hand over her hair.

“Because I don’t know how to do this,” She told you, toying with the hem of your sleeve, “I’ve always been the girlfriend, I don’t know how to be in a relationship with another girl.”

“My love, you’d still be a girlfriend,” You laughed softly, “You don’t need to act any different because you’re with a girl instead.”

“I guess…I just don’t know how to do this.” She pressed her face into your shirt, “My parents are going to have something to say. Everyone is going to have something to say.”

“I’m saying this out of love, but your parents were like 75% fine with you transitioning,” You teased gently, tugging at a strand of her hair, “Shouldn’t you liking girls be alot easier for them to grasp?”

She scoffed, “You’d think.”

“Well, luckily, your parents are incredibly far away,” You assured her, “You don’t need to call them up right this minute and come out to them. You have all the time in the world, Lest. You don’t have to tell anybody until you’re ready. Other than me, obviously, sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, I wanted to tell you anyway,” Lest craned her neck to look up at you, “The only other gay girls I’m close with are Cait and Vi and they’re obnoxious.”

You laughed, swatting on on the shoulder, “Don’t be mean.”

“I love them, but it’s true,” She insisted with wide eyes.

“I know, I know,” You sighed thinking about Dysfunctional Lesbian 1 and 2.

Lest gasped, stilling in your arms, “You know what this means, right?”

“What?” You raised an eyebrow at her, tilting your chin to look at her face.

“Our friend group is very close to being made up entirely of couples,” She gaped at you, mock horror in her eyes.

“Oh god, you’re right.” You cringed, “We’re really the worst, aren’t we.”

“Entirely insufferable,” She agreed seriously before the both of you dissolved into giggles, closer to each other than you had been in months.

74 notes · View notes

l0stglitch · 10 months ago

Text

Platonic yandere lost boys headcannons

Notes- This was supposed to be general headcannons but then I started leaning into the darker side of the dynamics more, so now it’s more focused on the relationships between reader and the boys.

Warnings- Emotional manipulation | Psychosis | Non consensual drug use | Yandere behaviour | Murder

Dwayne

• You mean the absolute world to Dwayne.

• Seriously- every waking thought is spent on you. You’re like a drug that he can’t function without.

• Sometimes the others joke that he has separation anxiety (he 100% does).

• He loves listening to you speak. Often you’ll both lie down on your bed and stare up at the ceiling. You’ll tell him about your day through the rose-tinted lenses of childhood, and he’ll listen. He listens with an interest that you have never been regarded with before. It makes you feel special.

• The two of you go down to the skatepark together every now and again and your dad teaches you how to skate.

• You’d never tell the others, but those are your favourite nights. When it’s just you and Dwayne out at night practicing tricks under the solitary streetlight.

• It’s usually empty, but when there is anyone else there Dwayne warns you of how dangerous they could be.

• He doesn’t mean to scare you, but sometimes the only way you’ll follow the rules is by telling you every other man out there is out to get you.

• His warnings made you paranoid and untrusting of everyone for a while.

• It eventually got so bad that you had a psychotic episode- locking yourself in your room for days because you believed that your fathers wanted to harm you.

• Eventually they broke down your door to find you starving and severely dehydrated, having spent days completely devoid of food and water.

• You were too weak to even fight back when they scooped you up and carried you out your room.

• Dwayne was in hysterics.

• He didn’t leave your side for the rest of the week, and made sure to hand feed you all your meals.

• You protested, but he was relentless.

• He almost made you feel like it was your fault. Acting so hurt that you would take such little care for yourself. Do you really hate them that much? Why don’t you trust them after everything they’ve done for you?

• Days later, you found yourself crying in his arms, begging for forgiveness. Through desperate sobs you sputtered out apology after apology, clinging to his leather jacket.

• Seeing you so needy for him- so desperate for his love almost made it all worth it.

• He just ran his fingers through your hair like you were a scared animal, trying to get you to calm down.

• That’s how disputes between you and your father almost always end. With you begging for his forgiveness for something you know deep down wasn’t your fault.

• After your breakdowns, you often sit alone in your room wondering how you let the same thing happen every time. You’ve always had a soft spot for Dwayne, but sometimes you wonder if his powers have more uses than you thought.

• All those times you’ve awoken from a horrifyingly realistic nightmare, or felt a piercing sense of dread at the thought of sneaking out, a tiny fear itches in the back of your brain.

• Are your thoughts actually yours?

Marko

• Marko 100% plays with you the most.

• He’s just naturally more energetic than the others (which often leads him to getting into fights).

• But when he’s not scrapping with surf nazis, he spends the rest of his time practically worshipping you.

• Sometimes when it’s just the two of you, you’ll stop by a playground to play for a bit.

• He’d never admit it to anyone, but sometimes he gets jealous seeing you play with the kids there.

• I feel like Marko is a very creative person (I mean cmon look at his jacket). One of my personal hcs is that he painted the leopard on Dwayne’s jacket.

• He’d definitely buy (or steal) a jacket for you just so he can customise it. He also sees it as a way of showing that you belong to them.

• You’d sit next to him on the couch, sketching out every little detail you want whilst he listens, hanging onto your every word.

• Despite his need to show everyone you are theirs, he also genuinely loves making things for you.

• He made a bracelet for you to match the one Dwayne stole when you first met.

• Out of everyone he’s the most possessive.

• Sometimes, depending on his mood, he’ll ban you from speaking to anyone other than them (even Max). Other times he’ll outright stop you from going to the boardwalk with them. He’d stay with you in the cave whilst the other three go out to hunt.

• It worked when you were younger and more obedient, however during your teen years you grew to be a lot more rebellious.

• Marko absolutely HATES the thought of you growing up. He doesn’t know what kind of a person you’ll be in the future, and that scares him.

• That and the fact that he knows you’ll inevitably want to start dating.

• He’s kind of in denial about the whole growing up thing.

• Unfortunately when you do become a teenager he literally can’t cope. He refuses to believe you are able to take care of yourself and will baby you.

• On multiple occasions you have lashed out at him for the way he treats you, sick of how he refuses to accept the fact that you have a functional brain and can think for yourself.

• Unfortunately Marko has a particularly short temper. He has, on multiple occasions, accidentally shoved you into a cabinet in the heat of an argument, and left you with dark, angry bruises.

• And then comes the guilt tripping. Sometimes you’d wonder if he secretly likes it when you get hurt because of how happy he always looks when he gets to take care of you.

• You’re father’s mood can switch up in a matter of seconds. Sometimes it feels like you’re walking on eggshells around him, afraid that the slightest mistake will set him off.

• Usually Dwayne or Paul are around to tell him to chill out, but when you’re alone you just have to play along with his delusions of you still being his little girl to avoid conflict.

• It’s hard though, especially when he suddenly brings up a new rule to ‘keep you safe’. It’s practically impossible to keep Marko happy, and with every new rule, you know it’s only a matter of time until you break it (intentionally or not).

• He would never admit it, even to himself, but part of him secretly enjoys it when you break the rules. He likes hearing your heart pounding loudly from your chest, betraying the unbothered scowl on your face.

• It reminds him that no matter how grown up you look on the outside, you’ll always just be that timid little girl they found by the carousel. Helpless and in need of her fathers.

Paul

• He doesn’t mean to be, but Paul is definitely the dad that lets you get away with anything.

• Poor guy doesn’t really know how to act around kids, so he ends up either being a bit awkward around you or just treating you like a mini adult.

• As a result, you don’t really fear him as much as you do the others, but you also don’t see him as reliable as they are.

• You know Dwayne will always be there for you. Paul though? Half the time he’s too high to even tell you what day of the week it is.

• He feels guilty about it. Really guilty. He loves you just as much as the others do, but he just doesn’t know how to show it, so he lets you get away with things.

• Oh- you want a chocolate bar for breakfast? Sure, so long as you don’t tell Dwayne.

• You wanna try his cigarette? Ok, but make sure David doesn’t find out.

• At first it’s great. You love getting to hang out with Paul because of the little secrets you share. He gets high and you get to do what you want.

• It isn’t until you start to grow up, and he begins to enjoy your company more that his behaviour starts changing.

• Out of everyone, Paul (ironically) knows the most of your secrets.

• He’s just so much easier to talk to than the others- and whilst he doesn’t always give you particularly good advice on how to deal with certain situations, you can appreciate him for listening.

• Your trust in him backfires though, as he realises he can use your secrets against you.

• He literally blackmails you into spending more time with him. You don’t wanna hang out? That’s fine- but be prepared to have a stern telling off from David after Paul found a bag of weed under your bed.

• You picked up most of your bad habits from your father. Getting black out drunk and stealing cigarettes with your small group of friends, for example.

• Compared to the others, he isn’t very controlling in terms of rules. He knows that telling you what to do directly will only make you rebel, so instead he takes a slightly different approach.

• He drugs you.

• It took years for you to finally realise why you would sometimes sleep for such long amounts of time, despite not feeling tired beforehand.

• Eventually you connected the dots, and came to the sickening realisation that he would put crushed sleeping pills in your food every time you mentioned wanting to go out with your friends.

• After confronting your fathers about it, you refused to eat any food they had prepared for you. This lasted a while, until you ran out of money and were no longer able to afford cheap takeaways.

• It becomes a lot harder for Paul to drug you after that, however every now and again he manages to slip you a sedative.

• You absolutely hate it.

• You hate feeling completely helpless. Mind dull and emotions muffled by the effects of the drug. Even your body feels heavy, and you find that you only have enough energy to lay in Paul’s embrace, waiting to fall asleep.

David

• Ok let’s be real David is definitely the most distant father out everyone.

• After all, he has a reputation to uphold (and he’s scared of completely fucking up as a dad).

• He prefers spending time with you inside the cave rather than going out to the boardwalk.

• He uses excuses similar to Dwayne- telling you how dangerous it is, but unlike Dwayne he doesn’t actually believe what he’s telling you.

• David knows that it’s very unlikely that anything will happen to you. You’re hardly ever by yourself, so the chances of someone actually managing to hurt you are slim- especially with four overprotective vampire fathers lurking nearby.

• The real reason is that it makes him feel less in control. He can’t decide who you’re friends with, or who talks to you when you do occasionally manage to sneak away from them.

• Your biological family is gone. But who’s to say there isn’t someone out there looking for you still? David can’t help the everlasting paranoia from seeping into his every thought.

• So for peace of mind, he sets rules and curfews. Anything that will ease his worries.

• Practically every minute of your life is dictated by David. He thrives off of controlling you.

• Each and every rule and punishment goes through him first. He’s essentially the backbone of the pack.

• You resent him for it. You hate the way he encourages the others, and how he speaks down at you so condescendingly.

• Your relationship wasn’t always so strained though.

• As a kid you completely idolised David. His hair, his bike, his music. You were like his shadow. Constantly trailing behind him, grasping onto his signature trench coat.

• He loved every minute of it. Your father would spoil you. He’d steal little gifts at every opportunity, and buy you posters and t shirts of all the bands he had gotten you into.

• Unfortunately, as you got older you made friends outside the pack. You developed new interests, and David felt threatened.

• After all, you’re supposed to their little girl. You were supposed to grow up and stay with your fathers- your pack. Not branch out and meet new people.

• So in response, David killed one of your friends.

• One of the boys in your group who he thought you were becoming dangerously close to.

• Of course, you didn’t know David was the reason he had gone missing, so when you broke down in tears, feeling terrified for your friend, David was there to hold you.

• The way he gently rubbed your back and soothingly whispered into your ear almost made you forget about the disappearance of one of your closest friends.

• That brief moment of bliss bringing you back to your childhood as you sought comfort in your father’s tender embrace.

• David could only pray that you would remain ignorant to the truth about your dearly departed friend.

Tag list- @bella-goths-wife (lmk if anyone else wants to be added)

#the lost boys 1987 #poly!lost boys x reader #the lost boys x reader #tlb 1987 #platonic #yandere #the lost boys x child!reader #yandere lost boys #platonic yandere

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ihaznoclue · 2 months ago

Text

Edge of the fight ♡♡♡♡

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ Bayverse Turtles x Reader ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Warnings -> Near death experiences, trauma, PTSD, Nightmares, hurt/comfort, Emotional talks, Experiments, being called a 'failure', Kidnapping, Reader is going through it, Panic attacks, Over protective, Trauma/Past dumping (Woah that's alot)

Authors Note -> Mind you that this story came to my mind late at one night, it came to my mind and I mixed up some stuff in it even though it might not make sense to everyone

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ ♡ ︎♡ ︎♡ ︎♡ ︎⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

The soft glow from the lairs kitchen area spoils from across the floor as you shuffle in, waking up a bit from what happened last night

Donnie's at the counter, making himself a cup of coffee, he then looks up the moment you enter the kitchen

"Hey" His voice calm and warm, like he knows you don't want to be overwhelmed with what happened but wanted to make sure if you are feeling okay "How're you feeling?"

You shurg as you leaned back onto he counter beside him "Tired.. Embarrassed"

He tilts his head to the side "That second one? Still unnecessary" He says than before you could reply, Mikey suddenly appears behind you as he hugs you lifting you up making you yelp in surprise

"Hey babycakes!" He was quite excited to see you

You laughed - a real one this time

Then Raph walks in, looking like he just woke up as he yawns, "Put them down Mikey" He huffs

Raph's eyes were focused on you, noticing the slight eye bags under your eyes and says "Rough night, last night?"

You node as you gave a quiet "Yeah", He pauses than gives you a look telling you that he was slightly worried for your well-being

Making you feel seen

and that you were going to be okay

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

It was now during the day as you heard a noise, everyone doing their own things but you were curious on what that noise was

It wasn't loud, just a noise of something falling or crashing into a wall, then followed by a hiss of frustration and a half-laughed curse under someone breath

You creep down that lead to Mikey's room, opening the door as you saw him sitting on his bed, surround by the aftermath of one of his 'art explosions', pens and paint brushes everywhere and some half-sketches on the floor, crunched up papers thrown everywhere

There was also a ripped out comic book in his lap, his sketchpad been tosses across the room like it betrayed him

He doesn't see you at first but you watched him for a second as your heart slowly sanks

Because Mikey? He was crying

He was silent as you could see his shoulder shaking, hands on his face as he was trying not to make any noise to distract his brothers form what they were doing

You decided to let him know that you were here "Mikey?"

That send him jolting, scrambling to wipe his face to hide those tears away "Oh-! Hey angelcakes! What's.. what's up?" His voice tried to sound normal but it wasn't going to work, he was now cracking a fake smile

"Didn't mean to cause a ruckus, you know how it is" He then laughed "Mikey" You spoke making him stop

He then pulls his head down, nervous to look at you "I didn't mean for you to see this, i'm fine really.. just some art block, I know it's stupid"

"Mikey, it's not stupid" That made him look at you and his mark totally falls apart, his eyes red "I tried so hard to make sure everyone is okay" He whispers

"I keep things light, keep the joke going to hold up the mood and it's like if I stop everything would feel heavy, you know?" He spills out, you then sat next to him as you placed a hand on his shoulder

Your heart ached

"I didn't realize how much pressure I was putting on myself until I saw you- after you falling, after how much stuff has been happening recently and I though, God what if i'm not actually helping? What if I'm just pretending everything is okay while everyone is falling apreat underneath me?"

You felt bad as you reached for his hand to hold, "Mikey" You stated "You're always been helping.. You're mainly the reason why most of us get through the day without breaking. But that doesn't mean you have to carry everyone's emotion and bury your own" You spoke out

Mikey sniffs as he squeezed your hand softly, "It's not weakness to rest, It's not failure to feel, you don't have to be the funny one all the time"

He gave out a little chuckle "You're quite good at this" He mumbles

"Well that's because we have each other"

You both sit in silence for a while, you were still looking around his room to see it was quite a mess but you are going to worry about that later

For now you were going to stay with Mikey until he feels better

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

It was now night, the city streets were dark and slightly dimmed by the street lights as the air was heavy with humidity

The brothers are their usual formation but tonight you were with them

It have been a couple of weeks now, weeks of recovery, of laughter, of soft and hard moment - of healing, but tonight.. you were reminded of how quickly everything can fall apart instantly

You're moving through the shadows, as you blended in with the night as you followed Leo's lead

He's quiet and watchful, the weight of leadership on his shoulder as always as him and his brothers were in front of you for safety

Mikey was just cracking some jokes from time to time to ease up your stress as he knew how stressful this can be after healing for a long time

He was keeping the mood up but even he can tell tonight might be different as well, there was tension int he air as something that felt like the calm before the storm

You're more than alert than usual for some reason, you were still shaken from your previous moment of vulnerability with the brothers but you did try to focus more, try to stay sharp

"You good? You look a little tense" Leo asked as he glanced down at you as he was standing on the edge of the rooftop that made you worry for a moment

You gave a nod, forcing a smile "Yeah I'm fine, just keeping my eyes peeled, you?" You asked back

Leo doesn't answer immediately, his sharp gaze scanning the rooftop on other building "Always" he says, then looks over at you again, his voice becomes softer

"If anything happens, just fall back.. We'll handle it"

You were about to respond until there was a scream that cuts through the night like a knife, it was a woman, it sounded desperate

Without hesitation, Leo signals for the team to move out and follow the sound of the women that lead into an alley way

It looked narrow and dark, the shadow growing longer with every step as you walked further and further

..And then you saw him..

