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harry-writings · 3 years

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The Happy Years

- The one where Y/n is unhappy in her engagement and finds an escape with her former lover

Part 1

Masterlist

(A/N) IM SO EARLY IM SORRY I KNOW I SAID 9PM BUT IM DONE SO MUCH SOONER THAN EXPECTED OKAY IM SORRY LOVE YALL <3333

Three years later.

The heaviest of thunderstorms hit the city of London by early morning, the loss of the sun and the gloom of the day leaving Harry bedridden for the first time in weeks.

He always tried his best to avoid days like this — trapped within his home, caged in memories that make every step he takes heavier than the last, wishing for just the smallest taste of salvation — because it’s when he’s left alone between these walls that the darkest parts of him come out, ravaging, feeding off of what’s left of him.

Rain reminds him of the day Y/n left. Thunder reminds him of Malibu. Malibu reminds him of all the things he ever used to do with her — on the bed, on the couch, in the hallways.

There’s no escape from what he’s done.

But when the time hits two in the afternoon and Harry still hasn’t gotten up from under his blankets, he decides that doing even the bare minimum with his day would be some sort of accomplishment.

He decided to get the mail.

And what a terrible decision that was, Harry thinks, as he sees an envelope addressed to him in unfamiliar handwriting by an unfamiliar name. Something about it upsets his stomach and throws him off key, knowing in his heart that he shouldn’t open it, but it’s heavy in his hands and he can’t ignore the temptation of it all.

Another terrible decision he’s made.

Please join us for the wedding of Alfie Lexington & Y/n Y/l/n.

Saturday, September 25, 2021 at 3:00 PM.

Dartmouth House. Mayfair, London.

The downpour feels like a drizzle compared to the cries Harry lets out as he reads the wedding invitation, his worst nightmare playing out right before his very eyes and if he wasn’t already so fucked up, he’d try his best to ignore it.

Y/n played her move. She wants him to strike back. She wants to win and watch him lose more than he already has. That’s all she has left of him.

His lips tremble as he sniffles, the invitation shaking between his palms as he lets reality sink in.

Y/n is getting married.

Y/n is happy.

Y/n is going to spend the rest of her life with somebody other than him — somebody that was once his friend.

It's unfathomable to him. The connection him and Y/n shared was unlike any other. They were drawn to each other instantaneously, their feelings of infatuation never once dying down because it was simply incapable of doing so.

They put each other first. They made each other better people, helped each other grow through all the droughts and winter days, and continuously found ways to become closer to one another. They were so comfortable and confident in their company, and so every day they spent together within those four years had never been anything less than pure happiness.

They were meant to be. He didn’t see it then, but he sees it now, and now that’s all he sees because everything he sees is her.

To know that it’s no longer the same for her kills him from the inside out, because now she really doesn’t belong to him.

He lets out a sound that can only resemble what would be a whine and a groan made together, sobbing as he flips the invitation around, only to find another saved date he just doesn’t have the heart to see — an engagement party for all the invited to join.

He’s so overwhelmed with devastation that his brain becomes fogged, his body disassociating from itself as he rips the invitation apart, growling and screaming and wailing as he just keeps ripping it and ripping it and ripping it.

He’s destroying it in the same way it destroyed him until he gives up, slamming his fists down upon the counter, losing control of himself beneath all his pain and regrets. This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to happen. This isn’t what was supposed to come from this life.

He’s barely surviving as it is.

And he just needs to see her again.

But he doesn’t know how he’d react once he does. Whether he’d want to kiss her, to hate her, to love her all over again, he doesn’t know. His entire world is collapsing and he doesn’t know how to save it from falling apart. He can’t take any more risks when it comes to her.

But what is love without fear and danger? What would it say about him if he were to walk away from this now instead of trying just once more with her?

So with a heavy heart and a sobbing chest, he doesn’t take his chances.

And Y/n simply just couldn’t believe the sight in front of her.

Harry is standing at her doorstep, soaked head to toe, shaking in his bones. His lips are a light shade of blue and his eyes an alarming shade of red, somehow wetter than the rest of him. And as the thunder rumbles beneath her feet and nearly sends her to her knees, it goes to show her that he really is here, standing at her doorstep, and it’s not just a dream.

And she must have been struck by the shock of his presence because her tongue is suddenly tied, her throat dry, her lips fallen open yet forgetting how to breathe.

She just looks at him, soaking him all in, trying to understand what exactly led him back to the biggest mistake of his life.

“Harry?”

“So that was your way of getting back at me?! After three fucking years?!”

Her mouth falls open in disbelief, her eyebrows furrowing in defense. How he could possibly accuse her of something she didn’t even do — considering she hadn’t made any attempts to reach out to him since the moment she left Malibu — makes her feel even more betrayed than before.

He should know her better than this. He should know her from the inside out at this point, but she supposed three years really is a long time, because she’s never seen this side of Harry before. He seems so different to her now.

“Don’t you dare come to my home and try to make an ass out of me! Since when have I ever been the kind of person to get back at somebody?!”

Harry stutters for a moment, his anger and jealousy and hurt blinding him from the truth that Y/n never goes out of her way to get even. Her heart is too big, but he can’t shake this feeling that the person who sent him the invitation was out to do him harm.

And nobody had more of a reason to hurt him than Y/n.

“So the wedding invitation, then? You had nothing to do with that?”

He speaks it condescending, as if he didn’t believe a word she said, but that’s not what it comes down to. It comes down to the fact that she has moved on and found herself somebody so much better than him, and he has no one.

She shakes her head as if to gather her thoughts, confused about how he even found out about the wedding considering Harry quit the firm just hours after he left Malibu, leaving him with no contact to anybody that had any string tied back to her.

“Of course I had something to do with the wedding invitations! I’m the one getting married!”

She pauses then, her cold demeanor dropping into something Harry wants to say resembles a hint of relief, but it’s much more cross than that, much more serious, and he doesn’t expect what’s coming next.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Me getting married?” She speaks it through a small, bitter laugh. “I should have known the only way you’d fight for me was by being with somebody else. You never could stand being second to me, as ironic as that is.”

“I could give two shits about you getting married.” He lies through clenched teeth, his stomach sick at the mere thought of it. “But I do have an issue with you inviting me to your wedding after walking out on me.”

Her head snaps back up to him.

“Wait, Harry, what are you talking about?” She frowns, trying to make sense of it. “I didn’t invite you to the wedding.”

Why would she?

They are no longer friends, no longer much of anything, so for her to take time out of her day to sabotage anything but herself wouldn’t feel right to her. Besides, it was her decision to never speak to Harry again, she wouldn’t ever take her word back.

Harry frowns then, too, because she isn’t faking her emotions. She’d always been terrible at doing so, and the way her eyes scream and beg for answers can’t go ignored. He, again, feels like the absolute worst person in the world.

“Then who did?” He whispers.

There’s only one possible answer.

Seven months ago.

Alfie insisted that he and Y/n had a New Year’s Eve party. They’d never had one before, as Y/n much preferred staying in with a bottle of champagne and celebrating with a lobster dinner and late night reruns of The Honeymooners.

But Alfie was persistent. Very persistent. Too persistent. So persistent she had no choice but to give in, and she just didn’t understand why.

She didn’t understand it as days passed and all Alfie talked about was the stupid party. She didn’t understand it when he rented out one of the most expensive venues. She didn’t understand it when he laid awake the entire night before, too anxious to fall asleep. She didn’t understand it when he asked her to wear his favorite dress.

She wished that she did the moment it happened.

The clock was ticking.

“Five!”

Alfie reached for Y/n’s hand.

“Four!”

Y/n noticed something shift in the air.

“Three!”

Alfie reached his other hand into his pocket.

“Two!”

Y/n knew what was coming.

“One!”

Alfie dropped to one knee.

“Happy new year!”

It was every girl’s dream — the fireworks, the balcony, the view, the prince charming that would whisk her away to spend the rest of eternity together — yet it couldn’t have felt any more like a nightmare.

It wasn’t what she wanted. Not then, not ever before, not once during the span of their relationship, and time seemed to have stopped moving forward.

There she was, in the center of the universe as everybody stopped and stared, gasping and gushing at the sight of a man on his knees for a woman. An act of vulnerability, of love, of submission, yet it didn’t feel like any of those things.

It all felt so wrong.

She began to cry.

To everyone else, it seemed as though she was crying from happiness. Her devoted boyfriend of two years finally asked for her hand in marriage, to be the mother of his children, to spend the rest of their lives tied together by a vow, unable to be broken. So it was no surprise when everybody let out an awe of endearment, nobody (not even Alfie) knowing her well enough to distinguish the difference between her happiest and saddest cries.

Harry would have known.

And that was all it seemed to come back to in that very moment in time.

Harry.

What she would have given to feel his hands on her waist, blocking her body from view with his, taking her away from all the unwanted eyes on her fragile body. He would have done it in a heartbeat because he always did — he always found a way to help her escape her horrifying realities, even the sweetest of ones.

What she would have given for it to be him kneeling in front of her… this all would have been so different.

Her lover of two years was promising her a future, yet all she could think about was somebody stuck in her past, yet so heavily prevalent in her present.

But she couldn’t say no. How could she when everybody expected the answer he was looking for, ready to toast to the bride and groom? How could she when phones captured the beginning of the rest of their lives, ready to share for all to see?

But she couldn’t say yes, either.

She settled for a nod of her head.

The crowd cheered, some clapping, others clinking their glasses, lovers kissing. She only caught a glimpse of those celebratory moments before everything around her drowned in her tears, voices of congratulations so distant beneath her heavy, hyperventilated breaths.

Alfie embraced her, then, and she felt his laughs of euphoria rumbling in his chest as hers met his, and she couldn’t even pretend.

She rested her chin on his shoulder, her expression void of everything that she should have been feeling. And her eyes went blank as they caught a reflection of her through the balcony windows — the last time she ever saw herself for what she truly was.

That same day.

Y/n was a mess waiting for Alfie to get home.

Seeing Harry again filled her with so many different emotions, she didn’t know which one to start with. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted to destroy everything and everybody that dared get in her way, she wanted to disappear. Yet she had done none of it. All she could manage to do was pace around her bedroom, biting at her nails and getting lost in her scrambled thoughts, her mind and body moving at a million miles an hour, unable to be tamed.

This is precisely the reason Y/n never wanted to see him again.

He does things to her, he always has. She hardly has any control over herself whenever it comes to him and she fucking hates it. No matter how sad, how mad, how hurt or how upset, there was something about his presence that made her see past all of that. It saddens her how much she used to love it.

But her moods swing at her relentlessly, the sadness turning to anger because yes, she is angry. She’s angry that he still has this much of a hold on her, especially after everything he’s done, and she’s even more angry that he hasn’t yet apologized for it.

Because it was all getting better. The constant wondering about what he’s doing or who he’s with and the continuous string of thought always leading back to him was all finally falling into its place. She was finally finding her place.

And then her fiancè did this.

When she hears the bedroom door open, she hardly gives Alfie any time before she starts a fight, wishing nothing more than to take it all out on him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Y/n fumes, everything tainted red with anger as she looks into his eyes and feels nothing but hurt and betrayal. “Inviting Harry to our wedding behind my back?! Do you not remember what he did to me?! Do you not realize what you just did?!”

He frowns, not sarcastic or menacing, but he genuinely seems upset that she’d ever even ask him such a question.

“Y/n…” Alfie sighs, and she suddenly hates the way he’s always managed to remain calm in the most heated of arguments. She wants to start a war with it, to go for the kill, to make him crawl and beg and bleed for her forgiveness. “Of course I remember what he did to you, which is exactly why I did it.”

Her hands turn to fists.

“Are you kidding me?!”

“I wanted to hurt him for hurting you! God damn it, Y/n… after finding out what he did to you all I could think about was ripping him to pieces and that urge never left me, especially after we got together.”

He slumps himself down at the foot of the bed, loosening the tie around his neck, almost too aggressively. And if she wasn’t so out of her mind enraged, she would try her hardest to understand his side.

But there is no excuse for this. There’s no excuse for any of it.

“So now you use our marriage as a way to get back at him?!”

Y/n may not love Alfie the right way, but she had never stooped so low to treat her marriage like a weapon, ready to strike at any moment in time. It wasn’t something she used to inflict pain onto anybody else but herself, no matter how hard it had gotten.

And though she once believed their engagement meant more to him than it ever meant to her, she can’t help but feel as if that’s just another lie she’d been forced to live with.

He went behind her back deliberately to hurt somebody even she never intended on hurting. He knew what was to come of this and yet here he is, letting it all happen for satisfaction’s sake.

It feels like all she will ever be is used.

“Is that what this is to you?! A point on your scoreboard?! A big ‘fuck you, i won!’?”

“Isn’t that what this is for you?”

“Don’t you dare turn this into my problem.” She spits through clenched teeth, punching at the dresser beside her with the side of her fist, face burning with fury. “I’m not the one sending him our wedding invitations!”

“And I’m not the one staying up past midnight scrolling through pictures of him on my phone!”

Her mouth shuts then, her hard and pressed features softening at the unexpected turn of the conversation.

She had been looking at pictures of Harry almost every night since Malibu, she just never expected to get caught. She could physically feel Alfie fall asleep against her, so she always waited thirty minutes before she took her phone out, looking back at everything that once was.

It was the only thing she ever truly wanted.

It’s what she kept going back to — a habit that came as naturally as telling her best friend about her day, about her perspectives on the world, about the lack of guidance in her life — like a phone call at the end of the day as a way to unwind.

She had make believe conversations with him as she scrolled endlessly through her favorite photo album, the thickness of his accent engrained in her mind as she thought of everything he’d say to her if he were still around. And if that wasn’t enough, she’d live vicariously through the memories they made together and replay those moments all night, until they lulled her to sleep.

“I told you from day one that —”

“That you’re never going to let him go, I know. I know that he was the love of your life at one point but this is just pathetic now, Y/n. Absolutely nothing short of pathetic.” She frowns, his choice of words making her heart sink because he knows exactly how to do it. And he sighs, rubbing his hands up and down his face as if he were in agony. “I didn’t know this was the kind of shit I was signing up for.”

Her eyes brim with tears but don’t offer anything more, only upset that he couldn’t find a way to understand her when she’s trying so hard. But he never has and he never will — not in the way she needs him to and not in the way that could ever make this work.

“I’m not sorry for what I did.” She confesses sadly, her bottom lip between her teeth and fingers picking the skin around her nails as she tries, yet again, to make him see. “He was my best friend before he was anything else to me. There was a time in my life where he was all I had.”

And though her heart is still with Harry in every aspect of every way, it’s true. He was her best friend and that’s what she misses the most. There was so much to him that meant so much to her and none of it could ever be replaced, not even by Alfie.

“You know I love you but you also know I'm not the same woman you fell for in Malibu. I’m my worst self when I don't have him around and your favorite parts of me don’t exist without him. Don’t pretend like you don’t see that.”

His hands twitch against his lap, his shoulders slumping because it’s true. The most lively and brightest parts of herself had died the first step she’d taken away from him that night. Sure, she’s still the most resilient and beautiful woman Alfie had ever known, but she’s never been the same since then.

She’s still in love with him and there’s nothing for him to do about it. He didn’t see it until he saw the way she sulked over Harry that night, all those years later, with a diamond ring on her finger that just seemed to weigh her down even more.

None of this means anything to her.

“It’s been three years, Y/n. Just find yourself a new best friend and move the fuck on already. I’m getting sick and tired of this.”

What he doesn’t understand is that she is, too.

Two weeks later.

Y/n shouldn’t be this alone at her own engagement party, but it’s the impossible things that always manage to find their way to her.

The party consisted mostly of Alfie’s friends, considering Y/n is much more of an introvert than he is and the small number of friends she does have seemed to have disappeared within the sea of unfamiliar faces. She felt lost for a moment, but when she finally found her fiancè, he had been too invested in his own friends to spare her a single one of his glances, and it soon became disheartening to wait for him to acknowledge her when the thought of her never once crossed his mind.

So she ends up on the steps of their back porch, sipping on a glass of champagne, overlooking the garden, breathing in the silence.

She closes her eyes and succumbs herself to the summer breeze, wondering what she has to do to find a single glimmer of happiness. Her life is just so sad, a labyrinth of betrayal and hurt and heartbreak she can’t ever escape.

Darkness is all she sees when she thinks about her future. There is nothing for her to look forward to. Every day will come and go the same way it has been — unwanted, dreaded, wasted, another failed attempt of contentment. It all seems so hopeless to her now.

The champagne doesn’t stand a chance when it comes to a lonely Y/n, and it isn’t nearly enough to curb her mood, either as she huffs at her empty glass, wishing she had taken another.

She sets it down next to her, placing both her elbows on her knees, getting lost in her world of sorrow, long forgotten by her lover.

Harry is the first one to find her.

He had parked his car across the street from her shared home with Alfie, and even from his distance he knew Y/n wouldn’t be inside. He knows her too well to know she wouldn’t find her place in crowded rooms where the attention is all on her, even if it was all in the comfort of her own home.

And the fact that Alfie didn’t know her senses of belonging well enough to accommodate them made him seeth. She is an independent, a lone wolf, a woman who moves solely in her own way and anybody who’s ever loved her knows that above all else.

He doesn’t care for her.

And he doesn’t need to go looking for her because he can feel her, as if the universe somehow bent its laws of gravity and pushed him straight to her back porch steps, where he finds her all alone.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when she feels a hand fall softly on her shoulder, but immediately sinks into comfort when she sees that it’s Harry moving to sit beside her, his hand refusing to pull away.

Finally, she has a friend.

“Hey.” She says softly, one of the corners of her lips turning slightly upward at his unexpected visit. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

He smiles briefly at her before he overlooks the garden, his fingers squeezing at her shoulder before resting his palms over his lap. And there’s something about being next to her again that makes everything around him fall back into place. This is where he’s meant to be.

“Honestly, neither did I, all things considered.” They both let out a chuckle, the atmosphere between them so horrifically sad yet so incredibly right. “But I just really felt like I had to be here for you tonight.”

Despite the years that had passed and everything that drove them apart, Y/n remains who he loves most in this world. His connection to her never died, so the sudden gusts of off and disturbing feelings Harry used to get whenever Y/n was troubled had never left him. He felt it all just as strongly — her anxieties, her fears, her tears and everything in between. And he’s glad that part of them never died because the look in her eye tells him everything he needs to know.

She’s absolutely miserable.

She sighs, the corners of her lips falling as she stares at her engagement ring, her thumb and pinky twisting it around her ring finger, itchy and heavy no matter which way it's worn.