Shredder, of all people it was him again

You froze on the spot but Leo's voice took you back to reality as he took action "Move!" He order, launching himself at Shredder as his katanas were in his hands

Raph follows behind, his sais ready for action, Donnie having his bo staff and Mikey having his nunchuks swinging around

But the moment you stepped a little bit forward to join them a loud thump and crack rings out the noise around you

Everything just happened so fast

Shredder was throwing a block of concret towards you, dust flying everywhere around you which caused you to cover your mouth to not breath in

You were pushed back by the force of the block as you stumbled, your vision blurring for a moment, you didn't have enough time to react until you were pulled back by a boxed gloved hand

It was Raph, his grip was firm but there was panic showing in his eyes

"You need to get out of here!" He yells, pushing you away again form Shredder's attacks, that made you stumble to Leo

Your heart was racing as you knew something was off.. you shouldn't be here

Something is gonna get terribly wrong

You hesitate but just for a moment.. then it happens

Shredder was somehow in front of you and in a moment you were thrown against the wall with such force, your body colliding with the wall hard making you lose your breath

You then fell to the ground as your tried to breath your way through as you started to bleed from the back of your head and some on your forehead

Your vision now blurring away as you tried to leave your eyes open, hearing voice call out to you

Your body doesn't respond the way you want it to, you try to move but it was a bad idea btu everything feels too heavy

Pain.. the only word to describe yourself feeling right now

So much pain then blackness covered your vision

'Not again..' you think 'Not..again..'

Through the muffle and ringing sound of the brothers voices calling out to you

Raph and Leo were the loudest one yelling out to you, the sounds of the battle filling your ear to know that Donnie and Mikey were trying to hold Shredder back

You did try to stay awake but everything was too hard to focus on

And then-

Quietness...

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

You don't know how long you were out for

When you started to focus on everything around you, it's not the comforting hum of the lair that you could hear but the sharp beep of the machine that were connected to you

You started to blink to focus on your vision more better, the dim light hurts your eyes as you shut them tight again then re-opened them

You then realised that you were once again on the med bed in Donnie's lab, you turned your head to the side as you saw Donnie at your side with his back turned as his face furrowed while his fingers hovering over some of the readings on his computers

Then turned to the other side to see Leo pacing around near the lab, Mikey sitting on the floor as his knees not he ground , his expression was unreadable while Raph was standing against the wall near by with his arms crossed, eyes looking furious

You tired to sit up as your body was surrounded by pain, you hissed at the sudden pain that went through your body

"Easy there dove" Donnie murmurs, gently pushing you back down as you hissed again

"You were hit pretty hard, We're lucky it wasn't.. well.. worse" He said

the silence and the tension

You could feel it lingering around the room

Everyone's avoiding looking directly as you and it hurts, you could feel their guilt and their fear

Like they failed

You sighed as you reached over for the nearest thing which was your arm, but your hands won't respond

The shaking started again, like a warning

Then Leo was at your side, kneeling down to meet your eyes, there was no anger, no blame but just pain

"Name, I.." He spoke, his voice sounding tight "I couldn't get to you fast enough"

"Leo, It's not your fault.." You begin, but the words die on your tongue as Raph steps forward a bit

"You're hurt, and we should've been faster, shouldn't kept you safe, should've.."

You didn't let him finish

"It's not your guys fault" You rasp, struggling to sit up again "none of you are at fault, this is.. this is just the risk we take, we're still all together"

Mikey then suddenly stands up from the floor, walking over to your side

"You don't have to go through this alone.. We're kind of like family, we fight for each other and we protect each other"

The weight in your chest loosens but just a little at his words, it feels like a promise - a promise that you heard one hundred times before but this time

It feels real to know that they will keep their promise

Even if the world keeps falling apart, they'll be there to hold the pieces together

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

You're awake again, but this time it's not the beeping machine or the cold feeling of the lab

It was quiet, peaceful.. almost too peaceful

It's strange, you can't really remember falling asleep but when you blink your eyes open, you find yourself in the familiar couch you would usually fall asleep in

The warmth of the blankets surrounding you, you didn't try to sit up but your side stops you

You once again let out a hiss of discomfort, immediately regretting the movement

"Easy there"

the voice was soft, calm and you know it before you even see him

It was Leo, sitting down near by as he was meditating, his figure is silhouetted against the dim glow of the lairs lights, just enough to make him look like a shadow int he distance

You swallow, fighting the haze of drowsiness "You're.. You've been there all night?" You asked

He peaks out as eyes to you as he nodded and you notice the exhaustion beneath his calm demeanor

"I couldn't leave you alone this time, so I stayed" Leo says quietly

"Not after everything that has happened to you.. not after what happened with him" He then shifts, getting up as he moved closer to you

Like he's not sure if you're ready for him to get close but you nod to him as you reassured him that he could

He then reaches out a hand to brush some hair out of your face and tucks it behind your ear, making you shiver at the slightest touch

You've always know Leo as the leader, the steady one, the one who takes it all

The weight of command, the responsibility and the shield of everyone

But right now in this very moment, he looks small.. like the mask he's been wearing for so long had disappeared

He watches you closely, like he was waiting for a response from you and you knew what you had to do

You need to show him that he doesn't have to carry this burden all alone.. not anymore

You reach out your hand as you reached it to his face, it was a small gesture to let him not that you weren't mad at him, that you weren't blaming him for this

"I'm okay" You say quietly, your voice sounded like a whisper

"I'm not mad and I'm not blaming you or anyone, you didn't fail me and I'm here because of you guys, I'm still here"

His expression softens and for a second he lets go of a breath that he might of been holding onto

And for the first time in a long while, Leo rests his head on your chest to hear your heartbeat, not as a leader nor a protector but as Leo himself

The person who's carrying too much and who need someone to share the weight with him

And in this moment, you both find peace, a quiet and simple connection

Two people who are broken by the weight of the world but is slowly learning how to rebuild

You then heard a soft and small "Thank you"

"Goodnight Leo"

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

-A<3

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yeet-me-dad-dy · 6 months ago

Text

The Arcane - Chapter Six - Old Wounds

Summary: Viktor gets a little look at the things that haunt you, and you and he work on the designs for his back brace.

Characters: Viktor x Male Reader (Doctor Raven) x Jayce eventually maybe

Warnings: Nightmares

Words: 1,947

You were lying on your back on the hospital bed in your lab, tossing a small metal device into the air while you considered Viktor's dilemma. You had managed to get all of the scans you needed within a week, and while it was a grueling and often painful process for him, he hadn't complained even once. After receiving the scans, you had studied them until your eyes burned, mind racing with questions, theories, and ideas.

You caught the device and set it on the mattress beside you, then rubbed your tired eyes. Vampires didn't need as much sleep as humans, but they did still need sleep; six or seven hours each week. You had managed exactly thirty-two minutes for this week, and exhaustion was beginning to set in. You knew you needed to rest, and you honestly had tried, but calming your racing mind enough to fall asleep was an achievement not often reached.

You sighed and closed your eyes. If you could just get five minutes… Your consciousness hung in the abyss between waking and sleeping, and then, slowly, you began to drift off.

The trees were burning, the snow was stained red. Everywhere you looked, bodies with missing limbs and guts spilling from their bellies littered the battlefield, the heat of their corpses sending steam rising into biting midnight air. The blood painting your hands and face and drenching your clothes was pleasantly warm...

“Doctor?”

You whirled around, eyes blazing, teeth bared, to see a skinny young man with golden eyes reaching toward you.

I know you, the little voice in your head said. You’d known all of them. It didn’t matter. You lunged, teeth meeting the soft flesh of his throat.

“Doctor!”

You bolted upright in bed, eyes wide and searching, chest heaving. You weren’t sure where you were. Octagonal room, blue walls, tall ceiling… Familiarity sparked in your nightmare-addled mind.

The lab. You had fallen asleep in your lab.

There was a gentle touch on your shoulder, and you jerked away. That same skinny young man from your dream was watching you with concern. You looked him up and down, allowing your mind to match the face to a name.

“Viktor…” you breathed.

You flopped back onto the bed, covering your eyes with your arm, and pulled in a few lungfuls of air to steady yourself.

“What time is it?” you asked.

“Just after dinner,” he said quietly.

You swallowed hard, then tossed your legs over to sit on the edge of the bed with your back to Viktor.

“I came to show you the sketch of the back brace I’m working on… and to check on you. It seems it’s a good thing I did.”

“The brace, yes…” you mumbled. “I’ll need to take a look at that.”

You rubbed your eyes, ran a hand down your face.

“Are you alright, Doctor?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes, I just… had a bad dream.” You rose suddenly, smoothed down your shirt, and rounded the bed to stand beside Viktor. “Let’s see it.”

You couldn’t seem to look at him, not without remembering the look of fear in the eyes of his dream-self and the feeling of your teeth sinking into his flesh. He handed you a piece of paper. Drawn in graphite were sketches of a mechanical back brace from different angles, as well as smaller drawings of individual pieces and some of the more technical aspects.

“Hmm…” your gaze flit from one drawing to the next, intrigued. “Have you eaten?” you asked, glancing at him for only a moment.

“No. You had been bringing me my dinner, so I was waiting for you. That’s why I came to check on you. You’re not usually late.”

You chuckled dryly.

“Sorry…”

“It’s alright. You needed sleep.”

“If only I had actually gotten some…” you let out another dry chuckle.

You returned his sketches to him, retrieved his file from your desk, then gently led him out of the lab with a hand on his lower back. You could feel the metal medical corset beneath his shirt.

“Let’s head down to the kitchen. We can talk about your design while you eat.”

He looked as tired as you felt as he shuffled along beside you. It must have been a long day for him, too.

“I thought vampires don’t sleep,” he said as you called the elevator.

“We don’t sleep much, but we do sleep. Seven hours a week is fine.”

“An hour a night,” Viktor nodded. “Or do you prefer to do it all in one lump?”

“Honestly, I’m lucky to get three hours a month.”

“I know how that feels,” Viktor sighed.

There was a comfortable momentary silence before he spoke again.

“Do you want to talk about your dream, Doctor?”

You considered a moment.

“There’s not much to talk about… There were a lot of bodies and a lot of blood. People I knew and loved.”

“I see.”

The elevator dinged and let you off on the bottom floor of the academy, where you wound your way through the wide halls to the kitchen. Viktor had a lot of questions he wanted to ask you, but there were certain things that there was never a good moment to bring up. Doctor Sammor had said “I know what you’ve done.” What did he mean by that? Was he referring to the unsavory ends of the people you’d tested your blood on, or was there something else? He’d gotten a glimpse of a darker side of you that day, and he knew nothing of your past. There was no telling what kind of things you’d done in your long life. What kind of horrors you’d seen… or perhaps even caused.

The kitchen was empty, but there were a few people in the cafeteria still doing school work. You made Viktor a sandwich with some carrots on the side and poured him a glass of orange juice, then sat with him at an empty table in the corner near a big window. Thankfully, the sun was on the other side of the building and couldn’t reach you here. You spread the scans of his body and his brace design out in front of you so you could see them all at once. You both gave the spread a once-over. Viktor’s eyes lingered on the x-ray of his spine.

“How does one go about straightening a spine, exactly?”

You pulled the x-ray closer.

“Rather forcefully. Two straight metal bars bolted to either side will force it into a more natural position.”

“That sounds… unpleasant.”

“Yes, but don’t worry.” You offered him a comforting smile. “You’ll be asleep, and you’ll be given the best pain medication available to help you through recovery.”

“And you’ll be the one doing the surgery?”

“Yes. Unless you’d rather have someone else?”

“No. No, I think I’d be most comfortable if it’s you.”

“I don’t think I could trust anyone else to do it,” you admitted. “I have about one-hundred-and-fifty years more experience than the most experienced doctor. I was around when this surgery was still in its testing stages. I know what to do, but I also know what not to do.”

“I know I’m in good hands,” Viktor smiled.

You returned the smile, eyes lingering on his lips before turning your attention to the sketch of the back brace.

“The problem with our current methods is that it doesn’t leave much flexibility in the spine. The bars are rigid, so you won’t be able to bend. I’m hoping we can design something to replace the bars that will allow you more movement.”

You pointed to the main sketch.

“Honestly, this design looks really promising. This long spine piece here is articulated, right? One piece for each vertebrae… That could definitely work.”

Viktor nodded.

“Yes, and then the panels on the side and the chest piece will keep my ribs where they need to be.”

“Good,” you grinned at him, excited at the prospect of giving Viktor something more functional to wear.

The two of you lingered in the cafeteria for quite some time, going over the details of the sketch and the scans, tossing around ideas for different designs, and making sure that you could both work with what you’d come up with. The moon was well into the sky by the time you finally got Viktor to drop his pencil. You stretched and pushed yourself to your feet. A sharp pain ran up your hip and you stumbled forward, catching yourself on the edge of the table.

“Are you alright, Doctor?” Viktor asked, hand hovering just inches from your arm in case he should need to try and catch you.

“Yes,” you chuckled dryly and composed yourself.

“You are in pain,” he stated plainly.

You sighed and massaged your hip.

“Only sometimes,” you smiled softly, trying to reassure him. “Usually when I move too quickly.”

“Have you considered a cane?” he asked.

“I have, but I feel like I don’t need one enough to warrant getting one. I just need to move more carefully.”

He hummed, thoughtful.

“May I ask what causes the pain? I thought vampires were supposed to heal their injuries.”

You nodded and crossed your arms over your chest.

“We do heal, but sometimes old wounds still hurt.”

He was watching you with great interest, waiting for you to tell your story. You sighed and cleared your throat.

“It was during the Blood War,” you started. “There was an explosion and a building fell on me. Crushed me. I healed, yes, but I still have problems with my back and hips. Some days are worse than others.”

“I see.”

He felt stupid for not realizing that you were actually in the war four-hundred years ago. Had you been a doctor then, too, or had you been a warrior, fighting on the front lines?

“Viktor?”

“Hmm?” he blinked a few times. “Ah, sorry, I was lost in thought.”

“That’s alright.” You touched him gently on the shoulder.

Usually, he was averse to being touched. Your touch, though, he had come to find comfort in.

“Let’s head home, shall we?” you asked. “You need sleep.”

He chuckled and allowed you to lead him out of the cafeteria.

“I’ll sleep if you promise to, as well,” he said.

You sighed, but nodded.

“I’ll try.”

Viktor lived right across the hall from you, which it took you far too long to realize. You’d only figured it out when he was exiting his apartment at the same time as you one morning. You thought you could smell him in the hallway when you came and went, but you figured it was just his scent lingering on your clothes. To say you were delighted that he was so close was an understatement. You stopped him before he disappeared into his home.

“One more thing, Viktor. I almost forgot to tell you. I’m going to be heading up north in a few days to harvest more Snowbell root. I’ll be gone for… maybe two months?”

“Oh…” He didn’t like the thought of you leaving, though he couldn’t place exactly why. “You’ll… be safe, I hope?”

“Of course,” you smiled. “I’ll try not to be gone the whole two months, but those flowers are a pain to harvest, and even more of a pain to find.”

“I understand. I’ll be fine while you’re away, Doctor, you don’t have to worry about me.”

You nodded. You were worried. What if something happened while you were gone? What if he needed you and you weren’t there for him?

“Goodnight, Viktor,” you smiled.

He touched your forearm gently, mimicking a gesture he’d learned from you.

“Goodnight, Doctor.”

#my writing #arcane #arcane viktor #arcane viktor x reader #arcane viktor x male reader #viktor x reader #viktor x male reader #vampire reader #doctor reader

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clemkruckinnie · 2 years ago

Text

first time-d.lambert

summary: dalton decides he wants to take his relationship with you a step further.

You feel peaceful.

Though it’s a Friday night on campus, you and Dalton have created a peaceful little corner of the dorm for yourself. You can’t help but steal glances at your boyfriend, scribbling furiously in his sketchbook. He’s drawing, and erasing, and drawing again, and before you can ask what’s up, he shoves the sketchbook off his bed.

“Everything okay?” You look up from the other corner of the bed, sitting up.

“I’m just not having a good creation day.” Dalton explains. “Nothing I wanna draw is coming out right, I have this stupid deadline to meet and I can’t even land on a rough sketch because my stupid brain and my stupid hands won’t-“

“Dal.” You cut him off, putting your hand over his. Getting an idea, you sit up further, uncrossing your legs. “Lay down.” Dalton happily obliges, sighing like the weight of the world’s been lifted from his shoulders once he lays his head against your thighs. “Better?” You ask, moving so that your hand is in Dalton’s hair, rubbing his scalp lightly.

Dalton nods against you. “Don’t make me fall asleep.” He warns you, half joking.

“Why, you’re not having nightmares again, are you?”

Dalton pauses.

“Oh, baby-“ You push his hair back from his face, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just thought it’d be too much for you. That I would be too much for you.” Dalton explains.

“If it’s too much for me, it’s definitely too much for you.” You tell him, “let me know about that stuff, okay?”

“I don’t want to burden you.” Dalton objects, you shaking your head. “Thought i’d scare you off.”

“You don’t abandon the people you love when they’re hurting. You stay and shoulder it with them.”

You don’t realize the words that you chose until you say them, looking up into Dalton’s wide blue eyes.

“What?” His voice comes out shaky, uncertain that he heard you correctly. “Do you mean that?”

“That I love you?” You ask. “I do. I love you, Dalton.”

Dalton almost knocks you over with the force he hugs you with, tucking his face into your neck.

“I love you, too.” He pulls back, laughing tearfully. “We’re in love.”

His gaze softens before he leans in, cupping your face like he’s holding something delicate, and kisses you with a passion that almost makes you lightheaded.

When he finally pulls back, your entire body feels like it’s on vibrate. By the way his pupils dilate, you can tell Dalton feels the same.

“What’s on your mind?” You finally ask him.

He leans in again, but moves upwards, kissing your forehead instead of your lips. Then, he moves back down, resting his forehead against yours.

“I wanna do what people in love do.”

“You mean-“ You trail off, Dalton nodding against your head.

“I need you.” Dalton moves his hands down, his arms around you. “Please, baby.”

You lean back in again, kissing him with a passion new to the both of you as he lays you down. He moves to your jaw, kissing it gently before he goes down further, his soft lips trailing down and across your neck. “Dal.” You sigh, hands between his shoulder blades.

He lets out a sweet sound against you, the vibrations making you shiver. “Say my name like that again.” He sucks lightly at your pulse point, drawing his name out of you in a whine. “Sound so pretty.” He pulls back, his hands resting against your stomach, having slid them under your shirt. “Can I?”

You nod almost too quickly, wanting to get the offending garment off before you get too nervous to. Any lingering feelings of anxiety leave your body like a floodgate opening as he takes you in. You’re in an old pair of running shorts and a sports bra, yet he looks at you like you’re the finest piece of art in the world. “Beautiful,” Dalton marvels, smoothing his hands over your chest. “All for me, right?”

You nod, Dalton shaking his head. “Tell me.” His voice is so gentle, you feel your eyes heating up and you try your best to not cry while topless in front of your boyfriend for the first time. “All for you. I’m all yours.”

Dalton smiles, leaning in and kissing your nose before sliding his hands under you, by the clasp of your bra. “Want me to take this off?”

“Please.” You almost whimper, Dalton swallowing thickly as you lean upward. The proximity of your faces isn’t as close as it had been when you were kissing, but you’re close enough to see all the shades of blue in his eyes, the concentration on his face as he works at your bra clasp.

“Hi.” You break the silence, Dalton smiling at you again.

“Hi.” He whispers, finally undoing the clasp. “Got it. Let me just-“ He pulls your bra down your arms, discarding it somewhere in the room.You’re fully bare from the waist up, but don’t feel exposed at all.

Dalton drinks in the sight of your bare chest, sliding his hands up to cup each breast in one. “These are perfect.” Dalton marvels. He brushes his thumbs over your nipples, you arching into him involuntarily.

“Does that feel good?” Dalton asks, not cocky, genuinely curious. You go to nod, but stop yourself, remembering that he likes verbal confirmation. “Yes,” you tell him, “they’re really sensitive.” You admit. “Feels nice when you play with them.” Dalton groans, your praise giving him the motivation he needs to keep going. “Wanna get my mouth on them.” He tells you.

The word “please” is barely out of your mouth before he’s taken one nipple into his mouth, rolling the other between his fingers as he sucks. It sends a pang down between your legs as you moan, loudly, going to put your hand over your mouth. Dalton grabs your wrist, using his surprising strength to keep your hand away from your mouth. “Don’t muffle yourself. Let me hear you.” Dalton tells you, kissing his way across your chest to your other nipple, repeating what he had done before. Your hands find their way to his head instead, pushing his hair away from his face.

“I need more.” You beg. “Please, baby-“

Releasing your nipple with a pop, Dalton scoots down between your legs, tugging your shorts off. He’s about to take off your panties when you stop him.

“Is something wrong? We can stop-“

“No! No, I wanna keep going.” You assure him. “You just still have all your clothes on. Doesen’t seem fair.”

Dalton looks down at his sweatshirt and laughs softly. “You’re right. That’s not fair.” He tugs the shirt over his head. “Here,” He stands up, tugging his pants down and kicking them somewhere on the floor, leaving him clad in his boxers. “We’re even.”

You smile, nodding as he re-situates himself. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down and discarding them somewhere with the other clothes.

“Can I taste you?” Your hips almost buck at the way he asks it, the way he looks at you, him, but you settle for a “yes”. He licks an experimental stripe up to your clit, circling it clumsily but still enough to feel good. You moan softly, Dalton taking it as his cue to keep going. He doesn’t really have a technique, as expected—you knew he was a virgin when you two got together, but he’s not doing a bad job, either. You can only imagine how good he’ll get with more practice.

“Am I-?” Dalton pulls away, looking back up at you.

“Try sucking on my clit, just a little. Not too hard.” Dalton nods, licking back up to your clit and sucking, like you told him to.

“Oh my God.” You moan, Dalton sucking at your clit again, anything to get you to make that sound again.

“Need your fingers.” You whimper, “Please, wanna feel them inside—oh!” Dalton easily slides one in, moaning against you at the feeling of you around his finger. “One more, please-“He slides another one in, stretching you open as he licks around and on your clit. He pulls away, his fingers still inside you as he looks up at you.

“Do you like it like this?” He slowly pumps his fingers in and out of you, gaging your reaction.

“Yeah—curl them up a bit, like,” you make a “come here” movement with your fingers. Dalton mimics you, pumping his fingers the slightest bit faster as he curls them. “Wanna kiss you when you cum—“ he tells you.

“Then get back up here and kiss me.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice, speeding up his motions as he moves back up to kiss you. You two separate with moans and gasps, surprised your teeth aren’t clashing with the way he’s kissing you. You can already feel the coil tightening as he fingers you, but when he moves his thumb up to circle your clit, you go over the edge, tucking your face into his neck as you come undone.

“Holy shit,” Dalton pants, “I made you cum.”

You nod, smiling, dazed after the intensity of your orgasm. “I did, hard.” Dalton laughs, pulling his fingers out of you slowly. Before he can do anything with them, you take his hand, guiding his fingers to your mouth and sucking them gently. Dalton watches you, mesmerized at the way your cheeks hollow, the feeling of your tongue on his fingers.

“I need to fuck you.” Dalton pulls his fingers out of your mouth, “Shit, condom. Uh-“

“You can pull out.” You assure him. “I’m on the pill, anyway.” Dalton almost passes out at the idea of being inside you bare, but manages to stay upright. “Is this position-“

“Dalton?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s perfect.” You cut him off. “Like you.”

Dalton smiles, lining himself up with you. “Wait.” Before you can ask what’s wrong, Dalton takes one of your hands in his, lacing your fingers together and holding them down on the bed. The intimacy of the gesture makes your eyes well up again. You don’t miss the way Dalton’s face falls, and before he can ask, you tell him the truth.

“That was just sweet—I just really, really love you.” You admit. Dalton kisses your forehead once more, pushing in with his lips still against your skin.

You both moan together as Dalton pulls back out, then plunges all the way in again. He keeps at the slow pace for a little bit, you getting more exasperated. “You can go faster.” You tell him, assuming he’d been afraid to hurt you.

“I know.” Dalton smiles cheekily, “Just wanted to tease you. Make you beg for it.”

You gasp at his dirty talk and newfound cockiness, tossing your pride aside and giving in. “Please, Dalton, please fuck me harder, I need it so bad-“

Dalton moans, giving in and speeding up his thrusts, grabbing onto the mattress with his free hand, balling up the bedding as he pounds you.

“Feels so fucking good, beautiful-“ Dalton ducks his head down, kissing your neck as his thrusts speed up, “-‘m not gonna last—“

“Let go.” You encourage him, “I came already, just let go—“

It’s as if his body was waiting for those words to finally let go, his orgasm hitting him like a freight train. He weakly thrusts his way through it, pumping you full as he cums.

“Fuck, baby.” Dalton breathes out shakily, kissing your neck softly before pulling away to look at you. “Came so hard, don’t know if I can walk.”

“Then don’t.” You offer. “Just lay with me.”

Dalton nods, smiling softly as he pulls out, laying next to you and pulling the comforter over the two of you.

“We should probably clean up soon, though.” You tell him. “Don’t wanna traumatize Chris.”

Dalton laughs, “We don’t have to worry about Chris. I paid her 10 bucks to crash in a friend’s room.”

“You planned this?” You ask, feigning offense.

“I planned the seduction, not you telling me you loved me.” He defends himself. “Like i’d only fuck you once in a night.”

“You didn’t know how it would go!”

“I knew I wouldn’t be done with you yet.”

You smile, nuzzling your head into his chest. “I wanna do all of that and more, but for right now I just wanna use you as a pillow for a little bit.”

“You want a hoodie?” Dalton offers. “We could watch a movie for a little bit. Don’t want you getting cold.”

You smile, nodding. “Always taking care of me.”

Dalton shakes his head, getting up and pulling on his boxers to find you a hoodie of his.

“Not as good as you take care of me, baby.”

#dalton lambert #dalton lambert smut #dalton lambert x reader #insidious the red door

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greenleaf4stuff · 1 month ago

Text

Handmade

(my other TROP fanfics)

Silverscars (Adar x Celebrimbor), Modern!AU. Very lightly based on my Ask Game Answers drabbles (here or here & here) (prior reading is not required though!), in which I hint at Celebrimbor making an engagement ring for Adar and proposing during the Christmas days. This is how the proposal went. (This can also possibly be connected to a musician!Adar modern AU one-shot I haven’t shared yet.)

Aka, Adar and Celebrimbor celebrate Christmas together – and both are very nervous about their gifts. Unbeknownst to them, they both handmade their presents this year. Both will find themselves with something very special.

This is another entry for Cozy Cuddle(s) Week 2025 by @rivendellwatch. <3 I also used the chance to make use of a prompt from TROP Fluff Week ('I Made This For You') that I didn’t get around to writing during that event, which also overlaps with the 'handmade with love' prompt from @wowstrawberrycow’s amazing Give Him Nice Thing 2025 Adar Valentine’s Bingo prompts. (Also a Thank You to @plotdesigner, who gave me the idea with the Nightmare Before Christmas sweater for Adar through a conversation we had a few months ago.)

For those of you who want to read the fic on AO3, here is the link! <3

(Adar’s POV)

Adar couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d been so nervous; usually, very little could phase him, but this was very different.

He and Celebrimbor had celebrated Christmas together before, of course, though never quite like this – they had celebrated Christmas Eve with their friends and family, but with Adar’s youngest child having moved out this summer to start university, and their social circle having gotten a myriad of invitations for various dinners and parties, they had the second Christmas day all to themselves this time around.

Which meant that Adar finally had the chance to gift his partner a present he had been working on for quite a while, and which he’d wanted to give to Celebrimbor without any other people being around, due to its sentimental nature.

Celebrimbor himself had been in his little workshop for most of the day, after stating that he’d been hit with inspiration and the need to sketch out some new pieces. Adar had readily let him go. Celebrimbor’s occupation as a jewelsmith meant the other often worked odd hours, and sometimes, inspiration would hit him in the most random of moments; while washing the dishes, in the middle of the night, or as had just happened, after kissing Adar below some mistletoe.

The dark-haired man only shrugged and fondly shook his head. He knew what it was like, being a creative, and didn’t begrudge Celebrimbor his passion for his craft in the least. He knew he could go and drag the other out of his workshop anytime he wished with nary a complaint, after all. His partner had done similarly with him in the past as well, whenever Adar got too occupied with writing new lyrics or composing his music.

Also, Celebrimbor being in one place and away from their living room meant Adar didn’t have to sneakily tiptoe around him and make up some contrived excuse as to why the jewelsmith shouldn’t enter the area. Instead, he could prepare for the evening at his leisure, with zero chance of being discovered early.

After some brief deliberation, he decided to go all out – he cleaned the fireplace and set it up nicely, with new logs and after making sure all decorations were far enough away not to catch fire. He also pushed back the furniture a bit just in case. He rearranged the Christmas decor, and then prepared for the gift exchange later on:

He was torn between using the couch or having himself and Celebrimbor sit on the floor. The latter seemed far more romantic to him, but considering that both of them weren’t in their 20s anymore, and that they’d hopefully spend quite a while sitting together and enjoying some hot beverage, as well as Adar’s present, it ultimately made more sense to convert their couch into a soft, cozy nest.

Bummer, the floor would have meant they might have even laid down to sleep in the living room, perhaps. But if he played his cards right, maybe they could also do that on the sofa. It was one of those big ones, with extra sectional pieces to place one’s feet on, after all.

An hour or so later, he was rather satisfied with his work; the couch was covered in throw blankets and the covers from their bed, and probably ever single pillow in the house, including the spare ones they usually kept for guests. He’d even gone and pulled out the seasonal pillows he’d made for autumn last year, lovely soft crochet pieces in orange and black, made with a yarn that looked and felt like velvet.

He and Celebrimbor had very different ideas about personal style, which had become the most glaring when it came to Christmas; while Adar preferred his usual, darker style for all things, Celebrimbor adored the kitschy aesthetics of the festive season. Green and gold were his favorite colors, and there were glitter and velvet and metallics everywhere in the house.

The compromise had been a mix of both; black velvets, Christmas tree baubles adorned with skulls, the Top 50 kitschiest Christmas songs but as rock and metal interpretations, cookies baked to both resemble Santa Clause and the Grinch.

Staring at the couch now further reminded Adar of that fact. It was a lovely, eclectic mix of both their personal styles and preferences, combined into something that was so decidedly them that it made his heart swell. Even if some part of him still balked at the overly cheery depictions of reindeer, snowmen and Christmas elves on some of the pillowcases.

Satisfied that the couch was now a nest worthy of a cozy evening together, he went and brought over a tray, and began to set up what would be their 'drinks station' for the evening; a thermos filled with the hot chocolate he’d prepared on the stove, two large Christmas cups – one red, green and white, one black – and little bowls filled with marshmallows, whipped cream and a bigger one with cookies, as well as two or three small bottles of flavored syrup.

For music, he did select a mix of classical songs; Adar, at least, was already at the point where any more seasonal music might just cause him to run around with ear plugs at all times, so he hoped it would be alright with Celebrimbor if he chose something a little more neutral. They both did love classical music, after all, and it was a mix of nice, quiet songs, fitting the occassion.

There were a few other things to take care of, with the final steps being to take a shower – especially after he’d cleaned the fireplace and made sure the chimney wasn’t blocked by anything as well – and changing into something both comfortable but fitting for the night ahead.