“Me and Alfie aren’t doing so well.”

She didn’t have to say it because he can already see how treacherous they are together, but that doesn’t make it any easier for him to hear.

He lost his right to be selfish with her in Malibu, and though he does gain a sense of happiness knowing he may have a chance with her again, it’s significantly outweighed by her sadness. Nothing had ever pained him more than that.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She shakes her head, her fingers reaching up to tuck fallen pieces of hair behind her ear.

“Don’t be. I don’t really know why he decided to do this, anyways.”

Harry’s lips fall.

“Marry you?”

Y/n’s leg begins to shake, her greatest and most absentminded nervous habit. And Harry had always been quick to place his hand over her thigh and rub at the surface, meeting her eye halfway and taking a deep breath in, to which she would always follow. He hesitates to do so tonight, but settles for it anyway.

She looks appreciative beneath it all.

She’d forgotten about Harry’s subtle favors over the past three years, so to feel it all again when she has been so low and neglected feels like a blessing to her. It feels like somebody finally cares for her, and that’s all she had been wanting all along.

Harry, she feels, is the only one who ever truly has.

“We just never talked about it. It was this big, ginormous, unavoidable, life changing question thrown at me with no warning at all.” Her forehead falls to her palms, as if humiliated by the memory. “In front of everybody.”

Harry’s heart crumbles from within him because nothing Alfie has given her has been anything she’s wanted, and that’s not what she deserves.

He remembers it so distinctively now — the way she poured her heart out to him just a few months before Malibu. It was the third Valentine’s Day they’d spent together and Y/n got so drunk, she spent nearly the entire night venting to him about everything she’d feared when it came to her future relationships.

With her head on his shoulder and her leg slung over his hips, Y/n’s thoughts were so destructive, she couldn’t bear to entertain them any longer, so she decided to let it all out.

“And what if my boyfriend proposes to me in a room full of people? I’d drown in sensory overload. And what if I want to say no? Or maybe? Or yes, just not right now? With all those people looking at me? I think I would pass away.”

Harry looked down at her in subtle curiosity, his fingers playing with her hair in the way they always liked. She was the only thing in his sight that wasn’t spinning out of his control.

“So how do you want to be proposed to?”

She hummed, as if contemplating her answer. But she knew. She already knew.

“In bed, probably. It’s so intimate and private there. So non-traditional. You’re the most done down at your first hour and something about someone wanting you at your worst, forever, is so poetic.”

She looked up at him with doe eyes merely seconds after.

“Will you make sure he does that for me, please? Promise me you’ll try.”

He smiled the best he could at her, pressing his lips down to her forehead. They lingered there for a moment, and Y/n’s breath was taken away.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

What makes the memory even worse was how much he really did love her and how blinded he was to it. He kissed her. He held her. He played with her hair. He slept beside her that night. He kissed her again goodnight. He brought her breakfast in bed the next morning. He did it all over again.

It couldn’t have been any more obvious.

But there’s something about the way she hasn’t expressed any of those concerns with Alfie that doesn’t sit right with him. It just doesn’t make any sense to him.

“Been with him for how long now, two years? And you really didn’t expect him to propose to you? Have you met you?”

She sulks herself deeper into her knees.

“I don’t know. I guess — I guess I just never really thought about it.”

Never thought about it?

“But you’ve always wanted to get married.” He says it more like a question than a statement, genuine concern and confusion in his tone of voice as his eyebrows furrow, trying to comprehend it.

She looks up at him with a void, empty expression.

“Yeah, but never to him.”

Her eyes linger on Harry’s for just a beat longer — just long enough to catch a glimpse of the way his lips fall and the way his face drains of color — before she blinks away from him, turning her gaze back toward the garden. The flowers have never looked so lifeless.

“Y/n… if I had known how you felt, I —”

“It wouldn’t have mattered.” Y/n shakes her head, looking back down at her trembling hands, tears now burning in her eyes as the sudden sadness of the conversation starts to weigh down on her. “You had four years to feel the same for me and you never did. My feelings would have done nothing to yours.”

“And I never did?” Harry asks incredulously, his voice low and faltered behind the heaviness of her words. “Is that really what you’ve been living with the past three years?”

Loose tears begin to fall down her cheeks because yes, she has been living with his unrequited love for six years and no, it’s never gotten any easier. It’s pathetic and ridiculous and the most unexplainable form of grief she’d ever carried, but it’s the most devastating kind. “How could I think any differently?”

“Because it was real, Y/n. Fuck.” He lets out a strangled, dry chuckle upon his words as he runs his shaking fingers through his hair. He’s nervous, absolutely terrified because if he fails to show her how deeply he feels for her now, he may never get the chance to again, and losing her is no longer an option for him. Not when she’s so close. “Because you know me better than anybody else and you know I wasn’t faking it with you. How could I have been? You would have seen right through me and you know it. You always do.”

Perhaps the love blinded her. Perhaps her heart was so invested it deceived her to see only the things she wanted as a subconscious form of self-preservation. It’s not an impossible possibility, and it’s certainly one she believed in throughout all this time, but a part of her can’t help but find a hint of truth stuck somewhere between his words.

The kissing, the touching, the tasting, the laughing and the loving did feel real to her. It felt real when she saw the way he smiled after every one of their kisses, and the way he reached for her when it was just to two of them, like he couldn’t get enough, and the way he moaned against her, and the way he told her he loved her, like he meant it.

She knows all of his movements and all of his habits — knows all the signs of his stress, his sadness, his tension, his ease. She knows the emotions he wears and the ones he doesn’t, notices everything he does and doesn’t do, and never once did anything he did with her seem anything less than genuine.

She hates that it’s taken her so long to see that, but it doesn’t fix all that he had broken now that she does. She wishes that it could, this life would be so much easier for her to live.

“You really hurt me.” Her voice quivers, low and quiet as she speaks her truth, and it breaks his heart all over again. Never has he heard her sound so sad in his life, and it’s all because of him.

“You think I don’t know that? I hate myself for everything I put you through because you didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

He pauses, waiting for her to say anything else, but it doesn’t come. All there is for her to offer are her silent cries and waterfall eyes.

“That night with Lydia… nothing happened. She caught me off guard and I panicked because how could I not? She was giving me everything I thought I wanted yet all I could think about was how I wanted it to be you.” Y/n’s breath falters then, a knot forming in her chest as she revisits the sight of that horrific night. “I tried so hard to talk it out with her, but she wouldn’t let it go. She kept persisting and persisting and she didn’t give me the chance to explain myself before you walked in on us.”

She didn’t truly know what happened between him and Lydia, but she had her ideas. Whether they kissed, touched, confessed their love or crossed bases, the truth would have only made it worse for herself. Ignorance was bliss when it came to them.

But she didn’t think nothing happened, either, especially when the first words that Y/n heard Lydia say to him that night was I love you, too.

Too.

Like he said it first.

She really hopes he didn’t, but she’s so afraid of his answer that she doesn’t ask.

But she doesn’t say anything else, either, because there’s so much more she needs to hear from him but she doesn’t know where to start. She doesn’t know what to do, yet she wants to know everything.

“You were all I ever wanted and I’m so sorry for the way I had to find that out. I’m so sorry that I had to hurt you to realize how ridiculously in love I am with you.”

And how ridiculous it’s gotten.

“It haunts me. It follows me everywhere I go. Every morning, I think about the way you slept beside me in Malibu and how perfect you looked before you even had the chance to wake. I still reach for you even when I know you’re not there just so I can say I tried. Every time I walk the street, I somehow convince myself that I see you walk past me and I always turn back just in case I missed you. Then I spend the rest of my day wondering where you are and how much happier I’d be if you were with me.”

And it’s all so true.

She is around him at all times. Her spirit lingers in the air he breathes, her shadow alive in every ray of sun that touches his skin, unable to be soaked away. The ghost of her is everywhere he is, always, and it pained him just as much as it comforted him.

“I come across all these women and go on all these dates in hopes to find someone that makes me feel half the things you do, just to go home hours later and watch all the stupid videos and photos I’ve taken of you throughout the years because it’s you that my heart is after. Nobody else.”

She melts into herself at his confession.

To know it wasn’t one-sided — the longing, the missing, the wanting so bad that he couldn’t help but look back at all their memories together. Whether he was beside those women or not, she had done the very same thing, and it’s almost as if those hidden moments of desperation were a silent call to one another.

He reaches his hand to her thigh again, his skin warming her to her bitter core, setting a fire in her that had burnt out many years ago. And she doesn’t stop staring at it.

“I love you, Y/n. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything else in this world. I love you so much that it drove me crazy to think about you spending the rest of your life with somebody else because I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of mine without you. But that’s my heartbreak to live with, not yours.”

But it is. It is because he’s the only one she’s ever wanted and living her life with someone else was once unimaginable. It still is. Even through her relationship with Alfie and everything they’ve built together, it wasn’t ever the same.

And it’s not a matter of her not loving him, because she does, just not in the way she loves Harry. He is a high she constantly fiends for, an intoxication that keeps her wild and free, an addiction like no other. Being without him makes her feel sober — in a constant state of withdrawal, falling down deeper into her urges, dependent solely on her relapses — and Alfie is just the mild distraction.

All of this is her heartbreak.

His fingertips rub softly at her leg.

“You’re the best person I’ve ever known. I don't know how I’m ever going to find a way to move on from you, and I don’t know if I ever will, but at least I had the chance to tell you everything you deserved to know. I didn’t think I’d ever have it.”

She still doesn’t answer him, but he didn’t expect anything more.

He wishes he could stay with her for just a bit longer, but he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome (if he could even call it that). And he starts to cry as he thinks about leaving her alone again.

She’s forever going to be his hardest loss.

“I have so much more I want to say to you, but this is your night with Alfie. I don’t want to be the one to hold you back from it.”

He squeezes the top of her thigh, dreading the let go. This may be the last time he sees her or speaks to her for a while, and that in itself is enough to make this so much harder on him.

“I’ll miss you everyday.”

He can’t even look at her as he says it.

His eyes are flooded with sadness as he stands from where he sat beside her, shaking fingers wiping at his tears, his heart the emptiest it’s ever been yet his chest heavier than ever before.

It suddenly dawns on her that she never wants to see him walk away from her again. She doesn’t want to go another dreaded day without him beside her, or go the rest of the night thinking of everything she could have said, but didn’t.

She wants him. She loves him. And she doesn’t want him to go.

“Wait.” She grabs his hand in both of hers before he can make it too far, her eyes wet but the brightest he’d ever seen them. “The party doesn’t end for a while and — and Alfie hasn’t come looking for me since it started, so…” She hesitates, his hands still in hers, and everything is right in the world again. “Do you want to take a walk with me? It doesn’t matter where just, please stay here with me?”

And how could Harry ever say no to her?

He lifts her up from where she sits, the first real and genuine smile he’s seen out of her since they’ve reunited spreading on her lips, and he wouldn’t trade this for the world.

They stray further than expected, catching up on everything they’ve missed throughout the years. It all feels so easy and so right, as if time had hardly passed between them, yet they’ve never felt more apart. Never once did they expect to live in each other’s world through late night storytelling and clandestine getaways.

They laugh. They cry. They reminisce. And they don’t let go of each other’s hand the whole night through.

Y/n returns to the back porch a couple hours later, grabbing the finished champagne glass she’d left on the top step to seem as inconspicuous as possible. Not that she necessarily has to, she doesn’t feel as though she’s done anything wrong, she just couldn’t imagine what would come from this if Alfie was to find out.

She slides the back door shut quietly behind her, the remaining guests only giving her a small smile of acknowledgement, none at all suspicious. Some offer her hugs and mingle with her, congratulating her as if it were their first time doing so, telling her how perfect of a marriage she and Alfie are going to have.

If only they knew.

But it isn’t until the last of the lingering guests make it out the door that Y/n and Alfie are left alone — the most dangerous place for them to be. And neither of them speak a word to each other, just meeting eyes for a brief moment in time, as if avoiding everything else that came with the night.

The air is heavy, the chill brutal, but it’s what Y/n is so used to. This is her normalcy.

“I’m glad you had fun tonight.” Y/n says plainly, gathering all the littered champagne and wine glasses floating around the kitchen.

In any other circumstance, she would have stood her ground much more strongly, but the bitterness inside her subsided to something much sweeter after her time with Harry. The weight of the world is gone, it seems, the moon and sun and stars aligned perfectly in her universe. She is weightless, floating, her spirit dancing along the edges of her own personal heaven.

The silence Alfie responds with doesn’t strike a nerve like it usually would. It rather goes unnoticed, only furthering her into her illicit dreamland.

Harry’s touch lingers on her skin and she can feel it all the same even though he’s gone. A shiver runs down her spine as she thinks back to the way his lips pressed against her cheek before parting ways, muttering the quietest goodnight, lovie against her skin, leaving her breathless.

She is endlessly hypnotized by him, forever under his spell, as if his lips were made of magic.

And Alfie’s heart sinks when he sees the look on her face. It’s been years since he’s seen it, yet it’s all so familiar once he does. It’s the same look he fell in love with when he first met her in Malibu.

It’s all so clear to him now.

“So we’re just going to pretend that you didn’t leave our engagement party with Harry?”

Y/n lifts her head to look at him properly for what seems to be the first time tonight, his question catching her off guard since she had so rightfully assumed he wasn’t concerned about her whereabouts, and Harry didn’t make his presence known to anybody but her.

But she doesn’t fight it, doesn’t deny it, doesn’t try to scrape for excuses that’ll only dig her in deeper because she doesn’t regret what she did or why she did it. She has no reason to.

“And we’re just going to pretend that you didn’t completely exclude me from our engagement party?”

Alfie’s hands slam against the kitchen counter, a bitter and sarcastic laugh falling from his lips, as if she had said something untrue. “So I don’t give you attention for two minutes and you decide to run off with some other guy?”

“Two minutes? Try two hours on a night that was supposed to be for us.” It’s her turn to slam her hands down, except hers land on her thighs. “I was sitting on our back porch all night and nobody, not even you, came looking for me.” She sits down on the island stool with burnt-out eyes and heavy shoulders, drained from the reality of their relationship, tired of trying for somebody that’s never held her heart the right way. “Harry was miles away and even he found a way to find me.”

And just like always, it all circles back to Harry.

She’s never been one to compare — verbally, at least — so there is a gloom that hovers over her after she says it, the guilt settling in her bones, but it’s the reality of their situation. An old lover held his hand out to her while Alfie refused hers, and it ended up exactly where it had always belonged.

“All you had to do was ask me to be with you.” He sighs, depleted, because it’s true. He would have been there the second she called his name. It’s the fact that she didn’t that shows him how incompatible he is with her wants.

“I shouldn’t have to.” She frowns, fingers fiddling with the skin around her nails as she contemplates what there is to say next. “Is that how this marriage is going to work? Me begging you to be there for me all the time? Because I’ve never been that kind of person. I will never be that person.”

Alfie breathes heavily in response but doesn’t know what else to do or say to get her to stay. She’s slipping right through his fingers and he can physically feel it — can feel the way she feels for another man, can see the way her eyes refuse him, as if hiding away from something.

But this isn’t about him, it can’t be because it was all going so well, so much better than ever before and nothing ever pushed her away, until Harry.

This is all him.

“You know he doesn’t love you, right?” Alfie breaks the silence, her heart along with it, because she needs to be reminded how badly he had done her wrong. She wouldn’t be turning him into the villain if she did. “He lied to you. He used you to get what he wanted. He —”

“He does love me.” She interrupts him because she doesn’t want to hear it. She doesn’t want him to talk her out of this, no matter how much she should. But it’s on the tip of her tongue, almost breaking from its resistance, and she can’t swallow it back down now. “He was there for me more than you were tonight and he’s not even the one I’m engaged to.”

Another deafening silence.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He understood her, loud and clear, but she’s speaking between the lines. There’s a part of her that’s holding back from something and he already knows what it is, he just needs to hear her say it.

So she does.

“I’m in love with him, Alfie.”

If the confession of her disloyalty wasn’t enough to tear her apart, the choked back sob she heard from Alfie undeniably did so.

She shuts her eyes, pained, unable to take it.

He doesn’t deserve this, but she’s left with no choice. She’ll only hurt him more if she stays.

So she doesn’t.

The morning after.

Harry didn’t know what was to come after he confessed his love to Y/n — whether it be a new day of a new life away from her, or the beginning of something so beautifully timeless, he had no idea.

The closure warmed him enough to lull him to sleep, to keep him deep in a dreamstate where all he envisioned was sunny days and the touch of her hand in his. He had never felt so light, so free, so liberated from the cage of guilt and unspoken truths that even if he were to never see or hear from Y/n again, it would have been okay.

He said what he needed to say, she heard what she wanted to hear and that’s all he could have done without interfering with her relationship.

But what he wakes up to is far from anything that ever crossed his mind.

Seven missed calls and five text messages. All from Y/n.

H, please tell me you’re awake. I need you.

I ended it with Alfie.

I don’t have anywhere to go and you’re the only person I want to see right now. Can you meet me at the coffee shop? I really need to talk to you.

Please wake up.

Harry sits himself up in a state of panic, his eyes jumping between the time she had messaged him last and the time it is now. And he springs himself out of bed when he realizes that he hasn’t missed out on her yet, planning to get to her as fast as he can as he throws yesterday’s outfit, not at all caring about how it makes him look.

She ended it with Alfie.

He’s the only person she wants to see right now.

She needs him.

That’s all he can process as he scurries down the street, thinking of everything he has left to tell her to try and win her heart again. He knows he’s undeserving of it, and she does too, but that doesn’t stop him from loving her the way that he does.

His life is meaningless without her, so dry and bleak and depressing he can’t live another day like it. He can’t and he won’t because he’s going to fix this. He has to fix this.

And it doesn’t take him long to find her because there she is, sitting at their usual outdoor table, a large hot tea held between her hands, her leg shaking, her eyes distant. It's such a heartbreaking sight, and he suddenly wonders if she ever sat there after their breakup, waiting for him, hoping he’d do the very same.

The thought makes his head twitch to the side and fingers twist with guilt because no, he never did. He never went back to that coffee shop since the goodbye. It would have hurt too much, it would have reminded him of everything he’d ever done wrong and he couldn’t bear to face the person he once made of himself.

That person died along with her.

She stands from her seat when she sees him walking toward her, exhausted mentally and physically enough to nearly fall from her feet in the process. But her heart is racing a million miles an hour, her stomach fluttering as he grows nearer, her senses of anything but the love she has for him disappearing to nothing, as if it were just the two of them.