Which soon after had him stand in the door to Celebrimbor’s workshop, while wearing black sweatpants, a Nightmare Before Christmas inspired sweater, and thick, knitted, black socks on his feet. The latter of which he’d made himself.

To his surprise, Celebbrimbor hadn’t been slouched over his desk, skribbling away as he tried to perfect some new design of his, but had instead been pacing his workshop while muttering to himself, something clutched in his hands.

He startled, rather badly, when Adar gently announced himself with a knock, and quickly hid his hands behind his back with a very shocked expression. Adar took a step inside the workshop in worry, in case he’d accidentally frightened the other somehow.

"Sorry, I tried not to startle you – are you alright?"

The other blinked, as if he’d seen Adar for the first time, before he quickly nodded. He still firmly kept his hands behind his back. "Uh, yes I- no need to apologize, I was just lost in thought, is all. You were very considerate, as always," he reassured Adar.

Perhaps he was working on something that didn’t come along very well, and he was still in the stage that he didn’t want Adar to see. It happened. The dark-haired man mentally shrugged, and decided to trust his partner’s word. "Glad to hear it. I have actually come to retrieve you – the hour is getting late, and I had hoped to spend the evening with you," he said, and then smiled secretively. "I actually prepared something for the two of us. Since we got the house all to ourselves."

Celebrimbor stilled, and then raised his eyebrows. "Oh- you are right. We are on our own today, aren’t we?" He briefly looked as if he wanted to apologize as well, for having spent all day in the workshop, when they could have spent it together. Adar gave him a stern look; they’d been over this, after all. The jewelsmith took the hint, and the dark-haired man could see the other’s shoulders lower as they untensed.

His partner still sometimes became incredibly sorry if he got too involved in his work. Adar knew this to be something that had been held against him in the past, and he also knew very well as to who exactly had done so. From his own experiences, he knew only time and patience could help the other heal – and that he already had, in some ways. But healing was always a process.

Celebrimbor swallowed, and finally lifted one hand to his front again. He pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbed his palm over his face. And then, he moved his gaze to Adar again, looking more centered. "That sounds like a very good idea. Give me a moment to get ready, yes? I feel a little-," he looked down on his clothes, which were a ratty shirt and a pair of pants he’d specifically chosen as his work clothes, streaked with all manner of soot both from his forge and his time working on his gold and silver pieces. At least he’d already stripped out of his protective gear. "Underdressed."

Adar smirked in humor as their gazes met, and saw a smile break out on Celebrimbor’s face as well. "That you are. I already prepared the shower for you, and took the liberty of putting out some clothes for you," he winked, and then turned back from the workshop, aware that Celebrimbor was still hiding something behind his back and wanting to give him some privacy. "Come to the living room, once you are done."

"That is- very thoughtful of you. Thank you Adar," Celebrimbor replied, and Adar turned over his shoulder to see the other throw him a grateful look. He wasn’t sure who was looking at the other with more fondness in that moment.

"Anytime. Now go, I will complete some last preparations and then wait for you to join me."

Adar found himself glad that he had something to busy his hands with, during the time that Celebrimbor showered and changed. His earlier preparations had helped dispel some of his nervousness, but it had steadily risen again as he waited for his partner to come to the living room.

It wasn’t just the fact that he’d prepared everything for a cozy time between the two of them, no, his gift was the thing that made him fidget and pace the room. He knew Celebrimbor liked the things he made by hand, but this was...different. His present had taken a long time to make, and as was usual with things that took time, doubt had sown itself in Adar’s mind whether or not the other would even like it.

Was it too much? Was the idea itself silly? Would Celebrimbor be flustered about it? Would the other truly like the piece, or only the fact that Adar had made it?

He was likely being ridiculous, he knew as much, at least in the back of his mind. But that didn’t make him feel any better about the situation. He glanced at the large present by the couch, hidden under wrapping paper and a bow, itching to put it away and dash to grab the store-bought emergency gift he’d prepared, in case he might chicken out.

Just before he felt his resolve give, however, he heard steps coming from the first floor, down the stairs, and then quickly moving towards the living room.

Adar swallowed and straightened himself as Celebrimbor walked in through the open door.

He looked lovely. Hair fluffy from the shower and an attempt at towel-drying it, with his natural curls falling in his face and making him look at least 10 years younger, dressed in his favorite Christmas pyjamas – a horrible, gaudy thing, but even Adar couldn’t deny how soft they were. Forest green, made out of velvet of course, patterened with depictions Celebrimbor’s favorite plants – holly.

He also looked quite stunned, as he let his eyes move around the living room, took in the lit fireplace, the couch, the way Adar stood in the middle of the space and shifted from foot to foot. Which the dark-haired man stopped doing as soon as he became aware of it; he wasn’t usually one to fidget. And he didn’t want Celebrimbor to think that something was wrong.

Nothing was. It was all just in Adar’s head.

Bad thing being that Adar was in there, too.

The other still held something clutched in his hands, but it had been wrapped in cloth, and Adar couldn’t hope to guess what it might be, or why Celebrimbor had brought it. His attention quickly slipped away, more focused on the other’s reaction to the setup.

"This is- wow," Celebrimbor breathed, and looked at Adar in awe. "This must have taken hours."

"It did – good thing you were occupied in your workshop, that way I didn’t have to do it in secret," Adar winked, and was glad that the other wasn’t saying anything about how he could have helped. Adar was glad whenever the other offered, but in this instance, he’d wanted to do this on his own. He’d have likely not been able to work up the courage to go through with this in the first place, otherwise. "I wanted this to be something nice, just for the two of us. It’s...part of my Christmas present to you."

If possible, the other looked even more stunned, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline and his mouth briefly hanging open as he stared at Adar. "C-Christmas present?" He stammered, "Adar, you know you didn’t have to-"

"I do. But I really wanted to," the dark-haired man explained, and just barely kept from picking at his fingernails as he looked at Celebrimbor. He took a steadying breath and explained, "I figured, since this is the first time we can enjoy a Christmas day on our own in a while, that we should make the most of it, and have it be special. And I also- the gift I have for you isn’t something I wanted to give you with many people around. It’s...special, too."

"O-oh," the other replied, and Adar could see him clutch whatever he held in his hands tighter. "In that case – I am- this is- Adar, this is wonderful," he finally managed, obviously a little overwhelmed, and smiled at the dark-haired man.

"I hoped you’d like it. Now come, sit. I have something to give you," Adar said.

This was it. No backing out now.

Celebrimbor nodded, and moved over to the couch, "This is already such a wonderful present, getting to spend the evening with you. All the time you put into this- and then you have something to give me as well?" There was a bit of humor in the other’s voice. "You spoil me."

"Indeed. And gladly so," Adar replied, and saw his hands shake as he picked up his present. But Celebrimbor’s words were already putting him at ease; he had a way of doing that. It was clear he already considered this as something precious, the way Adar had prepared everything for them. He was certain that if he hadn’t mentioned the present, the other would already cherish the evening as it was.

One more reason why Adar wanted to give him this gift so badly. He overcame his own apprehension, those doubts that still lingered, and walked over to hand over the wrapped package.

"Here. I hope you’ll like it," he said.

"I have no doubt I will," Celebrimbor replied, devastatingly, disarmingly nonchalant in his certainty that whatever Adar might have chosen for him, he would enjoy and appreciate it. He took the gift as if it was precious, or fragile, despite how soft it was even through the thin wrapping paper.

As sappy as it sounded, it almost felt as if he was holding Adar’s heart in his hands in that moment. Adar knew he would handle it with care.

The other was slow and methodical to unwrap the present, gently opening the bow and pulling apart the paper without a rush, as if cautious not to rip or damage anything accidentally.

Soon, a large stack of fabric was uncovered, a myriad shapes and materials and colors, and as Celebrimbor stood and unwrapped it, it became a large, square shape, longer and wider than Celebrimbor himself was. Even when he stood on the couch itself, it was almost too long to reach the floor.

"That is-," he looked at the large piece, eyes moving over each part slowly as he tried to find words. "This is a patchwork blanket, isn’t it?"

Adar felt pride swell in his chest and nodded. "You are correct. It is," he smiled. His heart felt full, seeing the way Celebrimbor already beheld the quilt as if was something exceptional, something significant.

"You handmade this, didn’t you?" the other asked, and held the upper edge of the blanket to his chest with one hand, while using the other to spread out different parts, behold them, stroke a careful palm over certain pieces or trace the stitchings and shapes on others. "That must have taken...more than hours. Days. Weeks!"

Of course the other had an inkling as to how long it had taken. Celebrimbor, too, made things by hand. He’d seen Adar knit and crochet in the past, sometimes even sew. "I think 'weeks' is the pretty close. If I added all the hours together, certainly," Adar confirmed, with a gentle smile and a nod.

Celebrimbor’s eyes were wide, his expression so awed it seemed almost overwhelmed. "You must have put so much time and work into this...for me?" He blinked again, but this time, his eyes shone. "Adar that is...I don’t even know what to say."

"Perhaps I should give you a bit more context for this piece. But first, please, sit again," the dark-haired man gently advised, and helped Celebrimbor by offering him a steadying hand as the other sat down on the couch again, still looking at the quilt.

Adar reached out a hand, and touched it to a green square at the top, close to Celebrimbor’s chest. "Do you recognize this?" he asked, voice soft. Seeing that particular patch again brought back memories.

The other looked at it for a while, before he frowned and tilted his head, as if raking his brain. Adar could see the moment when he grasped at what his partner was saying. "Wait- is that-?"

"Part of the sweater you wore when we first met each other, yes," Adar finished, and found his own eyes getting a little misty as Celebrimbor’s lifted from the blanket, their gazes locking. They both still remembered that day. Celebrimbor had been working in a different profession, back then, and they’d been at one of Adar’s concerts. "Remember how I told you I’d take care of it, when it ripped and you wanted to throw it away?"

Celebrimbor stared at Adar, eyes still wide. "...you have worked on this since back then?"

Adar nodded, "I’ve had the idea ever since we met. I knew- I think I knew I wanted to be serious about you right away. I didn’t start until a year ago, but I’ve collected pieces to add to this probably since the beginning," he admitted.

He pointed to another square. This one was a crochet pattern, in green and black. "This I made on our first vacation together, when you went out to take a hike and I stayed in the cabin for a few hours. You almost caught me when you came back," he smiled, the memory a fond one.

Celebrimbor stared at him incredulously, then chuckled as he seemed to remember. "Oh you! I knew you were up to something – I remember how you claimed you’d read Rúmil. You held the book upside down when I came in, by the way."

It was Adar’s turn to look surprised. "I did?" He tilted his head. "Why didn’t you say anything?"

Celebrimbor shrugged and smirked lopsidedly. "I figured you’d fallen asleep and were embarrassed, or something to that effect. You had claimed you would cook us some dinner before I returned, after all."

The two of them laughed at the memory for a bit, then turned their attention back to the blanket. The mood became sentimental, and reverent, as they went over more of the squares; it was a trip down memory lane, but told through pieces of fabric, just as Adar had intended.

A piece of a table cloth, not the exact same one from their first, official date, but Adar had gone back to the restaurant and gotten to buy one they would have thrown out soon as a substitute. He’d decorated it with a depiction of the meal they’d had, using embroidery thread – and enduring many pinpricks to his fingers, none of which had left any traces on the fabric, thankfully.

A pillowcase, from the first time they slept in their shared bed in this house after they’d moved in together, the date and address stitched into the corner.

A knitted piece, depicting sage, both blossoms and leaves – Adar’s favorite flower –, which he’d made during a tour with his band, and finished on the last evening of it, before Celebrimbor had come to the last concert of the tour and surprised him with a home-cooked meal and a booked hotelroom, so Adar could get some good, proper sleep before driving home the next day.

It continued this way for the whole blanket. Scraps and pieces refashioned into a bigger one that showed their relationship, their shared history of the last few years, and most importantly – their love for each other.

It must have taken at least an hour, more likely two or three, going over almost every single square, talking and reminiscing together, before Celebrimbor looked up at Adar and said, "I love you. You have no idea how much. Seeing this, it’s a reminder of that, and all the reasons why I do."

"That was the intention," Adar grinned, before he sobered, and reached out to hold the other’s hands in his own. "I love you too. Collecting these pieces, each proved to me that what we have is something extraordinary, and profound, and something I wouldn’t miss for the world. As corny as it might sound, this quilt feels like our relationship, since it is made up out of so many moments we spent together, just like our relationship is. I think it’s...it shows how far we’ve come."

"I don’t think it’s corny at all," Celebrimbor breathed, and smiled brightly. His eyes were impossibly soft. "I think it’s the most romantic thing that I’ve ever received. I don’t think anything could ever possibly compare, with all the time and care you have put into this."

His words were sincere, his look fond. It took Adar’s breath away. His first instinct was to deflect, to reach up to rub the back of his neck, look to the side, make a quip about how Celebrimbor liked kitsch and therefore wasn’t impartial. But he swallowed all of that down.

"I am...very glad you think that way. And that you like the present. It makes me very happy," he replied instead, and squeezed Celebrimbor’s hands.

"I love it," Celebrimbor confirmed, and then reached up to cup Adar’s cheeks, before he leant over and kissed him. Adar gladly accepted the kiss, and soon returned it. The both of them were a little emotional, rightfully so, as they crowded close and pressed kisses to each other’s mouths, held onto each other and then finally, embraced as Celebrimbor peppered little kisses to Adar’s jaw and cheeks, and Adar buried his nose into the other’s hair.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Celebrimbor whispered, breathless and awed, into Adar’s ear, who held tighter onto Celebrimbor and placed a gentle kiss to his temple, then another to his locks.

"Of course," he replied, voice low, his heart so full it felt ready to burst. He felt oddly light, and safe, and so very cherished. Glad that Celebrimbor liked the present, and with the reminder of all they shared, he was just so utterly grateful.

To his surprise, Celebrimbor soon drew back, holding onto Adar’s shoulders as he pushed back from their embrace. There was an oddly determined look in his eyes, which had Adar blink at him.

"I think- no, I actually have something for you as well," the other said, and reached for the little piece of fabric on his lap. Adar had almost forgotten about it.

(Celebrimbor’s POV)

Celebrimbor was fairly certain he’d never been so nervous in his life. Not when he’d publically disowned his father and the rest of his family. Not when he’d decided to end things with his ex. Not when he’d quit his previous job. Not even when he’d presented his first collection as a jewelsmith to the public, his friends, and his boyfriend.

Not even when he’d decided to take a risk and accept Adar asking him out for the first time, or when the two of them had decided to be serious about each other and a possible relationship just a few days after their initial meeting.

A few days ago, when he’d first gotten the idea for Adar’s present, he’d been so self-assured of his idea. It had just seemed right, as they both stood under that mistletoe and kissed, Adar looking so incredibly attractive with that one strand of hair hanging in his face, the way he’d smiled softly at Celebrimbor and then immediately gone to fetch the two of them a drink right after, always looking out for them both.

He’d spent the time when Adar had fallen asleep that night frantically sketching, trying his best to be quiet and utterly relieved he hadn’t accidentally woken up his boyfriend with his antics; the ideas has simply flown out of him, too fast to contain.

He’d also spent every free minute in his workshop, being truthful insofar as that he told Adar that he’d gotten inspired, but not quite telling him in what way. The other was ever-patient, reminding him to come out and eat, but willing to let him get his ideas out of his system in the times between.

Celebrimbor remembered Halloween had been very similar, with Adar having spent a lot of time composing new music in the times when the two of them hadn’t decorated the house or the frontyard. The jewelsmith was glad that they both were creatives, and understood one another’s need to be creative, even if it came at inopportune or unexpected times.

So Celebrimbor had worked, time flying by as he fashioned the piece he had in mind. He felt as if he was floating on inspiration, and the drive to create – the drive to make this little piece in time before Christmas was over.

Only when it looked like he might actually succeed with his plan, did second thoughts begin to creep in.

Was this too much? Would he ruin Christmas, making something like this and presenting it to Adar? Would he pressure the other if he did this? What if the other felt inadequate for not having a similarly impactful present?

What if he refused Celebrimbor’s gift, and everything that came with it?

It had been that last thought that had made Celebrimbor stop pacing his workshop, his finished piece in hand, and shake his head at himself. Of course he would never presume to know Adar’s heart in its entirety, but- they both had already taken so many risks with their relationship. Would never have gotten this far if they didn’t.