And she just needs to know if it feels that way for him, too.

“Y/n —”

“Did you mean it?”

Harry hesitates then, stopping in his tracks, his head tilting at her in curiosity but his features are softer, sadder, as if the question somehow broke him down further than before.

She doesn’t need to elaborate because he already understands what she’s asking. It was his mistakes and his selfishness that led her to question all his intentions, to doubt every sentiment he’s ever given to her, to wonder what was real and what was pretend.

But he doesn’t know what to start with, he doesn’t know what she needs to hear from him to be satisfied with his answer, or know if what he doesn’t say is what breaks this relationship.

“I need you to look at me and tell me that you meant it.” Y/n demands when he fails to answer her, tears flooding yet her face pressed and hard, committed to hearing every last bit of truth he has left. “Because I gave up everything I had for just the smallest possibility that you did. And that may make me weak, that may make me pathetic, and I may hate myself for the rest of my life knowing I made that decision but I can’t help feeling the way I feel for you.”

This is his last chance.

The window of opportunity is open and he is more than willing to dive head first out of it, but he can’t get ahead of himself. One wrong move, one wrong word, one wrong anything and he will have to endure an eternity of misery without her.

So he gives her more than she demands.

He grabs her face between his two hands, gently stroking her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, his gaze set on hers so that she can see how deeply he feels for her and how desperate he is for her forgiveness.

“I meant it.” He breathes out, his lips so painfully close to hers, she can feel his breath as he talks and it makes her legs shake from beneath her. “I’m in love with you. You’re all I think about. You’re all I want.” He leans in closer, ever so slightly, just so the ghost of her lips can meet the ghost of his. “There’s never been anybody but you. Just you. Only you.”

Her breath stammers, quivering and cracking as she flutters her eyes shut at his words, unforgiving tears pouring down her cheeks. And she doesn’t know why she’s reacting this way — the love of her life is giving her everything she’s ever asked for and yet all she can manage to do is break down from everything she’d been keeping inside for so long.

He knees buckle as a particularly violent sob nearly takes her down, and if it wasn’t for Harry’s strong hold on her, she’s sure she would have collapsed to the floor.

Her tears, his shirt, his hands, her back.

This is the closest they’ve been to each other in so long, his heart nearly shatters along with hers. He missed this more than he missed anything else in this world.

“Don’t cry, baby. It’s alright. You’re alright.” Harry shushes her, his lips settling on the top of her head as he presses chaste kisses on it, his fingers combing through her unbrushed hair. “I’m with you, okay? I’m never leaving you again.”

And he holds her for a while, tying her together as she falls apart in his arms, vowing to her over and over again that this is all over. All the pain is over. Everything will be different now.

And it was.

It felt different when Y/n and Harry spent the rest of the morning sitting in their favorite coffee shop, at their favorite table, drinking their favorite lattes. It felt different when Harry reached his hand over to hold hers, this time with no ulterior motive.

It felt different when she held his hand back, and when she smiled down at where they were intertwined, as if they were an extension of each other.

And unlike the last time they were there together, he doesn’t have to let go.

#harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #IM EARLY I KNOW IM SORRY BUT I FINISHED SOONER THAN EXPECTED #WHOOP WHOOP #LOVE YALL

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merakiclosed · 4 years

Text

Princess of the tower

》Pairing: Thief!Jungkook x Princess!reader 》Summary: The thief of the town who goes by the name of JK finds the lost princess but didn’t expect to fall in love with her along the way. 》Genre: Fluff, a bit of angst, Disney!au/Fantasy!au , Strangers to lovers!au, Tangled!au (2010) 》Word count: 7k 》Notes/Warnings: Swearing, mentions of blood and fighting, manipulation, long-haired Kook because that’s a danger in its self.

The sky looked like a fresh blend of colours brushed onto a canvas. Pomegranate pink and papaya orange teased each other, daring to touch but not completely mixing. You’re tempted to close the shutters and go to bed, tiredness pulling at your being. But you were defiant, what good would tomorrow bring? It would be like any other day; clean up, read, paint, sing, cook.

Pascal sleeps on your shoulder when you look down, unconsciously he matches with the sun, his normal green scales changing golden. Sighing, you move your gaze to watch the silhouette of birds fly past, wishing to be as free as them. Reaching out, you touch the plants that wind around the tower, almost crying out to be touched and held as you caress the soft ridges with your fingers.

Finally, you stand up straight and brush the imaginary dust off your purple dress, the silk smooth on your skin. You can remember vividly the day that you made this with your own hands, sewing and cutting material for hours because you grew out of your previous one. Unfortunately, this was the cheapest material your mother could get you, meaning that all of your dresses looked similar. You were dying to get out of the tower and get some more material, experimenting and trying on different styles and colours. But that would never happen. You weren’t allowed out of the tower. It was mother’s number one rule, not under any circumstances were you to step foot outside of this tower.

Your bare feet echo in the empty room as you descend to your bedroom. Along the staircase you run your hands along the carvings that were like a tale of a story that was long forgotten, remembering the day you spent on the hard work. Were you 15 at the time? Maybe, the days are all forged together.

Carefully, you set Pascal down on one of the pillows as you flop down beside him, trying to not wake him up. Gazing up at the roof, you find the multiple paintings you did, filled with flowers, birds and butterflies, thinking when your life will truly begin.

Your hand moves along the wall, almost like your mind is directing it without you. You never think too much whilst painting, it’s where you see the reflection of your own imagination and mind. Every colour is bold and painted with precise lines, curved yet defined. Small dots of gold contrast with the deep blue of the background, representing the floating lights. The same ones that you know will appear tomorrow night, on your birthday. You could only hope and wish that this year, your mother allows you to go see them.

Faintly, you could hear the familiar echo of shoes on the stairwell causing you to shove the paint palette down and draw the curtains to hide the painting. Quickly, you get down from the fireplace, getting ready to greet her as the chain and lock sound heavy against the door.

“My precious daughter.” she cooes, pinching your cheeks making you wince slightly.

“Mother -”

“Would you let your mother brush your hair whilst you sing dear?” she interrupts you. Instantly you’re moving around, grabbing a chair and the brush, rushing to sit her down.

As soon as she is sat down you put a pillow on the floor to sit on, singing the song as fast as you can. Your hair reached the bottom of your bum, thick and tangled from having a busy day, though you don’t wince or groan when she pulls at a knot, too excited and nervous to ask a question. Behind your closed eyes, you briefly see the glow of your hair along with a Zapp at how fast the magic worked.

“Y/N -” mother begins to scold, but you couldn’t care less.

“Mother, I was thinking about what I want for my birthday. Wou- would I b-be able to go outside. To see the floating lights?” Your once confident voice trails off with uncertainty, “They only appear on my birthday and I need to know what they are” you plead, moving to show her the painting you did today, behind the closed curtains. But your grip quickly loosens when you hear her next words.

“Y/n. You want to go outside? You know why we stay in the tower, trust me mother knows best.” She says firmly, standing up towering over you. Her eyes are as dark as her hair as she looks unimpressed, “there are many bad guys out there, diseases that can wipe you out. You know what they do to bright things in the world. They eat them up.”

“You don’t ever ask to go out of this tower ever again.” she finalises, pulling at your dress harshly, “do you understand?” Her gaze is firm and hard making you nod your head meekly. Though, she wanted more than that as she grabs your chin roughly, tilting your head to look her in the eye, “Yes mother I understand.” She beams at you and kisses your cheek. Grabbing the keys, she heads for the door and with another kiss to your head along with a quick I love you, she’s gone again.

Not soon after you could hear laboured breathing coming from the door, the person bangs against the door, followed by a groan. Frantically, you look at Pascal who also has wide eyes, who then points to the frying pan, “Pascal you’re a genius” you whisper. You run behind the door, continuously hearing the stranger try and break the door, making it rattle and echo throughout the room. Any moment now and he’ll end up-

The door breaks off its hinges, the chain now scraping across the ground. It’s silent for a moment as you watch the man look around, failing to look behind him. “OW.SHIT” He shouts when you hit him in the leg with the frying pan, he whips around to look at you. Your mother’s voice sounds in your head of the hideous men with sharp teeth and ill intentions. But this man in front of you was nothing like that. His white shirt was dirty and rolled up to his elbows as underneath was a blue vest, wheat-like string buttoning it together. Brown pants are tucked into brown, leather boots that have clearly been worn for a long time as they are scuffed with mud splattered on them. When your eyes finally land on the satchel in his hand, he moves it closer to himself protectively, interesting.

Like deja vu, you hear another step of footsteps and instantly you know who it is. You and the strange man look at each other wide-eyed and shove him under the stairs, where the kitchen is and hide him behind the curtain. The man stumbles from your push as you take the opportunity to take the satchel out of his hands. Luckily, your mother only gets halfway before she decides to shout, “Y/n, did you want me to get the paint from the beach?” you know that she is doing this so that you don’t talk about going out of the tower, “Yes, mother.” And she’s gone, once again, thankful that you didn’t have to explain why the door was broken.

Cautiously, you creep towards the kitchen, coming face to face with the man, frying pan at the ready in one hand, the satchel in the other. You both looked at each other, he was young, possibly around your age judging by his face. His eyes were deer-like, sparkling with a hint of mischievousness in them, slightly round cheeks but sharp jaw and eyebrows as his black hair slightly hung in front of his eyes, obvious that he hasn’t had it cut in a while. His eyes scan your figure, wanting to roll his eyes, you look innocent and scared. It was obvious that if he shouted at you right now, you would cower. However, he notices the satchel in your hand, “that’s mine, give it back.”

Shaking your head, you hold it closer to you, “No. why are you here?” you foreign confidence when in reality you could feel your erratic heartbeat in your chest. He wasn’t threatened as his face showed confusion, making his nose scrunch up, “Is that all of your hair?”

Your mind starts to connect the dots, “Do you want my hair, is that why you are here? How did you find me?” you accuse, trying to sound threatening.

“I don’t want your hair, I want to get out of here. Now, give me my satchel.” You were shocked by his firm and deep voice as he hardened his gaze on you. Neither of you said anything, his ice-cold stare not wavering as you came up with an idea.

“No. I won’t give you the satchel until you take me to see the floating lights tomorrow night. You will take me there and in return, you’ll get your satchel.”

“That’s it? You want to see the lanterns?” he sounds bored. Well, he shouldn’t have broken your door! You unconsciously pout and nod, “Yes.”

“So, is this a deal then?” he says, cocking his eyebrow. This will be easy.

“Yes.”

“Well let’s get going then”

The words make you pause, you’ll be leaving the tower. Without your mother’s permission. It was against the rules. What if she comes back early. No, you can’t think of that. You either leave the tower now or stay and never be able to see the outside world, “well what are you doing just standing there princess, let’s get moving.”

Feet firmly planted, you look up to the sky that is bright but soft all at once, it looks bigger from down here, reminding you how small you are in a big world. Looking back, you see the plants that have grown thick on the tower, stone of grey peeking out as rigid pieces crumble to the floor. The grass is soft on your feet as you timidly take a step forward, the bottom of your dress soaking up the morning dew as you bend down to pick out a flower. The petals are vibrant and proud as you softly brush your finger along the soft texture. Your hair flows behind you in the grass, but you don’t care. Pascal takes in a big, deep breath of the fresh air, peering over at the young man. He doesn’t trust him.

The man looks at you unimpressed, but in reality, he finds it quite endearing as you look around. The scenery was normal to him, but watching you appreciate all of the little details makes him think more about taking things for granted. But he can’t think like that. He needs to leave you - somewhere safe of course- and run. All he has to do is steal the satchel from you when you sleep and then he will be on his way. He strolls up to you and plucks the flower out of your hand, causing you to pout, but soon turns into a shy smile once he places it in your hair, next to your ear. Firstly, he has to gain your trust.

Walking away, he hears your feet pad on the ground before you walk next to him, “So, princess what’s your name?”

“Y/n.” You say softly, looking up at him, he mulls over what to say before talking, “Mine’s Jk.”

Now fully in the forest, you take it all in. Trees that you once looked over, towered over you causing you to smile like a kid in the candy store, they were bigger than you imagined. You gasped at the sight of a bunny, running over to it, the motion causing it to squeak and hop away. Subconsciously you frown with a pout prominent on your face, you only wanted to pet it, the fur looked so soft! JK looks over at you, cocking his head to the side. How strange and innocent you were, shrugging it off he walks off, wanting to get this over and done with.

“Hey - wait up.”

The woman trudges up the stairs, huffing with every step, her shoes clacking against the stone. She can sense that something is wrong, the echoing doesn’t sound as harsh to her eardrums as before. Thoughts of something getting to her precious prize, causing her to fasten her steps before she abruptly stops, two steps before the top. The wooden door lays on the floor, pieces of wood aloof. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears, adrenaline rushing through her as she shouts out, trying to find her. Pots and pans on the floor, material is thrown all over. Nothing.

As she lays on the cold, hardwood floor, she thinks about all of the possibilities of what could have happened. She can’t lay around all day, she has to do something. Standing up, she pulls her black cloak over her head as her blood-red dress dances against the door, her boots crushing the debris. She will do whatever it takes to get her back.

You walked until it was dark, the atmosphere between you both was awkward for the full day, asking him questions but only getting either one-word responses or gestures of yes or no. Goosebumps appear on your arms from the evening chill as crickets start to sing in the swaying grass.

“I’ll get some firewood, stay here.” He commands, not waiting for an answer as he walks off into the woods. The green canopy almost looks black, drained of colour almost like it was muted under the artist’s hand. Every noise and russell from the bushes makes you jump, you’ve practically been alone for most of your life, but you were surrounded by the tower walls. You’re vulnerable under the moon that shines in the night. It was a weird experience, you’ve seen the nightfall and the sunrise, yet witnessing it outside was so much more magical. You only wish that your companion would be better, but at least Pascal is with you, though he isn’t much help as you look over to find him knocked out on the edge of the branch that you’re sat on. The familiar crunch of boots makes you gaze up at the man, his biceps bulging in the shirt that he wears.

The fire crackles as soon as he has light it, you watch him silently as he tears a bit of his shirt off to stop the bleeding of a scrape on his arm. Maybe, you can get him to talk if you become closer. Wordlessly, you scoot over to him and reach out softly to stop him, he looks at you with furrowed eyebrows wondering what you were doing. Winding some hair around the cut, he hisses as your small hands press harder onto his forearm, with a cautious gaze you look up at him, “Please don’t be scared.” The vulnerability in your voice is evident as he looks at you skeptically.

“Flower gleam and glow” Let your power shine Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine”

Jungkook watches you as if you were crazy, but confusion knocks into him once he feels a tingle in his arm, looking as your hair starts to glow. Staring at your face, the light illuminating your face. Your eyes are closed firmly, he observes the silent features on your face that draws him closer to you, you look so young, yet so worn out. Watching as delicate lips sing the song.

“Heal what has been hurt Change the fate’s design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine What once was mine.”

What and why were you in that tower?

Opening your eyes, he’s taken out of his thoughts, clearing his throat. Meekly, you look up at him as you unwrap your hair from his arm, the cut no longer there. You wait anxiously at what he will do next. You haven’t shown anyone other than your mother that.

“H-how long has your -uh. Magical Uhm. Hair been doing that?” He coughs when his voice cracks, not wanting to show how scared he actually feels.

“Forever. Something like this” You gesture to your hair, “has to be protected, that’s why my mother - why I never left the tower.” Your voice trails off at the end, still uncertain about what he is thinking.

His thoughts are running wild. He’s sitting there, in the middle of the night, with a girl who has magical hair. Is this a dream? Something like this doesn’t happen, maybe he’s going crazy. Maybe the guards have already taken him and this is all some sort of hallucination. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see you twiddle your thumbs, waiting anxiously. He had a perfect plan for tonight, wait until you fall asleep, take the satchel and run. He knew you wouldn’t be able to stay awake for long, yet he doesn’t think he can do it. If someone gets to you, you’re a goner. And for some reason, it makes his gut twist at the thought of you in danger, especially after you showed him your little trick. People like him, eat people like you for dinner. He yearns to know everything about you already, but he doesn’t think he can bring himself to do it. He’s not a good person and you don’t deserve that.

“Jungkook.”

“Huh?” You look up at him quizzically.

“My name is Jeon Jungkook.”

You gaze up into his deep, marble eyes where you could see tales - most likely fascinating, secrets and stories that he’s held up in his head for years. He was far more interesting than you, that’s for sure.

“How did you find the tower?” You questioned, averting your eyes to pascal as he sleeps peacefully.

“I ran, I didn’t plan the journey to the tower, I just ended up there.” He says with a humourless laugh, thinking about how he had run away from the guards at the palace, then proceeding to ditch the two others. His eyes unconsciously flicking to the satchel around your shoulder. Was all of this worth it?

You nod at him, not knowing what to say, you want to know what he was running from, why he never gave you his real name from the start, why he was so desperate to get the satchel. You had so many questions for people outside of the tower, but now sitting in front of him, Jungkook, your mind runs blank. Yawning, you rub your eyes, but you’re fearful of sleeping outside. Will someone attack you? Will it rain? What if a giant creature comes and gets you?

“Easy there, princess. I can see your head about to blow smoke from how hard you’re thinking.” Jungkook said in a small voice, presumably not wanting to disturb the quietness of the night. Laying down, pieces of wood stabbed your side, but it would have to do if you want to get to the lanterns tomorrow. Your head lays gently on the bark, the constellations that have witnessed centuries watch over you both in this small moment before you finally close your eyes drifting off to sleep.

Jungkook looks over when he hears your breathing slowing down, to see you knocked out like a light. Chuckling to himself, he can imagine how hard today was compared to being in that tiny room in the tower. He sits on the grass, leaning against the log you’re asleep on, looking at your figure. He was so curious to know you, he never heard anything about a girl being locked up in a tower, and surprisingly, he felt bad for you. So youthful and full of wonder, and he was youthful but full of danger.

Luckily, the town wasn’t far from where you slept, only a couple of hours in the morning and you finally saw the opening to the village. Even from afar, you could feel the energy that the people emit, vibrant clothing shining in the sunlight as people dance to the music. They move around each other like pebbles in the water, flowing around one another, as they fill each other with adrenaline-pumping happiness. You only see joyful faces as they bring the village to life. Chatter between sellers and buyers as if they were old friends. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before. Mother was wrong, there are good people in the world. Pascal looks in wonder, as he hides in the pocket of your dress, he’s never seen something like this in his life. If he thought your paintings were colourful, this was on a whole other level as they whizzed past him.

Purple seemed to be the main colour as it is splashed onto every bit of material you see, as you get closer you see a group of young girls that paint a mural on the floor, a star in the middle of purple paint. A picture of, who you presume are the king and queen with a young daughter in their arms, was in front of the painting.

Jungkook watches you silently as you smile widely, your eyes darting in every which way to take everything in. He gently grabs at your sleeve and tugs you towards one of the stands who does hair, sitting you in the chair. You look up at him questioningly, as the woman starts to braid your hair, making sure not to hurt you. She doesn’t question the twigs and leaves she finds, simply plucking them out. You sit in wonder, trying not to dart your head around to see more.

Your hair feels lighter and is easier to manage as you walk past the stalls. Briefly, you smell something sweet as you get closer to a particular one, your face lighting up at the sweetness. You pause your steps, taking a closer look at what it was.

Jungkook turns around to find that you’re not following him anymore, sending him into a panic as all he can see is a crowd of people. He’s familiar with his heart racing, normally from running away, but as he looks around he feels a different type of adrenaline, but all he has to do is breathe before calming down. His eyes are quick to find you, your purple dress matching perfectly with the theme as your hair flows down your back, flowers intertwined in certain strands. Walking towards you, he laughs when he sees your nose practically smudged against the glass that holds the doughnuts. You stare at him in shock, forgetting that you were supposed to follow him, causing heat to rise in your body.

“Do you want one?” He asks softly, nodding towards the sweet treat. You nod enthusiastically, causing another chuckle to rise from his throat as he hands the man behind the glass some money. You whisper a thank you as you take it from him, “what is this called?”

“It’s a doughnut.” He’s careful in calling you princess in the village, knowing it’s a sensitive topic and he doesn’t need to be at the center of attention right now, especially with all of the guards that he has seen. Tentatively, he watches you take your first bite, a giggle passes your lips once you’ve eaten it, taking another bite, clearly enjoying it as your cheeks fill like chipmunks. He watched fondly, before catching himself. No, he can’t fall for you. In a flash, he turns serious, cocking an eyebrow at you. Humiliation falls over you, at your obvious display of enjoyment. You’re not sure what you’ve done, but you still feel it as he looks at you with his sharp gaze. Lowering the doughnut, you avoid eye contact before nodding at him to continue with where you were walking to, giving the last of it to pascal.

However, you get distracted once again at a group of people dancing, their bodies speaking for how they feel. You have danced before, in the comfort of the walls you call home, but here where you see young girls skipping and weaving past the seas of people, smiling as if nothing bad ever happened, you realise that you’ve never truly danced. Forgetting about the moment earlier, you grab Jungkook’s hand and dance with him. His larger hands encased in yours as you follow the rhythm, being carefree of everything, feeling freedom run in your bones. You know that after tonight, life goes on as normal, so today you will be free of all of your worries.

Smiling and giggling you look up to find him mirroring your expression. His laugh is beautiful as you finally get to see him enjoy himself, maybe he has realised that he can also be carefree. Your feet pad against the stone floor, you know you’ll have to make up an excuse as to why your feet are battered and bruised when you get home, but right now you don’t care.

But you’re soon thrown out of this dream when his eyes widen, looking at something behind you. You go to look back when he softly puts your head in his chest, holding you close, your breath hitches at the contact of your bodies pressed together. The feeling of having someone so close was bizarre, even your mother didn’t hold you like this especially as long as this. Suddenly, he pulls away, holding your hand in his as he runs, shouting of guards impales your ears, clattering of boots and metal follow behind you as each step is calculated. Not used to the exertion of energy your breathing starts to get laboured as you both rush past people, it’s all a blur as your steps start to falter, Jungkook’s grip on your hand getting tighter. Your bare feet sting as they slap against the moss-laden rock, each stride of his were worth at least two of yours, his long legs and previous endeavours made this easy, barely breaking a sweat. With a good distance between you and the guards, Jungkook drags you around another corner and into a darker and smaller passageway. Abruptly he shoves you against the wall, causing you to wince, his body once again up against yours. In your pocket, you barely realise that Pascal is shaking, clinging onto your dress for dear life. But all you can do is look at his face, tight-lipped and his gaze is sharp as he listens for the guards, your breath hot against his hand that is against your lips, keeping you quiet. His own breathing is steady but slightly offbeat as for the first in a while, he is scared of being caught. He’s been running away from guards the whole of his life, but he couldn’t get you in trouble because of his actions. You can hear the guards getting closer, footsteps matching in beat with each other, trained to perfection as they rush past you both.

A sigh of relief from him as you smile up towards him, “that was an adventure” you laugh. The adrenaline that pumped through you was certainly a new experience, though your feet are paying the price as you look down at them. Jungkook copies you and looks at how red and bruised your feet are making him grimace. He opens his pouch in his pocket and hands you some coins and points to one of the stalls, “I’ll stay here, are you alright buying your own shoes?”

Looking around you don’t see any of the guards and nod at him, slightly uncertain. You’ve only socialised with two people, but you can do this! You can totally do this! Hesitantly, you walk up to the stall before looking back to Jungkook to find him standing with a smile and two thumbs up. Briefly, you look down to Pascal who nods at you, a small smile on his face. You nod your head again and continue forward, with timid steps before looking around at the shoes on show before finding a pair of loafers, white with a golden pattern on the front, matching perfectly with your dress. The woman that owns the stall laughs at you before guiding you to try them on. You smile widely at her before giving her the coins, to which she accepts with a small smile, her eyes crinkling into crescent moons. Putting them on your feet, you wiggle your toes before skipping back to Jungkook. He smiles at you watching your eyes brighten up, talking animatedly about how you think they’re pretty and soft. Again, he can feel his heart skip a beat. But once more he ignores it. He’s not meant for you.

Unknown to both of you Pascal notices the looks he gives you and tilts his head, maybe he isn’t as bad as he thought.

As the sun descends and an ashen moon rises into the darkness he walks you along the beach, where a river lies in front of the castle. A small rowing boat sits upon the pale yellow of the sand, still against the calm waves. Jungkook unwinds the rope from the wooden pole and throws it into the boat. Holding out a hand he helps you get in as he pushes it off into the ocean, jumping in after, making the boat rock. You yelp and hold on to the side, crouching into a ball as you can feel it rock beneath you. You hear him laugh as he sits down, not bothered by the sway of the waves. He grabs the paddles and starts to row, you watch as his face contorts into concentration, his tongue bulges against his cheek, his once injured hand gripping the paddle with a tough grip, veins run along his forearm. A foreign feeling surges through you as you watch him, butterflies invading your stomach.

Soon enough you’re in the middle of the river, as he stops rowing, wiping off the sweat that formulated on his forehead with the back of his hand. Swiftly, Pascal crawls to the side of the boat and seats himself on the wood, waiting for the lights to warm up the sky. One particular question has been nagging in the back of your head ever since you saw the lanterns, “why do they send them off every year on my birthday?”

“The lanterns?” You nod.

“The daughter of the King and Queen was taken on this day and was never seen again. They hope by sending these lanterns off that she will find her way back.” He sighs, running his fingers through his already unruly hair. You know that he is hiding something as he avoids your eyes, looking out in the water. Before you can say anything a singular light floats up into the sky followed by thousands more. Gasping, you jump to the edge of the boat, trying to get a closer look, ignoring the tilt of the boat in your excitement. Lanterns illuminated like stars against the inky black night, the water merged the reflection of those in the sky, an autumn orange. Inside each lantern holds a small candle, lit with a prayer, calling out for the lost daughter. The pale silk hand-painted with the same star you saw earlier.

A cough from behind you causes you to look back, to find Jungkook sat with two lanterns in his hand and a sheepish smile on his face. Gasping, you reach forward to grasp one, and softly it floats between your fingers and into the sky, circling around Jungkook’s. The world feels like it’s shifted, warm and bright even in the crisp night. Turning around, you thrust the satchel in his hands, “You took me to the lanterns. This is my end of the deal.”

Shaking his head, he pushes it away, “I don’t want it.”

Tilting your head in confusion, he continues to look in your eyes, his eyes uncharacteristically soft, leaning closer to you, “I don’t know how you’ve done it, but you’ve changed me. You made me question everything that I’ve done if only I had met you sooner.” you can feel his breath on your face, his gaze wavering to look down at your lips as you unconsciously lick your lips. Your heart is hammering in your chest as you scoot closer to him, resting your hands on his knees. Your lips centimetres apart before the boat rocked, but it wasn’t due to the waves. A dark shadow cast over the both of you, laughter of three people getting closer to the boat, “well, look what we have here.” A rough voice calls out.

Looking up, you find your mother standing next to two men who are easily 6 foot in height, scars all over their bodies. Slamming their boat into yours, you go to topple over the edge beforehand reaches out and pulls you into them, “My sweet, precious daughter.” Her familiar scent engulfs your senses, her bony frame hugging you in a death grip. Jungkook heaves in a breath as his wet form is slung into the boat, coughing up water. The two men hold him in a vice grip, hauling him up by his arms as his body shivers from the cold.

Struggling to get out of your mother’s grip, Jungkook looks up at you and shakes his head, telling you to stop. Ignoring him, you continue, “Let him go.”

“Oh no, sweetheart. He took you from me, we can’t have that can we?” her patronising voice sings in your ear. One of the men punches him in the gut, as the other kicks his back legs causing him to fall to his knees, the wood digging into his skin from the impact. “And these lovely boys helped me, aren’t they sweet,” she says, grabbing your chin and harshly tugging it to make you look at them. An uppercut to head and he spits out blood, “Mother. Stop.” your voice is filled with panic, watching helplessly as they repeatedly punch him and kick him. Your mind goes wild, why isn’t he fighting back? Pascal watches on with wide eyes, knowing that he can’t do anything, feeling useless.

The pain that he feels is excruciating but he doesn’t do anything other than let it happen. He hears your blood-curdling screams but it comes in and out like waves, his sight becoming blurry as they continue. He deserves this. The stealing, the robbing, the slowly falling in love with you. He doesn’t deserve to be in your life. He screams as he’s cut in the shoulder, the knife shortly ripped out of him to be plunged into his left side. His blood is hot as it pours out, burning his cold figure. Looking up, he finds your face covered in tears, eyes bloodshot as you kick and scream for your mother to stop. You were one of a kind. He didn’t know how you did it, but you made him want to change for the better. He didn’t want the crown. He didn’t want wealth. He wanted you. But fate had a cruel way of showing him that he couldn’t have you. Another stab, another scream. Not from him, but you. He smiles weakly at you as he can feel himself about to pass out, his skin turning paler by the second.

“Mother, please,” you beg, tears cascading down your face like lava.

“Boys.” She says simply, both of them stopping and holding a bruising grip on his arms. His head sags, not having the energy to look up at you anymore.

“P-please. Please… Let me heal him and then you can take me. I’ll l-live with you forever. You and me. I’ll never go outside, I’ll do everything you ask of me. Just let me heal him and let him go.” You sniffle and choke on your words, breathless from screaming. Your mother cocks her head to the side before looking back to the two men, “Shoo. Take the crown and go.” A sick, twisted smile coats their faces as they both look at each other before jumping into the boat you came on, picking up the satchel and rowing away. Jungkook slumps to the floor, weakly holding onto his side.

Her grip on you disappears and you throw yourself to the floor, “Jungkook.” You frantically try and stop the blood, but too much has already been lost, “You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.” you whisper, pushing down on one his wounds causing him to wince.

“Y/n.” you ignore him, grabbing your hair in your hands to wrap around him, before pale hands grip yours, “I can’t let you do this.” A single tear makes its way down his face, his hands are cold against yours signifying that you don’t have much time left.

“Please, please let me do this or you’ll die.” you softly caress his cheek, moving some hair out of his face, “If I let you do this, you’ll die.” he whispers, eyes blinking rapidly to try and stay awake. His breathing is heavy as he wheezes. Gently, he wraps his arms around you and brings you into him as your body shakes, “I love you.” With all of the energy that he can muster he snatches the knife from the floor before grabbing your hair and cutting it in one swipe. Jagged lines of hair fall to the ground, as you gaze at him with wide eyes.

A piercing screech comes from your mother, “what have you done?” she shouts, pulling her cloak over her, as she stammers around the boat before reaching the edge. It was like it was in slow motion as she topples over the edge and into the water, her arms flaring, struggling to keep afloat before her body slowly sank, as her body ages before you.

Jungkook’s grip around you becomes weaker, his breathing getting slower. Your heart sinks to your stomach, as you watch him take his last breath. “No, no, no, no, no” you whisper, choking as a sob threatens to tear at your throat. Pascal climbs on top of him, eyes sad as he watches the both of you, beneath him he can feel Jungkook’s breathing slowing down. Your hands shake as you watch blood ooze from his wounds, and you burst like a dam. Salty tears run down your face, racking with sobs. This was your fault, he didn’t deserve this. If only you would have stayed in the tower. If only you didn’t fall in love with him.

“Flower gleam and glow” Let your power shine Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine.

Heal what has been hurt Change the fate’s design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine What once was m-mine.”

Your voice cracking continuously as you breathed the song. It was a bittersweet moment as the lanterns around you continued to float around you, full of life, burning into the ever glowing night sky, almost like they were mocking you. Light beamed around you, a golden hue spiraled around the both of you like it was dancing to a song before bursting, like a firework, into the star that has been engraved into your memory since this morning.

A wave of dizziness crashes over you, making you lose balance, your hands scraping against the wood. Flashes of memories burst through your mind. A small hand touching bigger ones. Chubby legs that look like they’re learning to walk for the first time. A mobile hanging from above the crib. And a star. The same star that you painted on your ceiling. The same star that’s been in front of your very eyes this entire day. Another flash and you see a man and a woman. The parents of the lost daughter.

Gasping, you see Jungkook getting up and holding his head in his hands, his body feeling sore. Throwing yourself at him once again, you swallow thickly holding back another sob. Gradually, he lifts himself up whilst keeping his arms around you, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“J-Jungkook. I-”

“It’s fine, I know,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head as he manoeuvres your body to sit in his lap. “Y-you know what I am?” you sniffle, looking up at him, watching as he nods. “There was no way that you weren’t the missing princess. A girl that was kept in a tower, magical powers and the fact you looked identical to the picture painted on the wall in the middle of the village? I put it together fairly fast”

Leaning up, you kiss him softly on the lips but soon gets broken as you both start smiling uncontrollably, “Let’s get you home, princess.”

The balcony stood over the village, the open porch in front of you was held with detailed pillars, painted in a brilliant white. The architecture fitting perfectly with the village buildings, get standing out in the most ostentatiously way as the castle stood the tallest. Guards surrounded the both of you, causing Jungkook to be on his toes. If this all goes wrong you’ll both be jailed for life. The white stone of the castle glistened in the summer sun as you both wait anxiously.

Heels clack on the polished floor, steps full of purpose as you clutch Jungkook’s hand tighter. Two people; a man and women step out. A gasp escapes them both as your eyesight gets blurry. Your parents. Your mother runs towards you and embraces you, knocking the wind out of you as she storks your cheek as if you were made of glass, her bloodshot eyes smiling at you with love, “y/n.”

“Mother, father.” you smile at them taking a hand each in your own.

“This is Jungkook. He helped me get here.” You say as you turn around to face him. Your dad walks towards him, boot heavy on the ground as he embraces him, “thank you for bringing my daughter home.”

Smiling at the sight, you pull Jungkook towards you and squeeze him tight, “thank you.” you whisper into his chest, feeling the rumble of his chest as he laughs, “anything for you princess.”

Pascal squeaks from Jungkook’s shoulder before turning blue, when all of the attention is on him from his celebration of joy, making you all laugh and coo at him. The princess of the tower was finally free.

Please comment and reblog, tell me what you think!! It took me around 2 weeks to write this and I’m sorry if the ending isn’t as good :(( But I still hope you enjoyed

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bangtancentricsblog · 3 years

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paint it black

❍ pairing: jungkook x reader

❍ verse: red and white

❍ word count: 1.4k +

warnings/disclosures: angst, a tiny dash of fluff and a pinch of backstory I guess but please let me know if I missed anything that could be triggering!

〚prev • next〛

It’s unusually slow this afternoon; the sun shines through the windows casting a warm glow across the parlor. Yoongi is almost done with his shift, which means Namjoon will be coming in soon, but there’s something that feels off. Almost like a little tickle of unease that settles over you as the day grows longer, the sun no longer warming your skin as you sit behind the reception counter. The parlor is mostly silent except for the familiar hum of the tattoo machines, Jungkook is halfway through a three hour session and Yoongi should be nearly done with his client. It leaves you alone and mostly bored as the last of their clients waits for their appointments, though do you really have any room to say you're bored when you were just making out with your boyfriend in the restroom not too long ago? You sigh distractedly, thinking of the way he pulled you onto his lap, big hands roaming your body touching you like a man starved.

There’s this strange forcefulness to the way Jungkook touches you as of late, it leaves your brain foggy, almost hazy with this need to keep him close, one that keeps the fire burning until it swallows you up leaving nothing left but the dying embers of your need. Sweaty bodies entangled in the most intimate of ways, because like this you are vulnerable to the soft press of Jungkook's fingers smoothing over the heated flesh he'd bruised with his grip. The little pinpricks of tingles that shoot up your arm and settle at the bottom of your spine that have you squirming closer to him, there in the comfort of your bedroom does he trace the delicate lines of ink much the same way you would; except this one is special because it matches his own put there by his own hands. Couples tattoos were cliche, a little corny too but he'd looked so happy to show you what he'd drawn up for you and Jungkook was just as corny as they got, a loved up boy with nothing but softness and romance hidden beneath all that ink and black clothing. Because there on paper sat a single rose delicate but intricate with vines and leaves all wrapped together like barbed wire but much more beautiful.

It held no color, but the sentiment remained and he'd happily inked it onto your skin upon your approval. Jungkooks works were always beautiful (biased or not), his love for his work clear in the detail he put into each and every one of his pieces. You're so lost in your thoughts you don't hear the bell ring as someone new comes in, it takes them a few tries to get your attention, soft voice filling your ears and bringing your gaze to them or rather should you say her. She's pretty, though the voice in your head screams she doesn't belong here and all at once the tickle of unease drowns you, filling your lungs until they feel like cement. There's this tiny sound ringing in your ears; a gasp maybe, no not quite, it sounds more strangled, a wheeze, your mind provides and it's coming from you it seems. You feel a strong hand on your shoulder, your unfocused gaze settling once they land on Yoongi who looks concerned, his words drowned out underneath the rushing of blood in your ears.