This wasn’t any different; trust and confidence had gotten them to this point, and if Celebrimbor stopped trusting himself and Adar – their relationship – now, it would be a disservice to their previous struggles and accomplishments alike.

So, when Adar came to retrieve him for their evening together, looking cozy in that unique way of his, wearing an eager yet anxious expression of his own, Celebrimbor had swallowed his own insecurities and decided to take yet another risk.

He couldn’t have known that Adar had taken a risk of his own. Perhaps he should have been able to guess it; the two of them fit each other so well, after all, despite how different they were at first glance:

Celebrimbor, who had decided to turn his life around in the middle of it to take up the family occupation, and become a smith who worked only for himself. Who loved the Christmas spirit in all its facets and shapes and felt no shame standing in the living room, humming along to generic popsongs on the radio as he cleaned. And Adar, who had an exclusively all-black wardrobe, loved Halloween and had been making music with other people for all of his life, despite all the curveballs that same life had thrown at him, who wouldn’t be caught dead listening to pop music – except if Celebrimbor asked him to.

But they also had so much in common, too. Both of them creatives, both of them with a chip on their shoulder, both of them a little odd in their own ways.

In a way, Celebrimbor felt it was confirmation of his own plans and intentions, when Adar ended up presenting him with the quilt he’d made. And what a beautiful thing it was, a labor of love, with so much thought and work put into it, which had taken Adar weeks to assemble, but years to aquire and prepare all the pieces.

Nevermind that he’d taken the time and effort to turn their living room into a very nice, beautiful space for them to spend the evening together, just the two of them, some hot chocolate – and a new, warm, soft quilt to huddle underneath and appreciate.

It made Celebrimbor’s own nervousness fall away. He wouldn’t get a better moment than this, a moment where he’d feel this confident, this certain that he was making the right choice. This moment felt perfect.

If not now, when?

He reached down and lifted the bundle of fabric up in his hands; it didn’t look like much, due to the fact that he had completely forgotten to prepare anything more fancy to wrap the piece in, and so he’d merely taken a rag from his workshop.

At least the piece itself was hidden in a little box, which he slowly pulled out of the fabric while keeping his eyes on Adar as he did. The other had looked quite relieved at Celebrimbor’s reaction to his quilt, and now seemed mostly curious, head slightly tilted as he watched Celebrimbor fumble with his own present.

He blinked as the little box came into sight. Then his eyes seemed to widen, if only slightly – it was obvious that he had an idea as to what this particular piece could be. Celebrimbor beamed, even as his hands shook a little bit.

When their eyes met, Adar looked openly confused. He did his best to hide it, but Celebrimbor had learned to read him well over the years. And, truth be told, the jewelsmith was quite certain he hadn’t been subtle with the packaging he’d chosen.

It was a little velvet box, in black. The shape was familiar to both of them; Celebrimbor had used a similar one for his last collection of rings, which had also been inspired by Adar, and his band’s music.

He took a shuddering breath, and held Adar’s gaze as he began to speak.

"Do you remember, a few days ago, when we stood under that mistletoe at the party?" he asked, trying to ease both of them into what he was about to do. He saw Adar still, and then slowly nod at him, eyes moving between Celebrimbor’s face and the little box that he held clutched in his hands like a lifeline.

"When we did, I looked at you, and couldn’t help but think how lucky I am to have you in my life. You looked...lovely, as you always do, that night. But somehow, that moment was- special. When you went to get us some drinks afterwards, I looked up and at the mistletoe, and thought of our favorite plants. And I suddenly had an idea."

He grew a little sheepish, and scratched his cheekbone with two fingers, "Which is why I got holed up in my workshop for so long. I had the urge to make this piece, and I really wanted to get it finished before Christmas ended."

He held out the little velvet box, one hand beneath the bottom, one ready to open the top, the side that would open turned towards Adar.

Realization was beginning to dawn on his boyfriend’s face now. He looked almost like a deer caught in the headlights, and his hands were clutching the quilt before him, before they lifted and gripped Celebrimbor’s upper arms, as if he had to steady himself.

Celebrimbor took another breath, and slowly eased the case open.

The sheer look of surprised awe on Adar’s face would be forever imprinted on the back of the jewelsmith’s eyelids. He smiled brightly, and looked down at the piece as well.

It was a ring. Made from silver and gold, the former because it was Adar’s favorite metal, the latter because Celebrimbor favored it. Beset with small gemstones in violet, red and green, as well as some clear ones, the metal formed the shapes of entwined plants:

Holly, and sage, and mistletoe.

The center of which was a beautiful, clear gemstone, perfectly cut and without any imperfections.

Even to the untrained eye, it was obvious that this was meant to be an engagement ring.

The jewelsmith could hear Adar suck in a breath as his grip on Celebrimbor’s upper arms tightened, and their eyes found each other again. Celebrimbor expected to see yet more surprise, or perhaps overwhelm, in his boyfriend’s eyes.

What he saw instead was hope, and an inkling of joy that was steadily growing as Adar continued to look at him.

With his smile stretching across his own face and growing confidence in his heart, Celebrimbor carefully picked the ring out of the box and held it up, then discarded the box itself to put his free hand onto the back of Adar’s, stroking the skin there with his thumb.

"I feared this might be too much, but- your gift showed me that this was the right call to make. Seeing our relationship laid out like this, in pieces of fabric, in all these beautiful memories, I think there is no way for me not to do this," he explained, voice almost a whisper between them.

"I cherish every single moment we have spent together thus far, and I’d like to spend so many more moments with you in the future as well. I want us to spend the rest of our lives together, and to make more such beautiful memories. Enough to make another quilt out of, and more."

His smile turned watery, and he felt himself getting misty eyed. Adar wasn’t faring much better, however – his eyes darted between Celebrimbor’s own as he swallowed, lip faintly trembling, breath uneven. Subtle signs that this was emotionally affecting him, much more than one might grasp by looking at him with a cursory glance.

"Adar, I love you. Would you consider making more of these wonderful memories with me? Will you marry me?"

He had barely finished his sentence, when Adar began to crowd close, hands at Celebrimbor’s cheeks and their noses soon pressed together, frantically nodding as he gasped out, "Yes, yes – of course-, I will, I will-," and then he pressed their lips together, desperate and sudden.

Celebrimbor barely managed to take a gasping breath, and then they were kissing. He almost lost the ring as they moved, and only managed to hold onto it by some strange miracle. His arms wrapped around Adar’s shoulders and his hands grasped the back of the other’s head as if by themselves, as Adar’s words repeated in his mind.

I will, I will, I will-

Only slowly did it register, what he’d just asked, what the other had just said, that he’d agreed-

With a noise of happiness, Celebrimbor pressed back against his boyfriend and kissed him back just as frantically as the other did.

Adar was quick to react, and shifted his hands behind Celebrimbor’s back, before he pulled him forward and onto his lap, both of them grasping at each other to get even closer, wound so tight that nothing could have possibly separated them.

In their eagerness, they lost their balance, and tipped to the side, right into the soft mound of blankets and pillows Adar had prepared for them. Celebrimbor found himself even more grateful for Adar’s preparations as they did, before his attention was pulled back to what they were doing.

They gasped, and would have laughed if not for their lips still being locked together. Celebrimbor simply wrapped his legs around Adar and clung to him like a human octopus, not that Adar minded in the least.

They only broke their kiss when they felt the need to breathe, both gasping as they peppered kisses to each other’s lips, cheeks, eyelids, temples, any part of the other’s face they could reach. Adar was rubbing their noses together, and Celebrimbor had grasped Adar’s hair with one hand, the other curled around the ring but sparing two fingers to claw into Adar’s Christmas sweater in an attempt to hold on.

Only after another few minutes did they finally manage to lean back a bit and look at each other, both of them breathless. Celebrimbor laughed in joy, and at the position they now found themselves in. Adar similarly chuckled, and brushed Celebrimbor’s curls back from his forehead, touch gentle.

The jewelsmith smiled at the other, eyes fond, before he reached out and pulled one of Adar’s hands free. Both of them were fixated on their hands as he took the ring, and gently eased it onto Adar’s finger – it fit perfectly, as Celebrimbor had known it would. Having measured Adar’s fingers for a previous collection had really come in handy in more ways than one.

The piece looked beautiful on Adar’s hand. The two of them stared at it for a long time, watching it glint and sparkle in the firelight.

"It’s very beautiful," Adar breathed, and turned towards Celebrimbor. "Especially since you were so fast. You must have spent every single second in your workshop on this."

"I did," the jewelsmith confirmed, and kissed the tip of Adar’s nose. "Only the best for you. And, well, the fastest, in this case."

Adar snorted, and then grinned. "Well, it’s quite fitting. I spent the last couple of days frantically finishing the quilt as well. I didn’t quite anticipate that Gil-Galad would bully us into helping him decorate, or account for Glug realizing he hadn’t gotten you a present last minute."

It was Celebrimbor’s turn to snort, and then brush back some loose strands of hair from Adar’s face. "Well. It seems to have worked out for the best, at least," he joked.

"That it did," Adar replied. This time when they kissed, it was a gentle press of lips.

"Speaking of which," Celebrimbor said, and turned his attention to the blanket again. "Shall we make use of your present, and tuck ourselves in? Also that hot chocolate tray you prepared looked quite-"

Celebrimbor didn’t get to finish his sentence. With wide eyes and a gasp, Adar drew back. Celebrimbor likewise began to sit up, and they both looked over to where Adar had left the tray earlier; they both feared that their earlier tumble might have upended the tray itself – and its contents.

Thankfully, that did not seem to be the case. Some of the cookies had spilled out of the bowl, and the whipped cream didn’t quite look picture-perfect anymore, but nothing worse had happened. They heaved a sigh of relief; cleaning the couch or the blankets would not have made for a perfect ending to their Christmas.

As it was, they chuckled, and then carefully untangled themselves. The moments after were decidedly ordinary, despite the fact that everything about the situation was out of the ordinary; they went and righted the tray, put the wrapping paper and ring box away, and finally spread out Adar’s blanket before they crawled under it.

Soon, Adar had slung his arm behind Celebrimbor’s back and drawn him into his side, where the jewelsmith readily cuddled up, their legs tangled as they eased back into the pillows, as Adar pulled over the tray with the thermos of hot chocolate.

It was Celebrimbor who took it upon himself to distribute the hot chocolate between them, his with whipped cream and marshmallows and a bit of caramel syrup, Adar choosing only a cookie to dip into his.

They spent several moments afterwards by just looking at the ring and the blanket, linking their fingers and turning their faces towards each other, to kiss, to brush their noses together, to smile lovingly at each other as they settled.

"This Christmas truly is perfect," Celebrimbor ended up saying, some time later. Adar smirked and nodded in agreement.

"Indeed it is," he confirmed, and then fell quiet for a second, before he chuckled and shook his head. At Celebrimbor’s questioning gaze, he explained, "I just realized we get to call each other fiancé now. I – like it."

Celebrimbor smiled and felt his eyes light up. "You’re right!" His grin grew sheepish. "I must admit, calling you my boyfriend always felt a little odd, considering that we are. Well. Not teenagers anymore. Fiancé has a nice ring to it though. Pun intended."

Adar rolled his eyes, though it was clearly a fond gesture, before he replied, "Agreed. Boyfriend never felt quite right. Partner felt much better-"

"Ugh, no, that makes it sound like we work together," Celebrimbor argued, and then twitched and made a noise of protest when Adar playfully jabbed his side. "It’s too formal!"

"Good thing we took care of that, then," Adar replied.

"Indeed. I realize now the proposal was practically self-defense in that regard," Celebrimbor joked, trying to look grouchy but missing the mark by a mile; he just couldn’t stop smiling. "And you do realize that we’ll have to tell the others, don’t you?"

Adar stopped, and looked vaguely apprehensive for the first time since he’d presented Celebrimbor with his own present. "...are you implying that we should tell them? Right away?"

"Uh-huh," Celebrimbor confirmed, and chuckled at Adar’s responding groan. "I am afraid there’s no way to avoid it. I am also afraid they’ll insist on a party, some time after New Year’s."

"Well. I suppose we can handle that. As long as it’s not Christmas themed," Adar said, and found himself jabbed in the side this time, soon followed by more laughter.

They did end up falling asleep on the couch, some hours later. Though not before Celebrimbor had taken out his phone and snapped a few pictures to share with their friends – with Adar’s permission, of course.

Perhaps he should have suspected that he and Adar would wake up to their phones getting blown up with messages and questions from friends, family and acquaintances when he did end up referring to Adar as his fiancé in the captions. Or perhaps he and Adar had both decided it was way easier to just post about it and then tell the others the details later, instead of making a big, official announcement.

Aside from the two of them, nobody would ever know for certain.

#Christmas fic? In May? It’s more likely than you think!#I wanted to write the proposal/Adar getting the ring basically ever since I wrote the original drabbles (in December!)#so getting the chance to do so now is really special to me #I wrote this while listening to Field Walk from the Who’s Lila? OST – that piece of music is great for slow sweet evening/night scenes imo #apparently thermos is a brand name and the correct term would be vacuum flask. But who says that? Nobody. So I kept it.#also yes I have a treasure vault of prompts I came across that I like and want to use in the future why do you ask?#I highly recommend doing that btw it’s so fun to go and rifle through prompts to get inspired #cozy cuddle week 2025 #cozy cuddle week #mine #my trop fanfic #adar #adar trop #adar the rings of power #celebrimbor #adar x celebrimbor #silverscars #trop #the rings of power #my fanfic #fanfic

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kitty384 · 3 months ago

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One Voice at a Time

Pairing: Gen (Catherine & Sam, Steve, Bucky – found family)

Summary: Catherine doesn’t speak—not because she’s defiant, but because fear taught her silence. At the compound, no one demands her voice. But one by one, Sam, Steve, and Bucky show her she doesn’t need to speak loudly to be heard.

Warnings: Mentions of past Hydra trauma, selective mutism, nightmares, emotional vulnerability, soft found family comfort and recovery.

Catherine had gone days—once, even a full week—without speaking.

Not out of rudeness. Not out of defiance. Just fear. The kind of fear that settled in the back of her throat and curled around her tongue like a living thing.

Words were dangerous in Hydra.

Words got you punished. Got others punished. Got things taken away.

So when she arrived at the Avengers compound and no one demanded her voice, she clung to the silence like armor.

No one rushed her. No one forced her to talk.

But they still listened.

Especially Sam.

Sam was the first to notice the way her eyes softened when he sat near her. The way she drifted toward his voice. How her shoulders loosened when he entered a room.

He never made a big deal out of it.

He just started spending more time in the lounge she claimed as hers in the early mornings—bringing two mugs of cocoa instead of one, always leaving the second one untouched until she reached for it.

Some days she didn’t.

Some days she did.

He never commented either way.

He talked like they’d always known each other. Told stories about his nephews. Read articles out loud like it was just the two of them in the world. Shared his music and hummed under his breath when she got too quiet.

And then one morning, she whispered, “I like this one.”

Sam froze, mid-hum.

He turned his head slowly, not wanting to scare the moment off. “What’d you say, sweetheart?”

Her lips trembled, like they weren’t used to forming words. But she looked at him—really looked—and said again, stronger this time:

“I like this song.”

It was Marvin Gaye. Smooth and old and warm.

Sam blinked once. Then grinned wide, soft and proud. “Yeah? Me too.”

He didn’t make it a moment. Didn’t call it a breakthrough. Just nodded and added: “Wanna hear another one?”

She nodded.

Her voice didn’t come again for a few days. But when it did, it was in a whisper. A soft, fluttering thing. And always with Sam.

He never stopped listening.

Steve came next.

She’d sit in the training room’s observation deck while he sparred with Bucky or Nat, curled up with her knees to her chest, sketchbook in hand. He always noticed her, always nodded.

But he never pushed.

It was different with Steve. She respected him, maybe even looked up to him, but there was something about him that made her nervous. The power. The discipline. The way his voice filled a room even when he was calm.

Still, he never looked at her like she was broken.

He always made space for her—cleared a corner of the gym and quietly told FRIDAY to play old music when he knew she’d be watching. Once, he caught her bobbing her head just slightly to “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy,” and smiled like she’d done something extraordinary.

One afternoon, he came up to her after training, towel slung over his shoulder.

“You’ve been drawing a lot lately,” he said casually, gesturing to the sketchbook.