‘‘You feeling okay?’’ he asks once the furrow of your brow has relaxed.

‘‘Are you wrapping up?’’ you say instead, moving to the register to charge the client Yoongi’s just finished up with while he beckons the other over with a wave of his hand leaving you alone again with a reassuring pat on the back. The girl stands to the side watching with wide eyes as you stare back at her. You have this nagging urge to chase her out the door, but why, you can’t quite say, instead you clear your throat glancing at the clock before speaking.

“Hi, how can I help you?” She brightens just slightly, her smile spreading in a way that one would wax poetics about but makes your stomach turn.

“Yes, would I need to book an appointment to get a piercing?” She asks, her voice lilting in a girlish fashion that grates on your ears.

“Give me just a second.” You mutter, thumbing through paper work that’s been thrown in a basket for sorting. Some are consultations appointments, others are forms that need to be put away, though at the very bottom you find a few piercing forms quickly handing one to her on a clipboard along with a pen.

“Piercings don't usually require appointments, so fill this out please and you can hand that to me when you're done.” you supply easily though your mind still screams that she's a threat, that you shouldn't even be giving her the time to make herself comfortable in a place that you've already staked your claim. You try your hardest not to focus on her too much, but somehow your gaze falls back to her form. She’s pretty in a way that you could only dream of being, all the features that make someone outwardly pretty whereas you had to work to even be okay with your looks. Her frame was petite with thin everything, in a way that you remember wishing you could’ve been but that just hadn’t been written in the stars. She was what you had always been led to believe all men wanted, petite doll-like and perfect, she was everything you weren’t and it made this cold anger simmer just under the surface of your skin. You faintly register sharp pops followed by a small pinch that makes you flinch out of your thoughts, a sound you realize comes from Jungkook as he stretches his arms over his head, the black t-shirt he wears is too short and flashes you a small stretch of skin that leaves your lips twitching into a smirk.

‘‘Did you finish up?” you ask, beaming up at him as he crowds you against the reception counter.

‘‘I did, please charge them so I can finish up and we can take a break before Namjoon and Alice come in for their shifts.” he sighs, squeezing a giggle out of you at the way he lets too much of his weight rest on you.

‘‘Gimme a sec and you also have another client so no breaks.” he groans though he feels the way you press a little kiss to his chest before pushing him off you.

‘‘I’ll be done soon so get ready to clock out soon, no overtime today remember.” you mutter your response relishing in the giggle he rewards you with before you meet her gaze again. It’s strange the way a single look can make your anger return in full force still cold much like before but it sits in your chest, burning a hole where your heart should be. It scorches your insides in a way that makes you oddly melancholic, and yet also suffocated almost like your organs are slowly shutting down, reminding you of something you’d forgotten. This is familiar, it sparks a feeling in you that you’d worked hard to bury one of longing and heartache, of love and happiness, one that you can see brimming in her eyes as she gazes at you but not quite at you either. No, her gaze falls just behind you, and though you want to pretend you don't know what, no, not what but who she’s looking at. Because her eyes glitter in a way that seems too familiar for you not to know, in a way that little voice in your head had whispered the moment she’d walked through those doors.

And when you turn, your gaze falls on Jungkook who laughs with Namjoon who you hadn’t heard come in. Jungkook meets your gaze easily, smiling in that way that usually warms your cheeks and makes your heart flutter but falls flat when you hear her giggly gasp. You want to feel something other than anger, but you can’t, not when she hides the way her cheeks pinken behind the clipboard. Your gaze falls to a silken strand of red that flutters about as if carried by a soft breeze and you foolishly follow it, because the string connects her and Jungkook’s pinky fingers. You want to cry, not for a love you might lose but more so because you’ĺl be left with the charred mess that is your heart and hope she won't paint his black the way yours has been.

@boymeetsweevil

#jeon jungkook x reader #emms jungkook content #emm writes #mine writings #fic verse: raw

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sunjaesol · 4 years

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♡ IT HAD TO BE YOU, WONDERFUL YOU ♡

canon compliant juke valentine’s day fic ♡ for all you sweethearts in the fandom

Before hopeless romantic Julie Molina fell in love with Luke Patterson, she always felt glum on Valentine’s Day. She tortured herself with romcoms leading up to the holiday, went into the “couples goals” tag on Pinterest, pouted when her crushes she never talked to dated other people (read: Nick) and felt all around envious of those having a lover to spend the day with. Her mother dying, she who held the biggest heart of all, also didn’t help her mood.

But that was before Luke blasted himself into her life. Sure, their romance was a little unorthodox, but predictability was overrated anyway.

They got together last summer, when the band played an amazing gig at a tiki bar on the beach and they were drunk on the heat, pink lemonade and each other’s adoring gazes. Dancing on the beach with him and the boys, Luke had grabbed her in his embrace and whispered lyrics at her she’s never heard before. His fingers grazed her jaw when he said it was a love letter - “For you, Jules.” She didn’t have to go far to reach his lips, both eager and giddy to finally come home.

(Weeks later, the love letter was transposed to music and performed for an audience. It was full circle moment. He loved music and her and now it was all connected. Luke had been dazed, but Julie was quick to kiss the stupor away. They could do that now. It was insane.)

All week, Julie had been working on a secret gift. She scoured her room was scraps and pictures and notes; reminders of Luke hidden in every corner without realising it. A purple pick was found under her bed, a song in her dream box they never got to finish, a seashell he plucked from the beach, a row of pictures from a photo booth, love notes. Julie would lie if she said she didn’t find it adorable how his only reference of romance were the 80s flicks, as it gave her a heartthrob of a boyfriend that didn’t back down from cute gestures like those notes. It left her heart racing and brought a blush on her cheekbones. the sun’s jealous of that smile jules

It was only natural she made him a collage.

They had an unspoken agreement to never involve money. Though they were in a band together, all the money they made directly went to Julie. She invested it back in their life passion, obviously, but the fact remained that Luke couldn’t take her on typical dates or buy her the typical gifts. Until American Ghost Dollars got invented, they had to be creative.

Going to the movies were movie nights in the studio with a projector and cookies they made together. A love song instead of dinner. Dancing in her bedroom with AirPods instead of partying.

And it was enough. It was more than enough. She loved him so much that each second spend together was perfect as is.

The collage was small enough that he could easily tuck it away. Pictures overlapped, a dozen Mini Luke’s and Mini Julie’s staring at the camera or each other, from before and after they started dating.

A photo Flynn took of Luke peppering her temple with kisses backstage. A polaroid of when she snuck up on him and smacked a kiss on his cheek, his teeth flashing white from the beam on his face. A Snapchat of when she showed him the filters and he kissed her instead. Multiple pictures of them snuggling on the studio couch, supposed ‘blackmail’ for Alex, but Julie cherished them. If she closed her eyes, she could feel his arms wrap around her back as she’s sprawled on top of him.

The pretty shell didn’t fit on the collage, so she decided to make a bracelet as well. A thick band made from orange, red and yellow string, the shell as its penchant.

That morning, she pulled on her most Valentine’s day inspired outfit and rushed to the studio. Her gifts were still in her room, out of sight and kept for later, now she just wanted to see her boyfriend.

Her smile, painted in cherry lipgloss, stretched wider when she slid the doors open and saw that no one was inside. Just last night had he kissed her a little longer after rehearsal, wiggling his brows like he knew something she didn’t. Luke was terrible at keeping secrets. She wasn’t surprised to find it empty, unless…

Luke poofed in front of her with a warrior cry and hoisted her up in one fluid motion. Julie yelled in delight, gripping onto him as he spun them around. For the occasion, he swapped his regular orange beanie for a red one. (One day, her heart was going to explode from all the silly stuff he did.) Matching her expression, his hands steadied her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

An index finger flicked his chin playfully. “How long did it take you to plan this?”

He gasped, faux-offended. “Julie! I’m spontaneous as shit.”

“Mh-hm,” she hummed, leaning in to kiss his lips. His frown melted away, the languid kiss flickering with the hint of passion it usually held. Slowly, he set her down, her staying locked between his arms. When she pulled back, he chased after her and pecked the side of her mouth - once, twice.

“I’m gonna smother you with so much kisses that you’re gonna get sick of me,” he declared, as if the threat of loving her was scary.

She pressed her forehead against his with a grin. “I look forward to it.”

Instantly keeping up his promise, he nuzzled against her cheek. “What’d you wanna do?”

“Well, we’re ending the day in the hammock.”

“Duh.”

“And,” she sneakily added, “we can be really cheesy and watch ‘Valentine’s Day’.”

He made a face, both remembering their divided opinion on the movie. “If we’re seeing it again, then I’m choosing all the snacks.”

“Deal.”

“Nice,” he breathed, raising his fist between their torsos so she could bump it with her own. Her cheeks were already aching from smiling so much, giddy to spend the entire day with her boyfriend undisturbed by the boys or family or school.

Her fingers scratched into his plaid jacket. “You know what I’m also looking forward to?” His eyes narrowed at her lilting voice. “Giving you your present.”

His jaw fell slack. “Jules, now I’m gonna be thinking about it all day.” But then she saw the devilish glint in the green of his irises as he uttered: “Guess you’ll have to wait on your present too.”

“You-” That was unexpected. “You have a present?”

Luke bit down on his lip, watching her surprise. “I was waiting for that reaction. Sweet. Okay, I’m saying we dip everything in chocolate. Fruit, popcorn-”

“I’m willing to try one of those crazy combinations you love so much,” she proposed. The excited smooch she got afterwards was worth it.

The couple claimed the kitchen for an hour as they made their snacks, most of which being the typical chocolate covered strawberries both liked a lot, and then nestled themselves in her room. Curled into his warm body, they shared earphones as they watched ‘Valentine’s Day’. Though she asked to watch it, all her attention went to his hands continuously caressing her waist and thigh. It lulled her into a blissful trance. Sometimes he would make a joke (“We’re way cooler than Taylor and Taylor!”) and she’d chuckle and hum and rub his chest. By the time Jessica Biel was smashing the piñata, she was placing soft kisses on his neck and he had to pause the movie.

Hovering over her with a wolfish grin, he pecked her nose. “I thought you wanted to watch.”

“And I thought you were going to smother me with kisses,” she bounced back with a quirked brow. For a beat, they shared an amused look.

Then Luke laughed, diving for her lips and doing just that. That rushing feeling coursed through her veins, a pure shot of adoration and attraction with each warm, open-mouthed kiss. He tasted like chocolate, skin sticky from fruit, and smelled in that perfectly boyish way. Julie sighed into the kiss. No cheesy movie or love song could compete with the sensation of slipping her fingers in his hair and having his arms tighten like he never wanted her to stop. Her bedroom was heaven on earth.

(Perhaps that was silly. She was only seventeen after all. How much did she actually know about the world to accurately make that statement? But did it even matter if right now, right here, she felt like the luckiest girl in the universe? The cynics could bite her.)

She didn’t know how long they let their lips and hands wander. It was hard to care about time when his mouth was on her ear and her nails drew shapes on his back.

“I bet,” he whispered, “Taylor and Taylor never felt like this.”

She giggled. “You’re just jealous of the big teddy bear.”

His smile pressed on her cheek. “Maybe.”

When Luke and her first got together, they were scared to touch. Sure, they had their moment on the beach and previously, they found plenty of opportunities to be in contact. But after they made if official and there was nothing to hide behind anymore, it got scary. They yearned for affection, but what if Luke disappeared one day without meaning to and then they’d both ache for each other’s comfort? They got over it eventually and now it was only natural to feel his smile on her skin.

It was hard to imagine kissing anyone but Luke, unfathomable having a different boy hug her from behind at school and whisper sweet nothings in her ear. Only Luke could write her love notes. Only she was allowed to write him ones as well, or leave cute post-it’s on his guitar to cheer him up when he had a bad day. It was just them.

Her mind going haywire over such a simple touch jolted her memory, Julie abruptly sitting up and bringing Luke with her. His brows raised in surprise. She pecked the pout away, brushing her nose against his.

“Can I give you your present?”

A breathy smile tugged on his cheeks. “Yeah, I’m curious.”

Julie untangled herself from their embrace and reached inside her wardrobe for the gift. Sitting cross-legged in front of him, she gave him his present with barely-concealed anticipation. Hopefully he loved it as much as she loved making it!

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she sang, watching him pull the tissue paper out the small bag and unearthing the collage and bracelet.

Speechless, he gawked at the collection of pictures. Eyes flitted past each quickly, like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. Crawling over to sit beside him, she placed her head on his shoulder. “You like it?”

He sniffled. Julie looked up and was shocked to note his eyes were shiny. “Aw, babe!”

His gaze caught hers, distraught. “You’re not supposed to make me horny and then emotional!”

She laughed and pressed a kiss on his cheek. His cute reaction made her heart lurch with fondness. “It wasn’t supposed to make you cry.”

Luke sighed, hand guiding her face to place a proper kiss on her lips. It was short, but just as electric as all the ones before. He kissed like he played guitar - always intentional and one hundred percent.

“I love it,” he muttered. “Thank you. And I love the bracelet too.”

“I made sure it matches your others.”

He captured her lips again. “Yeah… Thanks, Jules.” His nose scrunched, arrogance dripping from his voice as he tucked a curl behind her ear. “My present is better though.”

Her arms crossed, challenged. “Oh really?”

“Hell yeah, it is. Gonna knock it out of the park.” With a snap of his finger, he conjured his songbook and stuck the collage between two fresh pages. He clicked his tongue with the typical bravado he exuded onstage. “Who knows, Jules, you might even get a crush on me.”

Just as she was about to retort with a tease of her own, her eyes caught a fluttering page with words she didn’t recognise. Pointing at it, she asked: “What’s that?”

Luke frowned, thumbing to the right side and rolling his eyes. “Some lyrics that got stuck in my head a few nights ago. It doesn’t work though.”

“Maybe not. I kind of like that part.” She tapped on the line ‘so deep, your DNA's being messed with my touch’ with a pensive wrinkle knitted in her forehead. Ideas began to brew, throwaway pieces from other discarded songs coming back to her and meshing well with what he’s already composed. “Yeah, this is good, Luke. Do you want to work on it?”

He hesitated for a beat, stare trailing from her to the half-eaten plate of snacks. “Do you want to?”

“Of course,” she smiled. They were Luke and Julie - did either of them really think they could go a day without music? Even if she hadn’t discovered this diamond in the rough, he’d inevitably spring upright to write down a riff or her fingers would tingle to try out a melody. Songwriting was perhaps the best date of all, showing that work and play could successfully be mixed together.

He sighed in relief. “Good. Okay, so I was thinking…”

Hours went by tinkering on the song, the afternoon drifting by and them having moved to the hammock in the garden. It was a spot Luke rediscovered and she all too willingly found a place next to him. They cherished the quietude and warmth even before they were dating. The page was now littered with flowing, strung-together verses and a half-done chorus. Instrumentals were for tomorrow when they were all together. In the back of her head lingered the thought that he still hasn’t given his supposed homerun of a present, but Julie reminded herself then that it didn’t even matter. This was enough. He was enough. Who knew, maybe he was just talking smack! The doubts vanished as Luke drummed his fingers on her stomach, humming a beat.

“And you thought it wouldn’t work!”, she teased.

He puffed. “Cause it didn’t! It needed the Molina Touch!”

A brow quirked, amused. “The Molina Touch?”

“Yes,” he grinned and tapped her chest. “The Touch.”

“I don’t have the Force, Luke.” When his face fell flat, she decided to play along and mimicked his motion. Her fingers circled his sternum as she said: “Well, I look forward to the Patterson Energy bringing it alive onstage.”

The boy rolled on his side, she following suit. The hammock bended to the movement, pushing them closer together. The couple snickered, noses nudging and locked in the other’s arms. Above, the sky was coloured like Monet, purples and blues and pinks as the sun dropped below the trees. Julie stared at the way he craned his neck, green eyes blown wide while marvelling at the sweeping atmosphere. He was the most beautiful person she’s ever encountered. She was probably a little obsessed with him, never bored of looking at him, of finding new freckles, moles and spots.

Her reverie snapped like a bubble as he said something.

“What?”

He repeated himself. “Wanna get waffles?”

She blinked. “Waffles?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “V-Day waffles. I bet they have red velvet ones.” His face twisted, like he was in on an inside joke, and murmured against her lips: “Whipped cream, Jules. Can’t resist that.”

Damn. He knew her too well. “Reggie’s going to be mad we went without him.”

“Then he should get himself a ghost lover,” he joked. Slapping her hip, the exclaim was resolute. “Let’s go!”

The drive was short, an surprising amount of waffle places scattered around Los Feliz. The cityscape was painted red for the day. Heart-shaped wreaths adorned the doors of stores, bars promoted special cocktails with pink hues, boutiques displaying date night dresses on mannequins in the windows. At the end of a large strip of food joints, a waffle house joining in with a red banner hung across the frontage. RED VELVET WAFFLES! ONLY TODAY!

Julie shot him a suspicious look. “You knew?”

He shrugged, smirking. “A good guess.”

They were lucky. The parking lot was pretty much abandoned, no onlookers to see her joking around with air. He stayed in the car as she got the treats.

As she queued, her aimless thoughts found Luke as a focal point. It was hard not to. Maybe the best thing of all for a hopeless romantic like her, was that she found someone who was an even bigger dreamer than she was. If she jumped for the stars, he rocketed himself into space and hoped for the best. It made days like Valentine’s special, but it also felt like another regular Saturday. He didn’t kiss her differently, looked at her more intently - it was always like this. The red velvet waffles was just… extra. A cherry on an already perfect milkshake. Luke and Julie never needed fireworks to make the other feel remarkable.

Dropping back in the driver’s seta with a sigh, she propped the waffles on the dashboard. “I’m not sure if it’s going to taste right, they look kind of mushy, but I’m sure the whipped cream-” The words died in her throat as she looked at Luke, a timid smile on his lips as his present laid flat in his hands. A mixtape.

Her eyes tracked the CD for a beat (jules <3 written in sharpie with his infamous scrawl) and then flicked up to his face. That was most spectacular of all: the nervous twitch in his eye, the breathy smile. Luke was flustered.

Gingerly, she took it from his grasp. “How did you make this?”, she whispered.

The palpable energy didn’t waver. “Carlos. He lend me his computer and explained how to burn CD’s.” His chuckle was awkward. “Had to get you in the car somehow.”

A smile bloomed on her lips. Her heart was truly going to explode; the gesture so thoughtful and sweet. (Shit. He did knock it out of the park. How will his ego cope?!) Reaching over the middle console, she chastely kissed him. “I already love it.”

He shook his head with a grin, shoulders loosening a bit. “You haven’t listened to it yet. C’mon, play it.” He shot her a cocky nod. “You know how to use a CD-player?”

“Very funny,” she quipped. Cautiously, she took the CD out of its case and slipped it into the player. It whirred for a beat, her upping the volume, and just as she thought she’d hear some 90s rock band, something unexpected happened.

hey jules

She froze, staring at Luke’s feverishly excited face, as his crackling voice came through the speakers.

i finally learned about technology! you happy? anyway, you know i love you. i love everything about you, i think… i think that’s kinda why i’m here to begin with.

Tears lodged itself in her chest, ready to spill. Love was going to make her go mad one day. She loved this boy so much that it was insurmountable by anything else.

that’s not- it’s not what this cd is about. His tone brightened. what i love most about you, julie molina, is how fucking in love you are with music. so what better thing to give you, is more music? these are ten songs that remind me of you… happy valentine’s day, baby.

It clicked off. Quietly, slowly, a melodious piano variation flowed in. Her breath hitched as she recognised it. Frank Sinatra’s ‘It Had To Be You’ reminded Luke of her? Her hands were shaking. His calloused ones grabbed them, pads of his fingers caressing the skin. A pout jutted from her lips, her eyes shimmering with emotion. It wasn’t fair. Boys weren’t supposed to be this romantic.

His smile could light up the entire state, touch trailing across her arm up to her cheek, grazing the lone tear that she wasn’t even aware of. “Don’t cry,” he chuckled. “I can be the only sap.”

Shaking her head, she pushed herself over the console and placed herself on his lap. The divide of a stick shift was a plain crime. Circling her arms around his neck, Julie kissed him in the way she thought the song felt. Warm and languid and timeless and wholly, utterly loving. Depthless and infinite. The thrill of his bass voice melted them together, no space between them with his hands wrapped around her lower back.

For nobody else gave me a thrill With all your faults, I love you still It had to be you, wonderful you It had to be you

“I love you,” she sighed into his mouth. “It’s not enough. It’s not…”

He kissed the lament away. “I know. That’s why music works.” Sinatra sang a line and then he grinned. “Gotta express ourselves somehow.”

Though that was true, though they had music to shape their thoughts into the most beautiful declarations of love, all she wished to have was a word. A simple word that perfectly encapsulated what she felt. Love felt too small. Too simple. But until she found it, she’d keep saying it.

And so she did. “I love you, Luke.”

His eyes shut in delight. “I love you too, Julie.”

They wouldn’t leave for a long time. Locked in each other’s loving embrace, they listened to every song on the mixtape. And when it ended, they looped it.

Time and space wasn’t really important to them anyway.

For nobody else gave me a thrill With all your faults, I love you still It had to be you, wonderful you It had to be you

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

@blush-and-books @bluefirewrites @ourstarscollided @alexjulies @unsaid-emily @willexx

#i will force any person to listen to jazz thats my life mission #happy valentine's day!#juke #julie and the phantoms #jatp fanfiction #otp: i think we make each other better

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sundaysundaes · 4 years

Text

Iridescent

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader/Female OC | Romance, Smut, Fluff, Angst | NC-17 | Soulmate AU, Childhood-Friends-Become-Lovers AU

An epilogue to Monochrome. Contains HEAVY SPOILERS, so please read Monochrome and Spectra before you read this.

Summary: Lee Donghyuck once believed in the concept of soulmates—how fate would connect a red thread from one lover to another, in a form of dreams and memories. That was how his parents met, that was how they claimed their happiness, and he wanted nothing more but to live his life the way they lived theirs. Until one day, as he sees her slipping away from his hands, he has no choice but to stop believing entirely.

Broken bones can be mended and bruises may vanish over time, but what befell Lee Donghyuck after the accident was deeper than fractures and scars. It took him five days to wake up from his comatose sleep, eight months for his body to fully recuperate, and another ten months in rehabilitation to overcome his trauma and mental state. But even then, he was never the same. He would never be the same.

As he could never be able to see the light again.

“Vision loss may strike as a devastating injury that could change your life,” his doctor once said during his regular check-up, “But it doesn’t mean that your life has ended, nor should you stop living. There’s still a beautiful world out there waiting for you. It may feel hard today or tomorrow, but you will get through this. You will get better.”

But to Donghyuck, they sounded like a string of murmurs as if the older man was drowning but still trying to mouth the words to him. Or maybe he was the one who was drowning instead, with no chance to resurface. And he didn’t mind, not at all. He wasn’t sure he had the will to do it anyway.

A gentle caress of warm fingertips and a voice as smooth as a lullaby to a child’s ears were the only ones who kept him sane. She was there, from the very first day he’d opened his eyes and seen nothing, and she continued to stay, no matter how much he’d cried in agony or screamed from bottled-up anger. She would hug him when the thought of hurting himself became too much to bear, and she would tell him over and over again, how lucky she was to have him alive and breathing in her arms. And she would still call him in the same way—Haechannie, Haechannie—between loving words that were filled with nothing but honesty, even if he no longer shone as bright as the sun.

She was the sole reason why he continued living, though not truly alive. The only one who gave comfort to his shattered heart and soul. To him, there would be no life without her.

On the day he was discharged from the hospital, dressed in his favorite white tee and a knitted navy-blue sweater she often borrowed to wear around her figure, his chocolate brown hair was long and untrimmed, nearly brushing against his collar. His skin was starting to lose its beautiful tan, and his collar bones were protruding from how much he had lost weight during his recovery. His matching dark eyes were slightly opened and they shone in a soft glow under the sun, but they were as lifeless as the waves before the storm.

But to her, he was still a sight to behold.

Pushing his bangs out of his eyes with her fingertips, she smiled. “I haven’t seen you standing under the sun for a long time,” she said, mesmerized by the way his hair was fluttering under the wind. “My Haechannie is so pretty.”

He responded by kissing her inner palm and they hugged once before she accompanied him walking down the stairs.

“One step at a time, okay, Haechannie?”

Her voice was always warm, always filled with the passion of life, as if she was trying hard to be happy for his sake as well. And it made him feel various emotions at once, from the elation of having someone as patient and loving as her nurture him back to health, from agony for being the one who always caused her trouble, and from fear of losing her if one day she woke up and decided to not love him again.

“Don’t let go of my hand. I’m here with you, Haechannie. I always will be.”

Her promise found its way to his heart, and instead of making him feel drowned like anybody else, she was the one who pulled him out of the water.

“I won’t,” Donghyuck said, tattered voice escaping chapped lips. “As long as you’d let me.”

He couldn’t see her smile, but he could somehow sense it in the way she let out her breath, in the way she squeezed his hand, in every time she spoke his name.

“I got permission from your parents to take you somewhere today before we head back home,” she mentioned before a small, excited giggle tumbled down her lips. He was sitting in what he supposed to be his father’s car by the smell of it, and he let himself stay in silence as she dragged a seatbelt forward and tied it around his body with a click. “I hope you don’t mind taking a walk because I’ve been dying to go on a date with my boyfriend.” He could hear her placing her seatbelt and the sound of dangling keys. The car engine soon started with a stutter and Donghyuck’s fingers immediately tried to find reassurance by sinking their nails into the edge of his seat, his heart ramming against his ribcages.

“Hey, it’s okay.” She hastily laced their fingers together, stealing his shivers away with how firm she held on to his hand. “Breathe, Haechannie. I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you, do you hear me?”

It reminded him of their old days when she tried to protect him with a plastic sword from the monster that hid under his bed. She still had the same effects on him as to how she did back then, clouding his entire mind with the feeling of safety and assurance.

He followed her guidance and tried to smile even when his throat felt like burning and his heart trying to find its way to leap out of his chest. “I’ll—” he swallowed when an inevitable crack appeared in his voice. “I’ll be fine.”

There was a pause and he desperately wanted to see what kind of expression she had on her face, but the thought went away when he felt a pair of lips meeting his in a soft, chaste kiss.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding somewhat shy when she parted away but close enough for him to feel her breath on his face. “I know you’re shaking in fear and a kiss would probably be the last thing you wanted right now, but…” She brushed her thumb along his lower lip, yearning for him. “I really miss you.”

Given the situation, perhaps it wasn’t the right thing to do but to him, it was exactly what he needed. She made him feel wanted, made him feel like his existence did matter to her more than just as a burden. So Donghyuck blindly reached out to her, searching for her hands, her face, her everything, and she met him halfway, lips melding into his as naturally as breathing.

To her, he still felt the same—just as warm, just as pleasant, just as passionate although his touch felt frail on her skin. Donghyuck was still Donghyuck she remembered, the one who reminded her of the sun, and how his entire presence made her feel joy in the way no one had ever given to her before.

She was devastated when she nearly lost her sun. Countless nights were spent with her crying with her face sinking at the sheet of his hospital bed, just a few moments after he fell into his slumber with lines of tears smearing his cheeks. She had always tried to be strong in front of him and his family, but when she was alone in the dark, listening to his soft breathing as he slept, she would allow herself to break apart, just for a few moments.

Those five days when he was in his comatose state was the loneliest, most painful time she had to endure in all her years of living. Her fingers were desperately squeezing his just to feel a slight movement and she had called and called and called but he never answered. Her life was suddenly as dark as the night, where the moon had crumbled to dust with stars transforming into black holes.

So when he finally opened his eyes, her name escaping his lips, she felt like she was being reborn, finding back her purpose in life and there would be no way, no matter how hard it would be for them, for her to let go of her sun again.

“I love you,” she whispered between kisses, finding her way back to his lips with a sense of urgency every time, “I love you, Haechannie.” Fingers curling against his soft locks, lips moving from his mouth, nose, temple, cheek, before they went back to the start with shy tongues darting only to take a hint of how they other tasted. “Don’t ever leave me again. Please.”

It was he who should’ve spoken those words. It was he who should’ve begged her to stay. So knowing that she felt the same way, Donghyuck whimpered against her mouth, lifeless eyes began to spark in the way they used to.

***

He didn’t know where she was taking him away but by the briny scent that traveled the air, he muttered his guess, “Are we going to the beach?”

“Correct. Any idea which one?”

“The… The one where we spent our summer vacation?”

“Try being more specific.”

He curled his fingers, flush bloomed on his cheeks. “The one where I confessed my feelings for you for the first time?”

A soft chuckle. “That’s right. The one where you made my heart flutter, as promised.”

“I didn’t know I succeeded at that time.”

“You’ve always won against me, Haechannie. Even if I did win at something, it was only because you’d let me.”

The trip was a three-hour drive from the hospital, and they filled the silence by recalling their memories or humming songs to whatever the radio was playing. She begged him to sing, but he was only brave enough to do it after the fifth time she’d tried, and although he hated the croaky sound he made from his throat, she squeezed his thigh, saying, “Thank you for making me so happy.” He wasn’t sure what she was referring to—was it his voice or his entire existence?—but he realized he didn’t care, as long as he could fulfill his sole purpose of living.

The evening sun was warm on his face when she opened the car door and guided him to step forward into the sand, his sneakers sinking slightly into it under his weight. “Careful,” she reminded, circling one hand around his waist as he shakily wrapped his around her shoulder. “Can you smell the air?”

He could smell the scent of her strawberry shampoo. “Yeah. Salty.”

She quietly laughed. “Do you want to get closer to the water?”

“I’m…” The thought of him not wanting to trouble her was heavier than his desire. “I’m fine here.”

There was a pause, which made him ponder whether he said something wrong but then she huffed loudly. “You’re no fun. Well, we’re going to get, at least, our feet wet, whether you like it or not. So come on, keep up with me, slowpoke.”

Hearing that coming from a girl who didn’t even want to get sand on her shorts was something that made his entire body feel warm, and the sun had no part in it.

She helped him untie his sneakers, rolled up his jeans to his knees before she pushed him slowly into the water. He could feel the waves meeting his skin, could imagine how it would look like—the sand being carried away by the pressure of the water, his feet sinking a little deeper into the ground, perhaps a strand of seaweed catching around his bare toe.

“The sun is setting,” she said and he could somehow hear the grin in her voice. “Isn’t it romantic?”

“I guess.” He felt her wrapping her arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna take you dancing.” Her smile was sheepish, her cheeks reddening almost the same color as the glow that illuminated her features. “Oh, wait. I forgot the music.”

“Noona—”

“Just a sec.” She held up a finger to his lips as she fiddled with her phone with her other hand. “Where’s that song you—oh, here it is.”

Donghyuck could hear the song—the exact same song he’d played back then when he’d asked her to do the same thing under the starry sky. “You’re right,” he murmured with a weak smile, as she tucked her phone back into her coat’s pocket. “I should’ve picked a better song. Thinking Out Loud is way too overrated.”

“It’s okay, it’s been growing on me these days. Been using it as my alarm even.”

Her giggle was adorable and gleeful while his was soft, almost inaudible. “Is that so…”

She caressed his face, eyes becoming tender when she noticed him leaning more to her touch. “I’ve missed hearing you laugh.”

Donghyuck’s breath hitched a little so he stayed in reticence. The sound of the wind and the crashing waves were louder than her speaker, so she urged him to sing, knowing that he already remembered the song by heart. He disinclined at first but he grew soft at her pleading.

As he began to hum along the first chorus, she stroke the skin on his nape soothingly with her fingertips. “Have I told you about the day when I realized I loved you?”

He smiled, another flashback hitting him like the soft waves around his feet. “Enlighten me, please.”

“There were two different times, actually.” She leaned closer, swaying their bodies side-to-side ever so slightly. “The first time I realized I felt something for you was back when we were still in junior high. An asshole in my class stole my sketchbook and you got into a fight to retrieve it back—even though you said you got your bruises from tripping down the stairs. I felt so happy knowing that there was someone out there who cared a lot about me.”

“I did trip down the stairs, actually.”

“Of course, you did.” But like the old days, she saw right through his lies. “The second time was when we were celebrating your birthday. I wore this yellow dress that looked way too tacky for the occasion and people were looking at me weird. And you stayed by my side, ignoring everybody in the house even though it was your birthday, and you told me that I was the prettiest girl in the room.”

He hummed in agreement. “Prettier than me even.”

“That’s right.” She snickered but her tone gradually turned into something more sincere. “So when I told you that you were my first love, I wasn’t lying nor was I exaggerating. I’ve loved you just as long as you have, I just wasn’t brave enough to admit it unlike you. And I still regret that, even to this day. We wasted so many days, and I hurt you so many times—”

“It’s okay.” He shook his head, his closed eyes somehow began to feel hot. “It’s in the past.”

She broke down into another smile, fingers reaching out to swat his bangs away from his face. “You’re right. We still have the rest of our lives to make up for it.”

When he suddenly became mute, it made her heart thump faster in anxiety. But Donghyuck soon tugged her closer into his chest, his arms enveloping her entire figure and she sighed in relief as he laid his chin on top of her head.

“What are you wearing?” He asked, his lips brushing against her hair.

“Only in my skimpy bra and g-string, lover.”

“No, I’m serious.” He could feel his laugh reverberating from his chest and it still felt unfamiliar after all this time. “Describe it to me in detail. I want to imagine the scenery.”

She was smiling but her eyes grew softer. “I’m wearing that red dress you said you loved.”

“O-oh…” He wetted his lips. “I didn’t realize that since you’re wearing—what is it, a coat?—“ She confirmed with a nod. “Right. What else?”

“My hair is untied, but I’ve cut it short since it became a nuisance whenever I have to go to work early and don’t have time to style my hair.”

“How short?”

“Short enough to show the necklace you gave me.”

His heart was loud in his ears, almost deafening. “You’re still wearing that?”

“Yes.” He could sense her moving away, sliding her hand down his arm in a silky-smooth touch before she intertwined their fingers. “Along with something else.”

“Wha—” He felt her guiding his fingers to trace hers and the second he touched it, it felt like his world was turning upside-down. “You’re wearing… a ring…” whether it was a question or a statement, he wasn’t clear himself.

“Yes,” she gently replied, moving even closer. “Want to guess what ring it is?”

His heart was in his throat. “Please don’t…” he shook his head, taking a step back. “Please don’t say it’s the engagement ring I was about to give you.”

But she didn’t need to answer, because what else could it be?

She reached out for him but he slapped her hand away when it reached his sleeve. “Haechannie—”

Donghyuck tripped on his feet, falling to his knees and felt the ocean swallowing him inch-by-inch, seawater seeping into his clothes. His face was nowhere near the water and yet he was gasping frantically for air, his chest suffocating and sending jolts of pain to his entire body.

He could hear her shouting his name in concern, could tell the panic in her voice, but how could he comfort her when he couldn’t even help himself?

The world was swirling in his head even when he could only perceive the darkness with his eyes. His stomach lurched as he coughed multiple times, throat burning in flames.

“Oh God, okay, you’re having a panic attack,” she sounded breathy, afraid, as she clutched her hands around his shoulders. “Breathe with me. Haechannie, focus, I need you to breathe.”

He had a hand on his chest while his other one was sinking deep in the sand. The memory of the accident—how it ruined everything he had planned for her, for himself, and the future they were about to face together—and knowing how useless he had become, to simply reduce himself into nothing but a burden who couldn’t even pass through a door without help, made him feel like his world was ending.

She pulled him into an embrace, sinking his face into the crook of her neck—a habit he once grew fond of—and whispered his name over and over again until it sounded like a prayer, steadying his heartbeat little by little with every second passing by. She only hugged him even tighter when he managed to calm his breathing. “You’re okay,” she exhaled in relief, “You’re okay. We’re okay.”

He brought his hand to the back of her head, feeling her strands under his fingers and finally noticing how short it was. “You should let me go,” he whispered, voice quivering.

Whether he was talking about her embrace or letting him out of her life, she didn’t care. The answer was the same for both. “No.”

“I’m fine now.”

“Well, I’m not. I want to stay like this.” Her voice was muffled by the fabric of his sweater. “Let me stay like this.”

He kept still but he no longer answered her hug, letting his arms fell loose on the side of his body. “Why did you wear the ring?”

“Because I want to.”

It soothed him a little that she answered with those words and not “Because it’s something you wanted to give me and I know how much you want me to wear it.”

He noticed her body shivering as their knees were still buried in the sand, engulfed in seawater. “We should move. It’s getting colder.”

She eventually nodded, helping him up to his feet and went back to their car, immediately turning the heater on before she carried him to the back seat where they settled close next to each other.