She clutched it tighter.

“Mind if I see?” he asked, always gentle.

She hesitated. Then opened to a page in the middle.

Steve took it like it was fragile—handled it like something sacred.

It was a sketch of the gym. Of him, mid-motion, shield in hand, caught in an action pose that felt far more real than any photo could. There was detail in the lines. Care in the shading. Admiration tucked into every pencil stroke.

“This is incredible,” he murmured.

Catherine bit her lip. Looked down. “Thanks,” she whispered.

Steve looked up, startled—just barely.

Then he smiled. Wide. Proud. The same way he’d smiled when Sam got a direct hit during sparring or when Bucky made a joke no one else caught.

“Anytime, kid.”

And that was that.

But later, he left a brand-new sketchbook outside her door. No note. Just a blue ribbon tied around it.

Bucky was the hardest.

Not because she didn’t trust him.

Because she did.

Too much, maybe.

He was quiet like her. Still. Always watching. And when their eyes met, it felt like he saw too much—like he knew exactly what she’d been through. The kind of knowing that was heavy and quiet and terrifying.

He never pressed. Never even hovered. He just existed near her sometimes, like a shadow made of warmth.

Catherine found herself drifting toward him more and more. Sitting near him during team movie nights. Reading in the same room. Walking the long compound hallways just behind him, always two steps back, like she couldn’t quite bring herself to fall into step but didn’t want to be anywhere else.

One night, she couldn’t sleep.

The nightmares had been bad. Familiar walls. Screaming in the distance. Cold floors. A voice she didn’t want to remember.

She wandered the compound, hoodie too big, feet silent.

She found Bucky in the common room, sitting in the dark, only the soft glow of the TV lighting his face. Some old black-and-white war film was playing. He didn’t flinch when she came in—didn’t say anything, just lifted his arm slightly on the couch like an open invitation.

She curled beside him, close but not touching.

The movie played. The silence grew thick. Her hands trembled.

And then, without looking up, she whispered:

“I used to hear them screaming at night.”

Bucky’s posture didn’t change. But his hand moved—slow and careful—until it hovered near hers on the couch cushion. Not touching. Just there.

She glanced down. Then turned her hand over, let his metal fingers brush against her palm.

“I knew if I made a noise, they’d come for me next,” she said.

Still, he didn’t interrupt. Didn’t offer platitudes. Just listened.

“That’s why I don’t talk,” she finished, voice almost gone.

Bucky nodded slowly. “I know.”

They sat like that for a long time.

Later, he stood to leave and gently draped a blanket over her shoulders before disappearing into the dark.

She didn’t have another nightmare that night.

The next morning, during breakfast, Sam said something funny and Clint snorted juice out of his nose.

The entire table burst into laughter—and Catherine laughed too.

Not a full belly laugh. But a giggle. Small and bright.

And three heads turned toward her at once—Sam, Steve, Bucky.

None of them said a word. But the look they exchanged was something close to reverence.

She blushed and ducked her head, but Sam passed her a mug of cocoa without a word, Steve handed her a napkin like it was the most normal thing in the world, and Bucky just nudged her foot gently under the table.

She didn’t need to speak after that.

She’d already said enough.

And they heard all of it.

Masterlist

Request

#avengers found family #sam wilson #bucky barnes #steve rogers #soft bucky

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sparrowrye · 7 months ago

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Archivist's Oath || Alastor x Reader, Chapter 2

Synopsis: Things aren’t so boring with Al trapped in the bunker with us…

Master List

Chapter 2: familiar and friendly

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

Alastor revealed as little as possible about himself and, to his amazement, so did you. For someone who had spent their entire life with the same two people--mother and grandmother whom you spoke of often--and now lived entirely alone, you were deceptively untalkative. He would have found it strange had it not been for the translation he found under one of the chairs a few nights ago.

You were an Archivist. Breaking you was not going to be easy.

He carefully broached the topic of Humanity but you were clever enough to turn it around, expressing a strong curiosity for how he viewed Humanity, which he was very much not inclined to share. So, he started asking you about your chores. You were certainly talkative about those.

Despite having been through worse, Alastor felt this experience topped them all.

For the first day, he could barely sit up on his own. He slipped in and out of sleep, his temperature went up and down, and everything felt uncomfortable. You forced him into a sitting position while you completed chores outside, occasionally slipping in to gently shake him awake. He wasn't allowed sleep until your chores were done and you were back in the bunker to watch over him. Admirable but oh so annoying.

The second and third day weren't much better and he was practically losing his mind. He could handle pain. He could handle discomfort. He could handle having to consciously breathe. What he couldn't handle was the absolute boredom.

Fortunately, you had a few puzzles and a crank radio to help him occupy this dreary life. He used the radio to play with the frequencies, hoping to reach someone. He could tune into the frequencies his team used to communicate but, without his staff, his words would fall in the depths of white noise.

He was confident the White Angels had taken his staff, and that would likely come back to bite him in the ass one day. It certainly would when he returned to Pentagram City.

Sleep brought little relief. His moments of sleep were shallow and short, often interrupted by a pain in his chest, shoulder, hip--everywhere. Then he would slip back into exhaustion only to be woken up by the same issues. It wasn't until the fifth day that he was finally able to fall into a deep sleep. And he hated it.

~*~

I scribbled in one of my journals at the coffee table with a blanket draped over my shoulders. Al was asleep on the couch, both hands clasped over his stomach and his ankles resting over the armchair of the couch. He looked so incredibly long whenever he laid flat like that.

It amazed me how much of him was made up of legs and long arms. His torso was all lean muscle and fur, speaking of an agile life and maybe one where food was scarce from the look of his waist and stomach.

I dragged my eyes back to my journal. I wanted to sketch him. Committing him to memory wasn't enough. I wanted a picture of him to hold onto forever, even after he left my bunker. The thought made my heart sink.

His ear twitched against the pillow. Then his arm. Then his leg. His breath quickened and his eyebrows furrowed, his lips pressed tightly together as his limbs continued to twitch and jerk. He was having a nightmare.

"Al," I whispered, setting my journal down and creeping closer. I sat on the edge of the coffee table. I tried calling his name a few more times but when that did nothing, I leaned forward to touch his shoulder.

I barely grazed the brown fur before his eyes snapped open and his hands snagged my shoulders. The buzz of magic touched my spine as his lips pulled back in a snarl, exposing his sharp canines.

I pushed against his chest but he didn't let go. His eyes were wide and wild. He wasn't registering me.

I tried to drop to one knee but he followed. He arched off the pillows and dug his long nails into my shoulders, an animalistic, high-pierced shriek escaping his throat.

My hand on his chest curled into a fist and slammed upward into his chin, abruptly clamping his jaw shut. He reared back with a cry and I pushed him back onto the couch, tripping over his foot as I scrambled away.

I crawled back on my elbows as he shook his head, eyes returning to their normal state--something more human. He covered his mouth with one hand while the other gripped the back of the couch. He was trying to sit up by the pain from his chest injury was finally reaching him. He looked around then found me on the floor, my eyes wild with fear.

"It's...you," he croaked around the blood in his mouth. He looked around again before the pain rendered him useless and dropped him on the cushions. His eyes looked for me over the edge of the coffee table. "I didn't mean to--"

"I know," I said quickly, pushing myself to a sitting position. His partly pinned ears and sorrowful expression conveyed what he wanted to say.

I rolled to my knees and reached into a floor cabinet for the first aid kit. I approached him carefully, as if he would jump at me again. I sat on the edge of the coffee table as I pointed to his chest where blood seeped through the shirt. I had found the piece of clothing from a closet buried deep in the bedroom.

His jaw clenched, both in an attempt to swallow the blood from his bitten tongue and from the shame of attacking his one and only savior. Then he glanced away, unsure how to act next for the first time in his life.

"It wasn't you fault," I coaxed gently, moving to sit on the edge of the couch in effort to show I wasn't afraid anymore. He still didn't return my gaze. "Let me fix you."

Eventually, he relented and moved his hands off his chest. I grabbed the hem of his shirt but noticed the way his entire body went rigid and he drew in a sharp intake of breath. His ears fell further and the look on his face was...complex. I stopped and his shoulders relaxed a fraction.

Screw it. The shirt is done for anyways.

I grabbed the scissors from the kit and cut a straight line up the center of the clothing. He didn't tense this time but his eyes watched the scissors carefully. Not once did he look me in the eye as I cut through the soiled bindings to reveal the torn stitches. I was amazed at the stillness in my hands, even as adrenaline continued to pulse through my veins.

"Well, could be worse," I said on account of nothing else. "But maybe try not to levitate off the couch anymore."

He swallowed a mouthful of blood. "Noted," he muttered, a shadow of his usual humor slowly showing through. He kept his eyes evaded as I redid most of my work, cleaning the wound and restitching it in the lantern light.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I offered in the silence.

His face twitched when I pulled a stitch a little too tight. "No."

I was quiet for a few minutes, until the tense silence was a little too tense for the delicate work I was trying to complete. "Do you always bottle everything up?"

"Yes."

I sighed at the one worded answer. "Was it a memory?"

He glanced at me but when I tried to meet his gaze he looked away. Another short answer, "Somewhat."

"It's not like I have anyone to tell," I encouraged gently, eyes back on my work. "I wouldn't mind listening."

He grimaced at another prick of his skin. "What are you expecting from me? To unleash my demons onto you?"

"Well you did already," I said offhandedly.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" The gentleness of his tone, compared to the sharpness of his previous words, made me pause. I looked up. This time he was actually watching me. His eyes were intense but not unkind as they surveyed my figure.

"No," I said after a moment's hesitation. "Just...scared me a little."

"I didn't mean to attack you. I shouldn't have--"

"I know," I interrupted just as I had done before. "Fear makes us do crazy things. Blame it on the nightmare."

I finished my work then threaded the bindings around his torso like before. My hands began to sweat as I leaned closer to him so my arms could wrap under and around his back. His breath brushed my forehead, adding to the warmth already in my cheeks. It took everything in me to keep my eyes forward and focused on nothing in particular.

Thank heavens he's covered in fur.

I finished his wrappings, putting distance between us, then gathered all the remnants of the mini procedure. I stood but was stopped by a hand on my arm. I met his gaze and those beady red eyes pushed through my shields like they were nothing.

"Thank you," he said softly.

I gave him a small smile. "Try to sleep again. I'll sit at the coffee table for a while longer." For a moment, neither one of us moved. His eyes were like rubies glowing in the lantern light and I wanted so desperately to get lost in them. But alas, he peeled his fingers off my arm and watched me put everything away.

~*~

Death by boredom is a torturous fate, Alastor thought to himself.

He entertained a game of cards despite being unable to read them well without his monocle. It was a strategy card game and he was quite pleased to see your high level of thinking. He didn't think someone who copied books for a living would have good strategy skills.

Speaking of which, his eyes scanned the bunker once again in search of a clue or hidden door.

You were an Archivist, a rare and dying breed of historians. Long ago, during the Great Downfall, Humanity had built bunkers with hundreds of books stored away. A small collection of people were sealed inside with it, surviving for generations to keep the books safe.

As time went on and resources went thin, some of them resurfaced. When news got around that Old World books and technology might exist, they were hunted down all over the land. Some took the books for themselves, yet unable to read the ancient handwriting, while others burned the knowledge to erase a dark period of history.

You were one of the last surviving Archivists. But where was your library?

~*~

"You're stalling," Al said, his usual smirk growing the longer I took to make my next move. A card game was sprawled across the coffee table, as was an abandoned plate of apples.

I was on my knees at the table, eyes jumping between the board and the stack in my hand. My fingers had been jumping from one card to the other in an effort to look like I wasn't stuck on what to do next. Clearly, it didn't work.

"I'm strategizing," I replied. I didn't dare look up at that knowing smile I had grown accustomed to seeing. "Not that you'd understand Mr. play-the-first-move-that-comes-to-mind." I finally picked a card and put it down. We had taught each other different card games and this was the one I could never beat him in--even by a single stroke of luck!

Al hummed in place of a chuckle so as not to hurt his chest. "It's not my fault you can't predict brilliance." He picked out a card and tossed it onto the table, using magic to righten it in place. Such a show of magic wasn't uncommon for me to see. After all, I had some as well.

"Seems more like dumb luck if you ask me," I retorted as I scanned my cards again.

"I wasn't asking."

I let out a huff of annoyance. He rested his cards in his lap, completely unbothered or worried about the game. I tried to watch his eyes like before but he had caught onto my trick, fixating his eyes on me whenever he finished his play so he couldn't give any hints away. So, with another huff, I slapped a card down and feigned confidence. "How's that Mr. Walking-Ego?"

His red tipped fingers tapped his cheek a few times. "Not bad. However..." He withdrew two cards and floated them to their rightful place. I dropped my cards face down with a groan, smacking my forehead on the table.

"Come on," I whined, lifting my chin to look at him.

"Don't hate the player. Hate your lack of foresight." He reorganized his cards then settled them in his lap. Even with a gash in his chest he was still able to sit in a way that could only be described as elegant.

"You're insufferable," I grumbled. I lifted my cards to see if there was any hope of turning things around.

"And yet you keep playing me."

"For selfless reasons." I leaned back and put my hand on my chest dramatically. "Clearly my card games are not entertaining enough for you and so I suffer for your sake to keep you from dying of boredom."

He raised an eyebrow, smile widening. "How generous. But I will admit, I do enjoy it when we play this game. Not only am I slightly less bored, but I can also watch you suffer at my hand."

I scrunched my nose at him. "One, that's concerning. Two, you've really got this ego and self-confidence thing down, don't you?" I placed a card on the board.

He shrugged with his good shoulder. "Call it a gift, my dear. Though," there was a mischievous glint in his eye, "if you're jealous, I can teach you a thing or two." He put two cards down.

"No thanks. You're not exactly someone I want to take after." I put two down.

"What's there not to enjoy?" he returned the jibe. "You seem to enjoy my company quite a bit." He placed his last card down. He had won.

I dropped my cards face up on the table then leveled him with a half-hearted glare. "Until your ego shines through." I rolled backwards and sprawled out flat on my back. He mimicked me, carefully positioning himself on the couch and staring up at the ceiling.

"I am truly amazed you have survived this long. The boredom would've--"

"Would've killed you," I finished for him. "With so many chores to do after my mother passed, I haven't really had a chance to be bored." I turned my head to look at his bright red hair contrasting the dark, brown couch. "What was your mother like?"

A soft smile spread across his face. "Where do I even start? She was as kind as my father was cruel. She showed me the world and quickly became my world."

There was a heavy air of silence.

With as gentle of a voice as I could make, I asked, "Has she passed?"

"I'm afraid so," he admitted. "But her spirit lives on inside me."

"I've been meaning to ask, where did you learn to speak like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like...you speak very formally. Eat," I added, sitting up and moving the plate of apples on top of the card game. His ear flicked in annoyance but he used magic to drop a slice into his palm.

"I could say the same about you."

"Really?" I eagerly leaned on the coffee table, chin on my hands.

"Of course," he nodded. "You may use basic terminology but your speech is eloquent, intelligent even." After a moment he said, "And I find it quite refreshing."

I felt my cheeks warm as I smiled. "Oh...well, thank you. But you didn't answer my question."

"Which was?"

"Where did you learn to speak like that?"

His eyes pretended to scan the ceiling in representation of his mind. "I suppose you can credit it to the amount of books I read as a child. When I wasn't with my mother or taking lessons, I was in the library."

"A library?" I picked my head up.

"Indeed, my dear. My city has a communal library and I was eager to devour their words."

"What kind of books?"

"Some novels, some textbooks, and maybe two or three from the Old World." His eyes scanned my face for a reaction but I hadn't noticed, too wrapped up in his words. "I could never read them," he chuckled at himself, "but I enjoyed holding them. As if I were holding a piece of history."

I suddenly became aware of my display of interest. I collected myself and responded in a more subdued tone, "That's pretty neat."

Had I not been messing with my fingernails, I would have noticed the sharp glint in his eye. It dulled a moment later as he changed the subject, "What of your father?"

"I never met him."

"Ah, that's unfortunate."

"Yeah. But my mother says she chose carefully that night and I should still be proud of who I am."

The answer scratched his brain in a funny way. He rested his hoof on his knee. "How did she meet your father? Did he stumble upon your bunker like I did?"