“Are you cold?” She asked, her voice quivering as she took her half-drenched coat off. “Guess it wasn’t a smart idea going back to the beach in autumn, huh?” He didn’t answer, too busy maintaining his composure so he wouldn’t freak out again. “Your clothes are soaked, we should get you changed. I brought some spare with me. Oh, and a blanket too.”

She was doing enough talking for both of them to fill the silence so Donghyuck kept his lips pressed tightly shut and followed her order, lifting his hands so she could pull his sweater over his head. She unbuttoned his shirt, blushing a little when his chest and stomach came into view, reminding her of the times where they spent their days raking nails down each other’s skin, exchanging wanton moans between wet kisses.

When he was left only in his jeans, she unzipped her dress, the clothing falling off her shoulders before she slipped it off her body entirely. Grabbing a blanket from the trunk, she scooted over to his place, wrapping the fabric around both of their bodies. She took his hand in hers, rubbing his cold one with hers over and over until he stopped shivering. “You really are sensitive to cold,” she mumbled to herself, “Warm enough?”

“You should’ve just thrown it away.”

She abruptly stopped moving, hands freezing as they were holding him mid-air. “What?”

“The ring,” he murmured, sliding his hand away from hers and bringing it down to his lap. “It doesn’t have any meaning now, so…”

She took her time to reply, begging herself to stay calm even when the pain was tearing her apart. Her tone was expressively hurt when she finally spoke, “You don’t want to marry me anymore?”

He could feel his jaw tightening. “Do you still want to marry me?”

“Yes, just as much as I did on the day you proposed to me for the first time. If not more.”

She answered him fast and firm, without a trace of hesitation or doubts. But the fear that his thoughts screamed at him echoed louder in his head, reducing her promise to sound nothing more than a whisper being carried by the wind. To him, she seemed like she was about to cry, and perhaps she was, but not because she had doubts about marrying him. She was heartbroken because he appeared like he was forcing her to do something she disgusts, when marrying him had been her wish all along.

If he could see her, he would’ve seen the hurtful look that painted her face. She became mute, averting her focus to her hands that laid frozen on her lap. “Haechannie,” she eventually called, “When I think of you, what do you think comes into my mind?”

A liability. A deadweight. Someone you should abandon to make your life bearable. But he stayed as soundless as the night.

“Do you think I’m doing all of this because I’m forced to do it?” Her voice was soft, but he could sense a hidden rage between her words. “Because I’m obliged to take care of you as your girlfriend—your fiancee?”

“It’s not that, it’s—” He spluttered, turning to look at her although his eyes could only see the darkness. “I just wasn’t sure it’s still the future you want us to have.“ He hesitated, his voice became quiet. “And I’m not sure whether you still want me in this condition—”

“Why are you saying that?” Her voice grew frantic. “That’s really—That’s not—“ She buried her face in her hands, her chest tightening. “I want you—of course, I want you. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”

Somehow, her affection felt like a stabbing pain from all the self-loathe that bubbled in his chest. “But I’m not the same now.”

“Doesn’t mean that I’ll stop loving—God, Haechannie, why can’t you see that we—”

“That’s the fucking problem, isn’t it? I can’t see!” His voice was resonating loudly, colored with dismay and agony, muting the sound of waves crashing behind them. “I’m fucking blind! I don’t know what kind of face you wear around me these days. I can’t tell whether you’re lying or not when you say these words—”

“I will never lie to you—”

“Yes, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m afraid!” He broke apart, voice filled with quivers as it nearly reduced into short gasps. “I’m afraid of having you look at me like I’m a liability. I’m tired of trying to convince myself that I can be some kind of help to you when I can’t even button my fucking shirt properly. I want to marry you—God, I want to marry you so bad—but what do I have to offer? I can’t function like a normal person, I’ve lost my job, I’m going insane, and I can’t see a damn thing!”

The second he stopped speaking, only the sound of their surroundings could be heard, along with their ragged breathing. Donghyuck brought his face to the side, hiding half of his face behind his shaky fingers, inhaling a few times to control his breathing but failing on each try.

Her eyes began to water as well but she erased the tears before they could stroll down her face. “I’m not sure if you know this already but,” she said, forcing herself to smile between hot tears. “I know how you’d prepared everything that day. I was shocked when my mother told me that you’d asked for their permission to marry me. I didn’t know you were so serious about this. I was so happy, but even then, I wasn’t as happy as the day you finally woke up, five days after the accident. I was just so relieved that I could see you alive and breathing again—to hold you in my arms, to hear your voice saying my name. I know how devastating this feels to you, losing your vision so suddenly like this, and I know how insensitive I will sound to you but let me just say this.”

She reached out to him, cupping his cheek with one hand so he could turn his face around. His eyes were tightly shut, but his eyelashes were wet as they rested against his cheeks. “I don’t care that you’re blind,” she said, rubbing her thumb gently along his cheekbone. “And I don’t care if you can’t walk without hitting walls, or if you can’t make your own coffee or wear your own clothes—what I care about is that we’re both here, together, alive and well, and there is nothing in the world that could change my mind.” When he was about to turn away again, to be swallowed by his emotions, she held his face with both hands, forcing him to bare his soul in front of her eyes. “I’d rather have you in this state or worse, rather than losing you entirely, Haechannie. I need you just as much, if not more. So, if you could just trust me, please.”

Donghyuck laid his palm against the back of her hand. “You’re better off without me, Noona. And it’s not just because of how I am now. Bad things do happen when you ignore the signs and deny your soulmate—you should’ve been with Mark—”

“I don’t care about soulmates.” She was frustrated, he could tell, by the way he was so adamant about this. “Isn’t that what you said to me too back then?”

“I know, but seeing how this happened to me, I—”

“Haechannie,” she called, gripping his hand tightly until his knuckles turned white. “What happened to you is an accident. It has nothing to do with soulmates or fate—people get into accidents, these things happen—”

“Yes, I get that, but what if it’s not? I don’t care if anything happens to me, but I can’t—” He took a sharp intake of breath. “I can’t afford anything happening to you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Then do you want to spend your days alone instead of being with me?” Her tone was inscrutable, almost impersonal to his ears. “Be honest.”

Donghyuck bit his lip. “It doesn’t matter what I want—“

“Stop listening to your own thoughts. Listen to mine. Listen to what I’m saying.” Her temple was pressed against his, her breath fanning against his lips. “I need you, Hyuck. And if you’re too afraid to be with me, just like how I used to in the past, then let me fight for this. Let me fight for us the way you used to.” Her lips were so close to him that he could almost feel every syllable with his own. “And before you regret everything as much as I did about us, accept me.”

And just like a twig cracking under pressure, Donghyuck snapped.

He rushed to close the gap between them, his lips meeting another pair in a searing kiss and she gasped against his mouth, body tumbling backward to the seat with him pressing hotly against her. He finally let himself go, finally caved into his desires, finally devoted himself back to her like how he did in the past.

He was rushing everything, hands desperately clawing against every part of her skin that he could reach, his kiss frenzied. But all of that was a mere distraction so she wouldn’t be able to hear him whimpering against her mouth, lips quivering as he tried to contain his sobs.

“I love you,” he hastily said, holding her face with one hand as he kissed her fervently. “I’m sorry for hurting you over and over again—” The way he smashed his lips against hers was both bruising and comforting. “I just—I want you to be happy,” he groaned at the back of his throat when she tugged his lower lip between her teeth, “With or without me, I don’t care, as long as you’re happy, I—”

“With you,” she immediately confirmed, yanking against the strands of his hair as she peppered kisses down the column of his neck. “I’m only happy when I’m with you, Haechannie, so—” And she melded their lips together again, tongues sliding against one another, drowning in passion.

It was a mystery to her when Donghyuck said he wasn’t the same. He still felt like flames, burning her skin with his every touch, igniting sparks of fire in her heart with whispers of her name. But even if he was transforming into an entirely different person, she knew she would still dedicate herself to him either way.

There’s no life without you.

What started as a rush of a moment gradually turned into something slow where they began to savor each touch with more affection and less uncontrollable lust. As he needed her guidance, she switched their positions, letting Donghyuck sat with his spine pressed against the seat, the skin on his back sticking uncomfortably against the leather.

She noticed how he flinched more under her fingertips, sensitive to even a small graze of skin meeting skin. “Are you okay?” She asked, settling on his lap, straps of her bra falling off her shoulders.

He nodded anxiously, tilting his face so she could take the sign and kiss him again and she did, but her touch was paper-thin. “You seem nervous,” she commented, caressing his cheek in concern as he circled his arms around her waist.

“I am,” he admitted, cheeks turning rosy. “I’m going crazy because I can’t see you. I’m afraid that I’d do something wrong and make you feel—”

“Then I’ll let you know,” she assured him, thumb tracing his lower lip. “I’ll say everything if that’s what you want to know, so stop thinking too much.” She leaned down, pressing a sweet kiss to his forehead before she brushed the tip of her nose against his. “And just… feel me more.”

Donghyuck let her take his hand and exhaled softly when she pressed it against her cheek, shaky fingertips began to trace her jawline, the shape of her lips, her chin, her neck. His eyes were closed but his eyebrows were furrowed deep in concentration, and she would’ve smiled at the sight if his touches weren’t scorching on her skin, enveloping her with sensations she had been longing for months.

His other senses were heightened, noticing her scent better, listening to every gasp, every moan of his name, feeling her veins, her small scars from her childhood days—everything.

“So beautiful,” he praised under his breath but she caught it, sending goosebumps all over her body. “A-are you okay?” He asked, noticing how she fidgeted and shifted her weight. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, it’s just—“ She bit her lip when his fingers ran along the valley of her breasts, stopping when he reached her bra. “It’s been a while since we last—” a moan escaped her lips when he slipped his thumb behind the fabric, calloused skin meeting her sensitive nub. “Haechannie…”

Donghyuck gulped, his ears turning scarlet. Not being able to see the whole thing yet hearing the sounds she made really drove him to the brink of his sanity. “God, I wish I could see you,” he nearly whimpered. “I want to see your face.”

“Do you— ” She shuddered, as he brought his lips to trace every line he made with his fingertips before. “Do you still see me in your dreams?”

He nodded once, cupping her breast and sighing in content when it fit his palm perfectly.

She flinched, pressing her hips down to meet him more, urging him to move even closer. “Present ones?”

“N-not these days,” he moaned against her neck at the needed friction. “I see your past memories more often.”

She had to stop him and push him away for a moment because she couldn’t concentrate with his lips shyly sucking bruises on her sensitive parts. “Then let’s make as many memories as we can,” she said, slightly out of breath. “Maybe you can’t see me now, but you’ll see me in your dreams. Maybe then you’ll realize just how happy I am these days, because of you.”

He parted his lips in realization. He was too consumed by his depressing thoughts that he never tried to look through a new perspective. Even when he had lost his vision, she still managed to paint a spectrum of colors in his mind, in one way or another. As long as he’s with her, his life would never be monochromatic.

So this time, he could truly smile.

“Then…” He brought his hand down, whispering against her ear, “I can see you when we’re doing this too?” He suddenly slipped behind the fabric of her underwear, sliding his finger along her folds and she almost leaped out to her feet, yelping in surprise.

“Haechannie!” Her face was flushed, even going down to her neck and for the first time in what felt like forever, Donghyuck laughed, so airy and so him, making her eyes widen when she realized just how much she’d missed seeing him like this. “Ah, you’re really just—“ but she never finished, already moving her hips against him again, lips meeting in a heated kiss as it became a necessity for both of them to fulfill.

“Marry me,” he said, breathless and desperate as he kissed her shoulder, almost sinking his nails on the sides of her hips from how tight he was holding her. “Please marry me. I want—I need you to be my wife.”

Her eyes were unfocused, just like his were. Hooking her fingers around his silver necklace, she tugged him closer before she mouthed against the mole on his neck, making him moan her name.

“That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time.” She giggled, grabbing him by the chin in preparation for another kiss. “Idiot.”

***

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harley-sunday · 4 years

Text

This is Where I Leave You

Summary: What was supposed to be a simple mission turns out to be a matter of life and death.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader [unnamed OFC (loosely based on Firestar)]

Warnings: ANGST. Character death. Language.

Word count: 5.9k

AN: Not sure why but I was in the mood for some angst last week and so here it is. It is somewhat inspired by Flashpoint S02E14 for those of you who know that show, but it takes place in that wonderful Marvel fanfic Universe where everyone lives at the compound/in the tower and Friday night’s are for Tony’s parties. I’m sure you know the one. I apologize in advance and yes, I did cry while writing this, so…

♥

Flashbacks in italics

In for seven, out for eleven.

It’s almost like a mantra stuck on repeat in your head, a distraction that only works half of the time.

In for seven, out for eleven.

In for seven, out for-

All of a sudden something moving in the treeline catches your eye and you squint against the sun to try and figure what it is and if you should alert Steve.

Steve, who’s on his knees at your feet, quietly working away and completely focused on the task at hand, although you can tell from the tense muscles in his back and the beads of sweat crowning his hairline that there’s probably a war going on inside of him. You wonder what he’s thinking right now and if he also feels like the weight of the world has been dropped on his shoulders.

Something steps out from in between the trees then and you let out a sigh of relief when you see it’s just a deer and her two fawns foraging for food. You watch them as they continue their journey, the fawns trailing behind their mother as if they’re connected by an invisible string, completely unaware of the two humans that are not even fifty yards away. You know the direction of the wind is in your favor, a brisk breeze kissing your face every now and then, a welcome relief from the sun that’s burning your cheeks, but even so you are amazed at how invisible you can become if you just stand still.

Your watch beeps then, scaring off the animals and letting you know another minute has passed. Like he did at every other minute mark, sixteen of them now in total, Steve looks up to check on you.

“You ok?”

“Yeah,” it comes out a little shaky and the tears that have started to form in your eyes are not helping to convince him. You try to smile, “Guess I should have taken a better look at that waiver Tony made me sign when I first joined, huh?”

“Rogers,” Tony says as he takes your elbow and guides you to where Captain America is standing, alone, in front of the large windows that make up the entire west wall of Tony and Pepper’s penthouse, his hands in his pockets and his back to the crowded room.

He turns around just as you and Tony reach him and you wonder if the serum has enhanced his hearing so that he can hear you approach him even over the murmur of the crowd that’s gathered here for one of Tony’s infamous parties, but then you realize he must have seen your reflection in the window he was staring out of.

“Cap,” Tony says as he gently pushes you forward, “I’d like you to meet our newest recruit.”

You can see Cap’s eyebrows knit together as his eyes land on your face but before you can say anything Tony beats you to it.

“Don’t look at her like that, she’s still a good, what-” he shrugs, “-sixty years younger than you.”

You throw Tony a look, “Sixty-eight, thank you very much.”

“Whatever,” Tony says with a very elaborate roll of his eyes.

You shake your head and try to ignore him, instead holding out your hand and introducing yourself.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve replies with a hesitant smile, his eyes moving from you to Tony as if he’s trying to figure out your history.

“Yeah, so uh, she’s a nuclear engineer but as we all know-” Tony nods to his left where Bruce is sitting at the bar, “-sometimes experiments fail, you know, liquids get mixed up, nasty stuff. So now Firestar over here can produce radiation and light, and can absorb and manipulate energy. Pretty nifty, if you ask me, but then again-”

“Tony-”

“You know what, fine,” Tony says with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I just came here to introduce you to Cap since he wasn’t here for the official introduction earlier this week.” He turns to Steve then, “Told you she’d be a delight.”

You shake your head at Tony, “Please go away.”

Tony fakes being shocked, hand to his chest as he says, “Remind me to write you up for bad behavior, Sparky,” before he salutes the two of you and disappears.

“Asshole,” you mutter quietly as you watch him make his way across the room. When you turn back you find Steve staring at you with a questionable look in his eyes. You’re quick to explain, “I know him from before all of this-” you hesitate but then you hold up your hand and snap your fingers, creating a tiny spark, “-happened. We worked together on some projects in the past and when he found out about the “incident”-” you air-quote the word, “-he contacted me and told me there would always be a place for me here.” You smile, “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ve known him long enough to know he can be a real pain in the ass sometimes.”

“Hmm,” Steve agrees, although he doesn’t comment on it any further. Instead he nods towards the other people in the room, his hands back in the pockets of his pants again, “Everyone treating you ok so far?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “it’s nice to be here.” It’s true. Ever since the incident at the lab you’ve felt like an outsider, felt people could tell there was something wrong with you, but not here. Here people are kind, not just interested in your powers but in you as a person, and honestly it’s like a weight has lifted off your shoulders.

“Good.”

You open your mouth to say something but it’s then your watch beeps, letting you know it’s time to get back downstairs. “I’m sorry,” you look up at Steve, “I have some things I need to do in the lab.” You pull a face, “Probably best not to mess up five months worth of experiments in my first week here, right?”

Steve chuckles, “Probably not, no.”

“So,” you try to smile, “I guess this is where I leave you.”

After another three minutes have passed you risk a quick glance down and see Steve’s still trying to clear the dirt surrounding your foot, his movements as controlled as possible, trying not to touch the box you’re standing on. When you look up again you do the same thing you’ve been doing for the past ten minutes or so and start listing off the things that are in your field of vision.

“Tahoe on my left,” you whisper, “an iron gate in front of it, three barracks to my right, all their doors open.” You let out a staggered breath, “The tree line in front and behind me, and a mother deer and her two fawns wandering around somewhere.”

“Steve at your feet,” he says then, looking up at you with a weak smile, “trying to get you out of this mess.”

“This is going to be one hell of a debriefing, Cap,” you try, but your voice catches on his name and when you try to smile you feel yourself failing.

“I don’t understand, Nat.” You let out a frustrated sigh and throw your gym bag on the floor, “Why does he have to be such an asshole?”

“He’s not-”

“He tells me to watch my language like I’m a fuckin’ sixteen-year old kid,” you hold up your hand and start counting on your fingers, “he makes me write the reports after every mission we go on and then ever since last month, he wants to meet up so we can debrief but it’s always just the two of us, whoever else is on our team doesn’t have to attend for whatever reason, and then during our last mission brief he told me to be careful. Like, what the hell is that about?”

“Maybe he-”

“I have been a part of the team for over a year and all of a sudden he’s worried about me? That accident in the lab should have killed me, and let me tell you, I was ok with that. I made peace with it. But instead of dying I can now produce fuckin’ radiation at any given time,” you fume, “so I don’t think breaking and entering into a high security prison to retrieve the file of one their inmates is going to me killed. I’m sorry, but no.”

Natasha throws you a look, silently asking if there’s more or if this is it. When you don’t say anything else she takes a deep breath and holds out her hands, letting you know she comes in peace, “Maybe he does those things because he likes you.”