I shifted uncomfortably and tried to force myself into a relaxed position at the table. "She uh...she went...she went out to find him."

There were several heartbeats of silence. He noted my tone and posture. "I take it there is an implication?"

I breathed out through my nose. "Yeah...she uh...it's a family tradition to uh...find a suitable person to...father the child. Then...come back to give birth alone." A spot on the coffee table was suddenly the most interesting thing I'd ever seen.

"That's rather...unfortunate." He examined his claws as his mind pieced things together.

After a minute of awkward silence, I lightly slapped the table and stood up. "You could use some fresh air and a bath."

"Is that an insult I'm sensing?" he teased.

"If you take it as one." I opened one of the floor cabinets to pull out a few towels and a bar of soap in a cloth bag. There were still three more and I hadn't even used half this bar yet. The oils and roots had been perfectly blended by my mother before she passed. "But eat first."

After I successfully forced him to eat the apple slices, we made his first trek out of the bunker. We stood in the center of the alcove for several moments to let our eyes adjust to the bright afternoon light, even with the brambles overhead.

Al accepted my help as we climbed the hidden footholds to the surface. Once he was up, he allowed me to tie a ribbon to his eyes, never once making a complaint about it. I carefully touched his hands and let them curl around my hand. His grip was strong yet kind, and the muscles under his skin and fur felt firm. The feeling made my heart skip and a beat.

"Shall we be going?" he prompted. I stuttered an apology then started walking, telling him when an obstacle required him to pick up his feet. He easily stood a head taller than me and his arms and legs were ridiculously long. A single step of his required nearly three of mine.

The White Angels had long disappeared from the abandoned city, meaning I didn't have to worry too much about any unwanted visitors. So I brought him to a small river that eventually lead into a larger one which marked the end of my land. We were up on a hill which gave me a birds eye view of the land beyond my borders.

I kept my back to Al while he undressed and splashed the cold water over himself. I could hear his grumbles about the temperature and kept my giggles to myself.

My eyes scanned the treetops for any signs. I couldn't see their white feathers nor a smoke signal from their campfires. Had they left this oasis? Had they explored further? Were they being discreet on purpose? Were they waiting for him to come out? If they couldn't find a body than that meant he was still out there. Had they given up or were they pursing to a degree I wasn't expecting?

"My dear," Al called quietly. I turned my head just enough to show that I had heard him but still gave him privacy. "I'm afraid...I may need your assistance."

"Oh that's terrible!" I put the back of my hand to my forehead. "Whatever shall you do?"

"Quit your antics," he snapped. "I can't reach my hair. I would prefer to leave it be but my scalp feels like there's things crawling in it."

I laughed. I definitely knew that feeling. "Of course. Mind if I turn around now?"

"You may."

I turned around and forced my eyes to latch onto his, ignoring the way his fur dripped and stuck to his chest, as well as everything lower than that. Fortunately, he had a towel over his lap.

He held the bar of soap and I took it, feeling the burn of his palm on my knuckles. I helped him onto his back with his head on the edge of the grass like my mother used to do for me. I splashed water onto his hair and used my other hand to keep it from falling into his eyes.

He kept a hand on his chest as he breathed, a habit he had developed since I stitched him up a second time. I suds the soap in the water then gently scrubbed at his hair.

Why is my heart racing?

Several times I had to wipe the back of my hand on my cheeks so the cold water would cool the blush. It didn't help that he was obviously staring at me. I leaned back at one point to figure out where he was looking and was surprised to find them locked on my eyes, not my breasts. He made some kind of funny comment but I didn't respond, going back to rinsing out the soap.

It was more difficult to wash around his broken antlers. Hair tangled around the bone and it wasn't soaked enough for the soap to actually be useful. He tensed when I reached his ears. I was gentle as I rubbed the tufts between my fingers, amazed at the muscles I could feel under the black and red fur. Every time I let go of an ear, it flicked.

I felt less embarrassed about the whole ordeal when I noticed his eyes were closed. Was he enjoying this?

What would my mother think?

I squeezed out the water in his hair then helped him sit up. I told him to get dressed then quickly went back to my lookout spot, crossing my arms and digging my nails into my arm.

Al would need to leave as soon as he could. But...what about before that? My mother had picked my father because he was intellectually smart and known for getting out of difficult situations. He likely had good genes and I was the product of that. Al...he was smart, funny, and careful with his words. There was plenty he wasn't telling me that I didn't want--didn't need--to know.

I covered my mouth.

My mother had had plenty of conversations with my brother and I about continuing our legacy. He had been the lucky one because she spent more one on one time with me explaining pregnancy and birth, two things that sounded absolutely dreadful to handle alone. I hadn't even considered it since she died. It was supposed to be a process that involved at least one other person to help. It was supposed to be her but then--

"Are we ready?" Al asked. I turned to find him dressed in more unfamiliar male clothes from storage, a towel draped around his neck to keep his damp hair from soaking the new shirt.

With my mood promptly soured, I tied the ribbon over his eyes and led him back through the trees. I held his wrist this time, opting to avoid his warm hand. He was quiet during the walk, not even daring to give a tease. He was likely reading into my subtle cues. It was both a blessing and a curse that made things even more upsetting and complicated.

Once inside the bunker, he promptly fell asleep on the couch, completely spent. I crept into the bedroom and dropped my head in my hands, fingers pulling at my hair.

I didn't want to be the one making the adult decisions. I didn't want to make any decision with consulting my mother. It had taken me a full year just to drag myself out of my grief to fly to the nearest community for supplies.

She was supposed to be here to guide me.

But she wasn't.

I grabbed the quilt my grandmother patched up and curled up on the floor so I could keep Al in view. I let a few tears fall then did what I always did when I was grieving: sleep.

~*~

Alastor waited another two days before attempting anything.

He had noticed your sudden mood change and wondered if he had done anything particularly wrong or if it was something more internal. He was quiet the following day before attempting jibes, teases, and innocent questions the next. He was relieved when you gradually came out of that quiet--almost depressive--shell you had put yourself in. You were back to your normal self by the third day.

How long had it been since he arrived? A week?

One late morning, after you both had breakfast and another game of fuzzy cards, Alastor feigned exhaustion. He laid down and pretended to sleep, keeping his body still and his breathing as even as possible. He had hoped you would unlock whatever secret door that lead to your library but you instead left the dark bunker to finish more chores. He waited a few minutes before standing up.

He ran his hands along the walls of the bunker, waiting for his claws to catch some kind of latch, lever, or dip in the metal. He was running out of time.

He gave the bunker one more look over before giving up and laying on the couch. Maybe you were a division of the Archivists? Or maybe you just happened to know the Old Language and found Old World texts to practice on?

That wouldn't explain the tradition of your mother going out to get pregnant and not invite the father back to the bunker. You often spoke of your mother and grandmother, so maybe this was a female Archivist group? That still didn't explain your lack of Old World books.

He put himself to sleep this time. The frustration was making his chest hurt as much as his head.

~*~

I stoked the logs in the stone fireplace in the center of my alcove. The sun was setting but there was still enough daylight left to finish cooking dinner. When using the dinner fire, I had to be mindful of time so the smoke from the fire didn't turn into a fire signal at night, though the brambles and trees helped keep that from happening.

I set a pot to boil on the stones then went back inside to dice everything up. Al was laying on the couch, hands resting on his stomach but playing with a piece of yarn he'd found in between the cushions. It must've been from when grandmother used to sew our clothes on the couch.

I washed my hands in the sink then quickly rinsed the vegetables. I turned to dice them on the counter but nearly jumped out of my skin when Al suddenly appeared in front of me. I lost a few carrots and scrambled to pick them up.

"My apologies, dear," he suppressed a laugh, "I hadn't meant to scare you." He picked up two carrots by his magic then placed them on the counter with the rest. "Might I help?"

"I-It's okay, I can handle it." I reached for the knife but he placed a hand on the handle of the blade. Our eyes met.

"I fear boredom will kill me first before my chest does," he pleaded. I tried to answer but my eyes were too busy trailing up the length of his arm and up to his ear that twitched slightly when he caught me looking at it.

He picked up the knife and reached for one of the vegetables, and I stepped aside to let him stand closer to the counter. He held my gaze for a little longer, that smug smile making my cheeks flush, then finally looked down at his work. His movements were slow but not inexperienced--telling the tale of someone who had some amount of practice.

"You've done this before?" I asked.

Without looking up, he replied, "Do I appear as the type to have a maid?"

"N-no, I just...I was...no," I finished more firmly, then held my sweaty hands behind my back.

His smile widened a touch. "My mother taught me. She was adamant that I know how to feed myself. Even if it went against my father's wishes."

I nodded silently, watching from my corner spot between the counter and the sink. My eyes roamed his figure from hooves to antlers. A smile cracked on my lips at the sight of his red tail. He had snapped at me last time I mentioned it, so I never said anything about it after that—clearly a sensitive topic for him. Part of me wanted to touch it but that just might kill him.

He had healed surprisingly fast for someone who had as severe a chest injury as he did. Though there were a few times I could feel him using magic and guessed he was trying to heal himself. It always made the hairs on my arms stick up and sent a fuzzy feeling down my spine. I wasn't well versed in my small amount of magic but I could tell he had a lot of it.

His red eye glanced at me. My breath caught in my throat and I ushered myself out of the bunker to check on the pot. I dropped in the chicken meat then crossed my legs, chin in hand. I poked the fire with a stick as my mind started to wonder.

My mother had told me I needed to find someone to father my child before I reached twenty-six, the age where childbirth became complicated. I had three years left and I was already scared about giving birth alone.

There was the option of finding another Archivist for help but I didn't know where to even begin looking for one. We all kept our bunker locations a secret, even from each other to keep the archives more secure.

Another option was to give birth in a community. I wasn't sure if I would even have the right materials to trade for such a service, unless another woman gave pity on me.

Or...

Our legacy would die with me and the books would need to be burned before my passing.

I fell on my back and stared up at the bramble. During my teenage years, I had dreamt all the time about going on my own adventure; I dreamt of traveling the world and speaking to hundreds of people; I dreamt of sharing knowledge to help Humanity rebuild itself to its glory days, and this time it wouldn't fall.

However, once my grandmother died and my brother was no longer with us, those dreams promptly died. Life grew rather dull as I worked beside my grieving mother. She was lost without my grandmother and the dreams in her died too. There were a few times when we forgot about our grim destiny, and were able to enjoy a fun filled day in the woods. But every night, the cold bunker reminded us of our job.

There was a strong part of me that was curious to know more about Humanity's past through my translations—I wanted to know more and piece history together. The other part, however, wanted to give up and burn the books with me inside. Surely the afterlife would bring more relief; if only I could die without the guilt it brought.

I had three years left to continue my legacy. Did I want Al to be the father or risk searching for another one? He fit all the criteria. Was I ready to do such a thing?

Most books made it sound like a chore to complete, meanwhile others—novels I had first practiced my translations on as a kid—made it sound like something intimate and sweet. Did he know how any of it worked? Surely he did if he came from the outside world.

Speaking of whom, the man brushed through the vines to the bunker carrying a cutting board of diced vegetables. I accepted the board then brushed them into the pot.

He sat across from me with his back against the wall as I placed the lid over the ancient pot. I started playing with the fire again to give my eyes something to do other than stare at him. Though that didn't stop me from trying.

"Is there something you wish to say?" he prompted, drawing his eyes from the fire to look at me.

"What?" I stiffened. "No. Why?"

"You've looked at me thrice in the past minute." His smile turned smug as my eyes widened.

"No. I'm just...bored."

"You're bored?" he teased. "Great heavens, I knew it was possible."

I scrunched my nose in response. I went back to the fire, lighting my stick under the hot logs then blowing it out, only to do it all over again. My brother and I used to come up with secret games before our mother snapped at us not to play with the fire.

Eventually my neck hurt—and he caught me staring a few times—so I abandoned the stick in the fire and sprawled onto my back. I ran my fingers over the mossy carpet and took a slow, deep breath. My mind wouldn't turn off. And it made his presence even more apparent the more I thought things over.

"Why do you stay here?"

The question caught me off guard. I turned my head to look at him, finding his eyes downcast at his hands.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I mean what I said. Why do you stay here?"

I was silent for a long moment. "Because it's home?"

"You could have a far more interesting life." This time he met my gaze. "You could be around people. You wouldn't be cooped up in an old bunker. You wouldn't have to ration your own food and craft everything you need. Yet you stay here...alone."

I gave a light scoff. "And go where?"

"Anywhere." With you.

I looked up at the brambles. "I wouldn't know how to survive or how to even start a life out there. Down here, I know what to do." It wasn't a genuine answer but it was the closest I could get to the truth without revealing it.

"I could help." One of his ears quirked sideways in a way that only happened when he was awkward or uncomfortable. "It's not nearly as hard as you may think."

I rolled over on my stomach. "Sounds like you're trying to convince me to run away."

His smile turned less awkward. "Maybe I am."

I smiled softly, then glanced at the moss. I rubbed my fingers across the earthy carpet, my mind spinning in all different directions. Then, without thinking, I asked, "What if you stayed?"

He seemed surprised. "I suppose...that's an option. Even if it isincredibly boring here."

"My apologies," I mocked, "I didn't realize I was so boring to you."

His chuckle was deep and I suddenly didn't want him to stop. "Now now, I didn't say you were boring, did I?"

"No," I answered, flipping over on my back again, "Just the way I've lived for the past twenty-two years. And mind you that you're the one who barged into my home uninvited." An air of silence hung between us and I feared I had insulted him.

I didn't hear him move.

One moment he was sitting against the stone wall and the next he was leaning over me, one hand on the other side to keep him propped up. His red eyes glowed in the dim shade his hair had created, curtaining down the side of his face in an unruly—but attractive—way.

My breath grew shallow. "What?"

I flinched when his fingers brushed my cheek. "You've spent so much of your life hiding away," his voice was as gentle as the thumb rubbing the top of my cheek, "Building walls and strapping spears on them so no one could get close." His fingers crossed over my eyes to brush aside a loose strand of hair. "Would you ever allow anyone to get close?"

My hands fisted my shirt as I shook my head mutely.

He shifted closer so our hips were touching. His eyes roamed my face, taking in every curve and imperfection.

"Would you let me?" he whispered.

I nodded.

The edges of his smile lifted, and he moved so he was resting his forearm just above my shoulder, leaving nothing but an inch of space between our chests. I could feel his breath on my cheeks.

"I could take you with me."

My heart skipped a beat. "I...I have to stay here."

His fingers traced my eyebrow. "Then perhaps you could take a vacation." He traced the other eyebrow. "I could show you the world. And bring you back before curfew."

My throat felt dry as I swallowed. "I...don't have a curfew."

He trailed down the bridge of my nose. "All the better."

His fingers reached my lips. They parted slightly at his touch and he ran the pad of his finger across the soft skin. He did the same with my bottom lip, eyes flickering up to mine to read my expression.

The heat in my cheeks was nearly as hot as the fire. I curled my toes and squeezed my shirt until my entire hand turned bright white.

He leaned closer, our chests finally touching and making it even harder to breathe. His eyes were so pretty—pretty like a red ruby; a jewel; a rare prize. He radiated heat all over, from his chest to his breath, and my body eagerly sucked it in. Could he hear my heartbeat? Or was that his?

"May I?" he murmured. I barely nodded, as if fearing he would suddenly draw away if I moved too much. I didn't even know what exactly I was agreeing to but it felt right.

He finally closed the last of the distance and, with infinite care, pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was soft, like nothing I expected, and my senses were flooded with the taste of smoke and cinnamon. His lips were just as soft and perfectly big, wrapping me in a warmth that seeped into my lungs and down my legs.

When he pulled away, he rested his head on my forehead. Our eyes met again. I tried to keep my breathing under control but it just sounded like I had been running for hours. My hands hurt from my holding my shirt so tight.

"Am I convincing enough?" he asked softly, humoring seeping through his words.

I pressed my lips in a tight line and swallowed on nothing. My voice wavered as I said, "You...you really have this self-confidence thing down, don't you?"

He lifted his head and it felt like he was pulling my soul with him. "It served me well, did it not?"

Before I could answer him, the fire singed from the pot boiling over. I scrambled under his arm and removed the pot from the fire, grateful to have something to do. I put it on the stone next to the fire so it didn't burn the soft moss.

"I'll get us bowls," I tripped over my own words as I hurried into the bunker. I pulled the heavy door open and slipped inside. I grabbed two bowls but had to put them on the counter before I practically collapsed on the ground, arms wrapping around my legs and pressing my mouth into my knees.

I couldn't breathe, the pounding of my heart shook my body with every beat, and my lips burned. I bit down on the fabric of my pants as I struggled to understand if I was excited or afraid of what just happened.

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

Author's Note:

I'm trying to go for much longer chapters than in Demi Demon. Hope you enjoy.

And expect a new chapter THIS SUNDAY in honor of Thanksgiving!

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

Taglist:

@sirens-and-moonflowers

#archivists oath #demi demon #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel

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mikkalia · 8 months ago

Text

"It's okay to cry you know."

Sketch looks up from where he's been trying, and failing, to refasten a buckle for the last....He blinks, sniffs, doesn't want to think about it. Instead he focuses on the semi-welcomed distraction of a...child. Kriff, that's a kid. Paler than the durasteel walls. Face covered in freckles. Hair somewhere between distressingly orange and a nice copper. Maybe he'll grow into it.

"...what?" He hates how his voices comes out as a croak.

The kid sits back but not far away. He has a single braid in his hair, a dark blue cord and a single bead as its only decoration. Sketch feels like he should know what it means.

"You can cry," the kid says patiently. "It's good for you."

"I don't need to cry," he lies.

The kid tilts his head, eyes wide and guileless - and looking right through him it feels like. As if he can see the clog in Sketch's throat, the burn behind his eyes, the nightmares that haunt him in the waking world. The last leg of their deployment went terribly. More than terribly. They had to come all the way to Coruscant for recuperation because of it. And Sketch refused to leave the ship, sequestering himself in the dim-dark engine room most people don't go in if they valued hearing their own thoughts.

Sketch very much did not want to hear his own thoughts.

"I cried yesterday. Almost cried this morning."

"Why didn't you?"

The kid shrugs. "There was a really good breakfast this morning. Distracted me. Everyone was so happy."

What happiness has to do with how good breakfast is, Sketch doesn't know, but he can't help but smile at how casual the kid is. Crying hadn't been a thing in training. Clones don't cry. Natborns do. But this kid....

His eyes sting. He wipes the back of his wrist against them. "I'm fine."

"It's okay if you're not. I read the reports."

That startles him out of whatever sort of fit he might have successfully fallen into. "They let you read what?"

He rolls his eyes. "Okay, I didn't actually read them. But they're not very quiet." He grins. "I can be really sneaky."

Sketch stares for a long moment before he cracks a laugh - and that laugh turns onto a sob.

Then, like the seals have exploded, Sketch just breaks down and weeps. For his lost brothers. For the ones he could save. He'd been too slow. Too stupid. Too...injured himself to be any use, but that's not a good enough excuse. He'd been right there. He should've done something.

He doesn't notice the kid scooting closer until he's already leaning half against him. Sketch glances down through blurry vision, strangely grounded by the physical touch for all that he can't actually feel the kid through his armor. He carefully curls an arm around skinny shoulders, pauses to let the kid move away if he wants, and when he doesn't, holds him even closer like he's a plush tooka instead of a person.

The kid bears it patiently. Not saying a word. Until Sketch's tears have dried up, and it doesn't feel like he's going to choke on his guilt. It's still there, but it's manageable for now.

"We're going to be on Coruscant for a while longer," Cal says. "The Temple mind healers are really good. Some of your brothers have already seen them."

Sketch makes a non-committal noise. He keeps his arm around the kid, relucant to lose this grounding touch. It takes too long for the details of what he said to make it through his weary brain.

"We?"

The kid grins up at him. "Hi, I'm Cal Kestis. I'm General Tapal's new padawan learner."

Sketch's jaw drops in horror. They're taking this baby into war? No. Absolutely not. Cal squeaks when Sketch stands abruptly, dangling from the clone's grip like a...like a misbehaving tooka kit. He is rather kitten-like. His brothers will have a field day with that.

No. Sketch shakes his head. No. Because there is no way Cal is going to war with them.

"Absolutely not," he repeats out loud this time and starts marching.

"Um," Cal says. "If you're going to kidnap me, can I at least know your name?"

"Sketch."

"Nice to meet you, Sketch."

#cal kestis #padawan cal #clone trooper oc #my writing

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josketches · 6 months ago

Text

Scars, Cigarettes, and No More Nightmares.

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A Ripley x Hicks fix-it-fic because there isn't enough!

Also on my Ao3, if you want to leave comments/kudos <3

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Ripley awoke abruptly, letting out a scream as beads of sweat flew off her face and her hand gripped her chest. Her heartbeat began to slow, but her chest ached terribly. Images of her nightmares, which were filled with red, white, and acid blood flashed through her mind. She cursed under her breath, and wished she never had to sleep again, or even blink for that matter.

She forced her aching bones to move. She slid off her bed, which was nearly too short for her long legs, and padded her way to the sink. She had her own room in their little apartment. Newt resided in the one next to her, and they slowly had been working on her actually enjoying the comforts of a bed rather than the hard floor beneath it.

Hicks volunteered to sleep in the living space on the couch, and wouldn't hear Ripley's arguments, even while he was being treated for his acid burns. He had said something along the lines of "I've slept on the bottom bunk under Hudson and his rancid-ass feet. This is nothin' Ellen, really."

However, Ripley still barely slept, even in the comfort of the bed. Her, Hicks and Newt were granted therapists after the events on LV-426, but Ripley struggled with using the calming techniques recommended to her.

Dwayne Hicks was more the quiet type. He had been journaling and seemed alright to the average person, but Ripley could tell he was also struggling with rest. His good eyelid drooped (the acid had permanently scarred his left one), his shoulders slouched, and it took him a few moments to respond to things.

Ripley splashed cold water on her face and neck, wiped herself with a towel, then opened the door to her bedroom to enter the narrow hallway. She pressed the button on Newt's door, feeling the need to check on her to make sure her nightmares hadn't manifested into her real life. Sure enough, Newt was fast asleep in her bed.

Reassured, Ripley shut the door quietly, then turned to the living space. She was surprised to see the back of Dwayne's head, his figure sitting up with a table lamp on next to him. Their television played and casted a bluish light across the room, the volume low. She walked around the right side of the couch, and before she could get a word out, he beat her to it.

"Thought I heard you," he said, lifting his gaze from his lap where he had a notepad propped on his thigh. He was wearing a loose tank top and boxer shorts. Ripley wore a tank top of her own and only underwear. It was comfortable between them, seeing as they had already gone to hypersleep and woken up in the same attire before. Although, there was still the occasional stolen glance from the both of them.

Ripley would catch him looking at her legs for longer than she thought he intended while she prepped her coffee in the morning, and he would look away (not without biting his lip to keep from sheepishly smiling). He would catch her looking at his fit torso after he'd had a shower or his arms when was helping with a leak in the neighbors apartment. Nothing had happened further, but there was admittedly a spark between them. Neither were quite yet brave enough to chase after it.

For now, she sat herself on the couch with a big sigh. She glanced at his notebook to find word scribblings, catching the words 'Hudson', '426', 'big-ass bugs', and 'not enough'. She also saw him sketching an impressive portrait of Apone, his massive cigar unmistakeable between his teeth. Hicks was, as she found out after they began living together, an impressive artist. A talent he mostly kept to himself.

Looking up, Ripley realized Hicks was looking at her. She quickly looked away from his private journaling.

“Sorry,” She told him. “Don’t mean to pry.”

“There’s nothing in here you haven’t experienced yourself,” He admitted, shrugging a shoulder. “Well, other than this, thankfully.” He turned his face and pointed at his acid scars with a circling finger.

The doctors weren’t able to save Hicks’s left eye, resulting in his frustration with the loss of his peripheral vision. His left cheek, jaw and ear donned skin that looked like it had been stretched. His chest and shoulder also had the markings. She had pointed out to him that the ones on his chest formed a shape similar to a heart, almost resembling the graphic on his old armor.

She found it more amusing than he did. At least, for right now. It had only been a few months.

Despite the scars, to Ripley, he was still the roguishly handsome and soft-spoken guy she’d come to respect. Though he had never said it out loud, Ripley knew he was self conscious about the scarring as well as how it affected his sight. He often turned so his non-burned side was facing her or whoever he was talking to, and she’d catch him clenching his fists or jaw when he ran into small things.

She smiled non-humorously. “Can’t say I’ve earned one of those yet, no.”

Despite his self-deprecation, Dwayne managed to smile to himself. He looked back down at his notebook, tapping his pen on his knee.

Ripley brought her legs up and crossed them, sinking further into the cushions. A comfortable silence enveloped them for a few minutes, save for the low television audio.

“What do you see when you close your eyes?”

Hicks’s voice startled her, and she realized she had been lost in thought. She turned her head and saw he had already folded his notebook, closed it and put it down. He had even shifted positions and was sitting low against the cushions, his arms crossed over his chest and his legs far out. He was close enough to look up at her from where he sat/laid.

Ripley’s heart sped at the thought of her memories. She didn’t enjoy remembering them, always feeling like her good memories were overshadowed by her bad ones. She’d been trying in therapy to overcome that. Though whenever she saw her old friends and family, whether it was through photos or images dancing behind her eyelids, she saw them as they were in their final moments. Which was always horrific.

After a long pause, she let out a shaky breath and decided to turn her attention to the shoulder strap of her top, where a loose string had become very interesting all of a sudden.

“You said it yourself, there’s nothing you’ve seen that I haven’t seen, and vice versa.”

Hick’s tracked her hand fiddling with the string with his eye. “Still a lot of stuff that you’ve seen that I haven’t.” He nudged her knee with his elbow. “And vice versa.”

Ripley eyed him after the nudge. “You’ve read my report, haven’t you?”

Hicks let out a small sigh. His tone wasn’t annoyed, but patient when he spoke. “It’s just that… we have counseling and all. But we’re the only people that went through all of this bullshit, the only ones that can fully understand each other.”

Ripley twisted the string around one finger, trying to process his words. She may be good at parenting; listening and talking to Newt attentively was like second nature to her. Hicks had become good at it too. But when it came to speaking about her personal struggles, especially when that resulted with a deeper bond with someone… it was difficult. Everyone she had grown close with recently she had lost in terrible ways. She felt like she had let them down, could have done more, or questioned why she was the one to survive out of them all. Guilt would follow soon after.

When she tried to speak up to those around her, she was ignored. As much as she felt the urge to, she couldn’t slam every dumbass she came across up against a wall out of frustration. With every door sealed with their blowtorches on LV-426, they may as well have torched that same amount around Ripley’s heart. Newt, Hicks, Bishop and Jones were the only ones who could often penetrate them.

Hicks surprised her suddenly as he sat up, tucking one of his legs under him and sitting closer to her. “Feel free to disagree, but the way I see it…”

He gently reached over, taking her hand away from where it was fiddling with her shoulder strap and the loose string. He then took the strap between his own fingers. The tips of them grazed her shoulder, and Ripley suppressed a silly little shiver. He carefully took hold of the string between his fingers, and Ripley met his eyes.

“You're hanging loose and on your own, like this bug here.”

He looked back down and gently tugged the loose string free. He held it up for the both of them to see. He was facing her entirely now, scars and all.

Ripley didn't miss the vulnerability of that simple action.

Hicks then reached down to the hem of his shorts, where he pulled it apart until a small tear formed. He pulled a couple of the new strings free, then placed them all in his open palm.

“When you can sit alongside us: me, Newt, and Bishop. Then-” He let the strings fall from his hand. “We can feel lighter together.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Ripley’s mouth. She let a thoughtful silence wash over them before finally looking back at him, a small laugh bursting from her lips.

“That was quite poetic.” She tilted her head suspiciously. “Did you rehearse that?”

His wide grin was contagious. “No rehearsal,” He admitted. “But I think my time out of the corps is bringing out my sensitive side.”

“You were always sensitive, even as an active corporal.” Ripley pointedly told him, stretching out a leg. “But it’s what made you stand out, and what made you the best.”

Hicks shook his head, his smile turning sad. “I ain’t better than anyone, especially compared to my team.”

Ripley’s heart sank. She turned her body towards his and swung her arm over the back of the couch, matching his position. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know you didn’t.” He reassured her with a nod. He was looking down now, but somehow registered that she had moved her arm over the couch’s backside like his. He reached forward and took her hand in his. They hung together there in the open air.

Ripley gave his hand a squeeze, and he squeezed back. She felt she needed to give him something in return for his vulnerability.

“You’re right, you know.” She reached forward and grabbed a box of cigarettes off the coffee table. She took one out, then looked around for a lighter. Hicks reached behind him to the lamp table and retrieved one, lighting it and holding it out for her. She leaned forward and let it ignite, breathing in deeply before continuing to speak. “I struggle a lot with this.” She gestured between the two of them.

Hicks kept his attention on her, head tilted in interest. It was refreshing.

She went on, not quite ready to hold his eye contact but able to talk while looking around the room. “I feel like I carry this…this guilt with me everywhere. Talking to people isn’t as easy as it used to be, before everything. Especially when most of the time I try to speak up, no one ever seems to fucking hear me.”

Ripley saw Hicks swallow before speaking. “I wish I could have taken things more seriously. Y’know, before everything started. I’m sorry you felt out of the loop when you really were the smartest person in the room.” He winked. “You always are”

Ripley ignored the flutter in her stomach and raised an eyebrow. “I was fully in the loop, Corporal. I think it was you all who were outside of said loop.”

A sharp laugh erupted from him. “That was bad wording on my part. You’re right as hell there.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, though.” She continued, turning and swinging her legs back over the couch. She hunched over to rest her elbows on her knees and took another drag from her cigarette. “You were the only one at the start who listened, checked in on me, helped me ease down…”

Hicks moved to match her position this time. “I just… I feel like I could have done more. I was the one in charge and we lost… everyone.”

Ripley gestured back towards Newt’s room with a nod of her head. “Not everyone.”

Hicks turned his head and settled his eyes on Newt’s door, a contented sigh escaping his lips. “You got me there.”

“I feel like I could have done more, too.” Ripley had lost count of the amount of times she’d replayed the events of the Nostromo and LV in her mind, thinking of every possible alternative action she could have done to possibly save a crew member. “Fucking exhausting mindset.”

Hicks nodded along, then they met eyes. “I know it’s not an easy thing to think about yourself, but I want you to know you did incredible back there. If it wasn’t for you coming along, I’m certain that little girl and I wouldn't be here today.”

He reached forward and brushed a stray curl from her eye, one that had become damp with sweat during her nightmare. “You’re strong. Frankly the most fucking fascinating person I’ve ever known. I hear you, and I most definitely see you…”

He unabashedly let his eyes look her over at his words, and she laughed, blushing. She reached up and pushed his shoulder playfully before she put out her cigarette on the tray on the table in front of them.

He grew more serious again, looking at her as intensely as he could with a tired drooping eyelid. “I’m here to listen, and don’t forget it.”

Ripley felt tears prickle at the corner of her eyes. She couldn’t help but reach up and press a hand to the side of his face. She pulled him forward until their foreheads were pressed together. He let his forearm rest across her lap, where she gripped his hand. His opposite hand pressed against her back.

“I’d like for you to try not to doubt yourself too much, either.” She told him, eyes closed and relishing his closeness. “You are a fucking phenomenal leader, both in strength and heart. They knew that, and I know they shared comfort in having you there.”

Hicks let out a breath he seemed to be holding while she was speaking, and she felt a tear fall down his check where her thumb was. She wiped it for him.

They both remained that way for a little longer, taking in each other's presence. They eventually somehow ended up leaning against each other, his head above her’s and resting in her cloud of curls while her arm draped over his leg. Her eyes became heavy, but she still wanted to attempt to lift the mood.

“I’ll tell you one thing: I definitely don’t feel guilty for blowing that bitch out of the airlock.”

Hicks’s chuckle felt like home beneath her cheek. “Wish I could have seen that.”

The next thing she knew, she was waking up late in the day, and her and Hick’s had slumped to the side. Judging by the way her arm was protesting as she moved it from its squished position, they’d both be feeling sore when they got up. But for the first time in months, she had no nightmares.

Before drifting back to sleep, she noticed the small green child’s blanket draped over them from a little visitor in the night. Her eyes shut, and back to sleep she went.

Hicks never slept on the couch after that.

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