“I- He-,” you stutter. “What?”

Natasha drops her hands and sits down on one of the benches, patting the spot next to her and waiting for you to sit down before she continues, “I’ve known Steve for a while so,” she shrugs, “I like to think that I know him, sometimes maybe even better than he knows himself.” She smiles at you then, “I see the way he looks at you when he tells you to be careful-”

You scoff, “Yeah, sure.”

“No.” Natasha shakes her head, “You want to know the reason why he wants you to write those reports?”

You shrug.

“It’s because he values your opinion more than anyone else’s,” Nat puts her hand on your arm and gives it a gentle squeeze, “and all those debriefings with just the two of you?” She chuckles, “That was my idea.”

“What?”

“Like I said, I see the way he looks at you, but-” Natasha shakes her head, “-he would never admit it. Not to me, not to you, and sure as hell not to himself. He’s lost so much already that he doesn’t even believe this is a possibility.”

“And what makes you think I do?”

“Oh come on,” Natasha nudges you with her shoulder, “I’ve seen the way you look at him too.”

“Steve?”

He stands up at the sound of your voice, so suddenly that it makes you want to take a step back, and so you curse quietly when at the very last nanosecond you realize that you can’t. Your leg’s a little shaky, no doubt a result of the conflict between the neurons your brain already fired when you wanted to move and the new neurons that were sent to intercept that message when you remembered you shouldn’t move. With a grunt you try to regain your balance while trying to make sure you don’t move your weight around too much because God knows what will happen if it does.

“Shit,” he holds up his hands to you, “I’m sorry. I-”

“Hey,” you say with a faint smile, “language.” You nod towards the Tahoe that’s parked just outside the gate, “You think you could get me a bottle of water? I’m feeling a little thirsty.”

Steve looks from you to the box and back, unsure almost.

You glance at your watch, “I’ve been here for almost twenty five minutes,” you try your hardest to smile, “I’m sure it’ll be alright.”

“Ok,” he nods, “just don’t move, ok?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the P.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Go on,” you nod towards the car, “I’m not going anywhere.” You know it is the wrong thing to say when you see him try to hide the pained look that crosses his face by turning around quickly, but you catch a glimpse of it anyway and it makes your eyes burn with unshed tears while a ragged breath escapes you. The unfairness of it all hurting you the most.

Before you have time to think about it though, your watch buzzes to let you know you have a new message from Nat, telling you to switch your comms unit over to channel two. You tap the settings on your watch and change the channel effortlessly, “Nat?”

“Hey,” her voice is kind, softer than usual, and it’s at that moment you realize this is way worse than you thought. “You ok?”

“Tell me what you know,” you reply instead, not really wanting to answer her question because you are sure that it will break you if you do.

Nat clears her throat, “We’re almost there.”

“What’s almost?”

Natasha hesitates.

“Nat-”

“Twenty minutes,” her voice is barely above a whisper.

“Fuck.” All of a sudden it’s getting difficult to breath and it feels as if someone has dropped a hundred pound weight on your chest and then punched you in the stomach for good measure.

“Just breathe,” Nat says, “please. Just,” she sighs, “don’t move and keep breathing, ok?”

It’s then you hear Steve close the car door, holding two bottles of water, “I need to go.” You let out a shaky breath, “Nat, If I don’t- Promise me you’ll take care of him?”

“Don’t-”

“Nat,” you plead, “promise me.”

“Ok,” she whispers, “I promise.”

You let him know you’re there with a soft knock on the door before you step inside, “Hey.”

“Hey,” he draws out, suspiciously eyeing the basket you're carrying.

“Uh, yeah,” you say, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks but deciding it’s better not to beat around the bush, “so today a year ago we had our first debriefing together and I thought maybe we should celebrate?”

“Hmm,” he replies while walking over to where you’ve put the basket on the table, trying to lift the lid.

“Don’t,” you say as you swat away his hand, “you’ll ruin the surprise.”

“Surely you don’t want to celebrate here?”

“Why not?” You smile, “This is where we had our first debriefing after all,” a grin then, “and every one after that.”

“Well, if you’re up for it,” he says with a smile, “maybe we could go up to the roof? I think there’s a picnic table up there, so-”

“I’d like that,” you say, reaching for the basket.

This time it’s him who swats away your hand as he grabs the handle, “Come on.”

You follow him to the elevator bay not too far from the meeting room, for once glad that he prefers to have the debriefings at night, when there’s no one else around. There’s an elevator already waiting for you and when you get inside you push the button needed, while you wait for the elevator doors to close.

When you get to the top floor and off the elevator you walk next to Steve as you make your way to the south corner of the building, to where the roof access is. Steve’s been awfully quiet ever since you stepped off the elevator and you start to wonder if this was such a good idea after all, but then you open the door that leads to the roof and you let out a gasp, “Oh,”

There’s a small platform that has four posts on each corner, with strings of lights hanging between them, casting a warm yellow glow on the picnic table that stands in the center.

You look from Steve to the scene in front of you and back, “You did this?”

He smiles, “You’re not the only one who remembered our debriefing anniversary.”

“I love it,” you tell him with a smile before you make your way to the platform. There’s a bottle of what looks like champagne in an ice bucket on the table and when you recognize the label you turn around, “How did you know?”

Steve shrugs, a mischievous smile on his lips, “I have my ways.”

“You have Nat,” you reply, suddenly remembering the conversation you had with her not even two weeks ago. She kept asking you all these random questions, like what your favorite drink was and if you preferred savory over sweet when it came to snacks. And now all your answers are on the table in front of you. “Remind me to thank her.”

“Already did,” Steve says with a grin. He motions for you to sit down and takes out the bottle of champagne, uncorking it with ease and filling up the two glasses that are on either side of the table without spilling anything.

“Captain America,” you tease, “popping champagne like it’s nobody’s business. Who knew?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Really?”

He just nods and hands you your glass before he holds up his own and clinks it against yours, “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” you reply, “to, uh, the debriefing crew?”

He chuckles, “To us.”

“To us.” You watch him as he sits down opposite to you, and take a sip of your champagne, relishing the way it tickles your throat. You smile then, “I know you take your first coffee of the day with milk and sugar but that every other cup after that is black. I know you like baseball more than american football even though you don’t want Tony to find out.”

“What are you-”

“I know you and Nat are like brother and sister and that you value her opinion the most.” You shrug, “I know we work well together, even though you really should stop telling me to watch my language, and-” You hesitate then and drop your gaze down to your hands.

His foot nudges yours under the table, “And?”

“And,” you draw out, “I know you like me,” you look back up at him, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, “and I know I like you too.”

The sun’s at its highest point and you can feel yourself starting to get a little lightheaded just as your watch beeps to let you know you’ve passed the thirty-minute mark. You get ready to answer Steve’s inevitable question, but it never comes, instead there’s not but silence and it feels ominous, worrying you more than everything that has happened so far.

When you look down you see Steve sitting back on his heels, shaking his head.

“Steve?”

“I can’t do this.” He looks up at you, his eyes filled with dread “I am so sorry.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never seen one of these before,” he nods at the box, “I don’t know how to-”

“Hey,” you tell him, holding out your hands to him even though you can’t reach him, “it’s ok. Tony will be here soon, right? He’ll know what to do.”

Steve lowers his head, not looking at you and ignoring your outstretched hands, “Yeah.”

“Steve,” you tell him, your voice much more commanding now. You wait until he looks at you before you continue, “It’s ok.” There’s a weight behind your words that you hope he understands, even if maybe he doesn’t want to.

He runs a hand over his face and straightens his back, “Ok. Let me get an update from Tony and then we’ll take it from there, ok?”

“Ok,” you agree and watch as he walks towards the gate, no doubt to keep you out of earshot. A little frustrated to be left out of the conversation you activate your comms unit, “Nat?”

“Yeah?”

“What channel are they on?”

She probably knows better than to argue with you and so she lets out a resigned, “Five point three.”

“Thank you.” Before she has a chance to say anything else you push the button needed on your watch to switch to the other channel and all of a sudden Tony’s voice comes in loud and clear over your comms unit that you wear in your left ear.

“You sure about that, Cap?”

You see more than hear Steve’s frustration from the way he’s pacing in front of the gate, “It’s a TM-38, Tony. Soviet-made. I’ve seen them in the field before.”

“And there’s no way you can dismantle it?” Tony tries again, his voice a little tighter now.

“No,” Steve says while he looks at you, the desperation in his voice matched by his pained expression.

The mission brief is simple. The HYDRA division that used the army base had abandoned it in a hurry three days ago, leaving behind a plethora of important files that you and Steve are sent out to retrieve. This morning you tried to convince Tony to delay the mission with one or two days, not particularly looking forward to spending your six-month anniversary out in the field instead of the nice little restaurant Steve promised he would take you to.

Tony didn’t budge, said he had intel that HYDRA wanted to return to collect what they could sooner rather than later and so here you are, trying to navigate through the dense Monongahela National Forest in West Virginia while Steve is driving the Tahoe that somehow got transported here on the Quinjet.

“There it is,” you point towards a stone structure on your right. The base is surrounded by tall trees and definitely looks like something HYDRA would use to hide out in. You can only see three barracks above ground, but the map Nat has given you on the flight over shows an intricate underground network of tunnels, bunkers, and panic rooms.

The room you’re interested in, however, is all the way in the back, housing about five servers full of information you’re desperate to get your hands on. There’s a laptop in your backpack to connect to the servers, and a program written by Bruce that should be able to copy the files in no time.

“Ready?” Steve asks once he’s pulled up to the gate. He looks at you with a smile and then surprises you by leaning in and giving you a kiss, “Not how I wanted to spend our anniversary, but-”

“Yeah,” you agree, for a moment allowing yourself to get lost in his eyes. Your watch double beeps then, letting you know it’s go-time and so you grab your backpack and exit the car, drawing your gun as soon as you reach the gate.

With every step you take towards the first of the three barracks it is clear that there’s no one here, the doors of all the buildings wide open and not a sound to be heard except your footsteps. You feel yourself start to relax a little and a sliver of hope starts to form somewhere, because maybe you will make it home in time for dinner after all.

The trek to the server room proves to be rather uneventful and once you’ve connected the laptop to the mainframe it only takes about twenty minutes for the files to upload. You use that time to scout the other rooms for valuable information, but come up empty-handed. Apart from the servers there’s not much they’ve left behind and you can’t help but wonder if this was all some sort of setup and if by downloading the files you’re bringing in some sort of spy-ware.

“Remind me to tell Bruce to check the files for any malware,” you tell Steve, who nods. A notification lights up on your screen then, letting you know the download is complete. You unplug the laptop and stow it in your backpack before you nod to Steve, “Ready.”

“Alright, let’s head out.”

When you finally make it outside again, you have to blink a few times to adjust to the bright sunlight that’s shining through the treetops. You’re following a few steps behind Steve as you fish a piece of paper out of your pocket, on it the coordinates for the pick-up point you’re supposed to go to, so the team can fly you back to the compound. Of course they’re programmed into your watch as well, but you like the act of taking a minute to write down the pick-up coordinates before you leave on your mission, almost like a sort of good-luck charm to remind you to make it home safe.

A quick glance at your watch tells you it’s still early enough to make it back in time for dinner and you’re just about to tell Steve the good news when a gust of wind blows the paper out of your hand. You chase after it, stepping off the path that leads to the gate and onto the soft forest floor. You almost catch it but then the wind picks it up again and for a moment you debate just leaving it, after all it’s just a piece of paper, but the information on it is too important and so once again you chase after it.

Finally it’s within reach and you stick your foot out, hoping to trap the piece of paper under your shoe before it flies off again. There’s a click resounding through the sole of your shoe once you’ve put your foot down, the surface on which you’re standing hard and not at all like the soft bed of pine needles you were walking on before. Instantly a chill runs through your spine and you try to stay in position, afraid of what will happen if you move.

“Steve?”

He must hear the panic in your voice because he turns around right away, his brows furrowed as he tries to understand what’s going on.

“I’ve stepped on something,” you try to explain, but your voice is too weak and the wind carries it away from him. You point at your ear and turn on your comms unit, before you hold up your hand to tell him to stay in position, “Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“I- uh,” you let out a shaky breath, trying to gather your thoughts so you can give him as much information as possible, “I stepped on something. It’s a- It’s a hard surface, almost like metal, and when I put my weight down on my foot, something underneath clicked, like-”

“Like you stepped on a pressure plate?” Steve asks, already one step ahead of you.

“Yes,”

“Steve?” It’s Natasha who comes in first, “What’s going on?”

“Rogers,” Tony barks through the comms unit, “I need a status report stat.”

“Please,” Steve pleads, his voice rough and full of emotion, “just- Just give me a second.”

You can see him tap his watch before he runs a hand over his face, no doubt trying to figure out what to do next. With a small nod, almost as if he tries to convince himself, he drops his backpack and slowly starts making his way towards you.

“Steve. Don’t” you tell him, but either he really doesn’t hear you or just pretends he doesn’t because he keeps walking.

“Talk to me, Sparky,” Tony says, his voice much kinder now. “Cap’s offline, yeah?”

“I think so, but he’s making his way towards me, Tony, I-” you look around you, “I don’t know if it’s safe. Please tell him to stop-”

“His comm’s off,”

“There must be some way to turn it on remotely, right?” There’s no reply and so you try again, “Right?”

“Fine,” Tony sighs, “but before I do I want you to know that there’s nothing we can say to stop him. You know that right?”

You lock eyes with the man walking towards you and your heart suddenly feels heavy in your chest, “I know.” When Steve reaches you, you turn off your comms unit, “So, what’s the plan, Cap?”

“I need to take a good look at it first,” Steve says as he drops to his knees, “just try to stay still, ok?”

You nod, “Yup,” and for the first minute or so you look down to try and see what he’s doing, but it messes with your balance and so instead you focus on the treeline in front of you, trying to remember the breathing exercises Clint taught you during one of your stakeouts together.

Breathe in for seven seconds, out for eleven.

In for seven, out for eleven.

Another beep, but this time you ignore the impulse to check your watch. You don’t want to know how long you’ve been here. It doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters now is making sure Steve makes it out of this alive.

“They’re five minutes out,” he says when he gets back to you.

“Ok,” you tell him, eyeing his reaction to see if he hears you over the comms unit you still have switched on. He doesn’t respond and so you figure he must have turned it off after talking to Tony, which is good. He kneels at your feet again, why you’re not sure. There’s nothing he can do. Still, it gives you a chance to check in with the rest of the team and you quietly whisper, “Team, do you copy?”

“Loud and clear,” Nat replies almost immediately.

“Same,” Tony and Bruce say at the same time, while Clint’s “Yes, ma’am,” follows a little later.

“Steve?” You wait until he looks up at you before you continue, “I think we need to consider our options here.”

“Why?” He looks confused, “The team’s almost here, they’ll know what to do.”

“And if they don’t?”

“And if they don’t,” he bites back in a tone of voice you haven’t heard before, “we’ll find another solution.”

“Steve-”

“No.” He pushes himself up and stands in front of you with his hands on his hips, “We’ll find a way.”

You hesitate, trying to find the right words, “I’m going to ask you a question and I need you to be completely honest with me, ok?”

“That depends on what you’re about to ask me, because-”

“Do you think I could absorb the energy that this thing produces?”

He shakes his head, “I don’t-”

“No,” Bruce comes in over your earpiece, sounding absolutely defeated, “I’ve run several calculations but there are way too many variables-”

“This thing is too strong,” Tony says, the desperation seeping through his voice, “before you have a chance to absorb any of it you would be-”

“-know.” Steve lets out a heavy sigh, “I don’t know enough about nuclear physics to even try to answer that question.”

“Ok,” you nod, trying to stay calm even though your heart is screaming and your stomach is twisting and turning inside of you, “but Tony and Bruce are sure they can dismantle it?”

“They said-”

“No,” it’s Bruce who speaks up first again.

“There’s no way to dismantle it safely,” Nat says, her voice low. “The Soviets purposely built it that way.”

No matter how hard you try to hide it, you are sure something registers on your face. Disbelief first, anger next because Jesus, Steve was supposed to be your happy ending, and finally acceptance, Nat’s words about not being able to dismantle the mine slowly turning into something inevitable. It’s ok, you tell yourself. You were living on borrowed time anyway.

“-they could try,” Steve says, looking at you in a way that tells you he knows something’s up. He points at his earpiece, “Your comm’s on, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you say, trying to give him an apologetic smile, but undoubtedly failing. “I’m sorry, Steve, but-” you shrug, “I just had to know.” You bite your lip to keep from crying and it’s almost as if the reality of it all has finally sunken in, “There’s nothing we can do.”

“There has to be something-”

A chorus of no’s echoes over your comms unit.

“No,” you shake your head, the tears you've been trying so hard to fight back finally spilling over, “I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Steve. My heart is pounding in my chest, my leg has been shaking non-stop for the past minute or so, if I- If I spasm right now-”

“Stop.”

“Steve-”

“Stop!” He rubs his hands over his face, “There’s got to be another way.” He turns his comms unit back on, “Bruce, what about a weight transfer?”

Bruce hesitates, “I’m not sure I-”

“The only reason the mine hasn’t exploded yet is because somehow her weight is keeping the pin in place, right?” He sounds frantic, pacing back and forth in front of you, “So what if I find something that’s the same weight and we do a transfer?”

“I don’t know, Cap,” Bruce says, “that’s really tricky. It has to be perfectly timed.”

“At least wait until we get there,” Tony suggests, “don’t go at this on your own.”

“We’re less than a minute out, Steve,” Nat offers, “please wait.”

“What about my shield, maybe-”

“Steve?” Your voice is weak, hardly audible but somehow he hears you and stops talking. “Steve, look at me.” When he does, you nod, “It’s ok.”

“What?”

“Go get your shield.” You take a ragged breath and blow it out in a small puff before you nod to the car, “Go.”

“They’re almost here,” Steve tries and you know it’s because he doesn’t want to leave you, “they can pick it up.”

“Steve,” you try again, your voice a little louder this time, “go get your shield.”

He looks from you to the car and back, unsure of what to do.

It’s then you hear the distant rumble of another vehicle approaching and you know there’s not much time left. Another deep breath, “Now.”

He furrows his brows at your command but then does as he’s told, and you let out a sigh of relief as you watch him jog to the car where he opens the trunk. He stands still for a moment, drops his head, and you can tell he’s feeling desperate and out of control. Leaving him behind hurts you more than anything else, but you know there’s no way you’ll make it out of this alive. It feels like whatever got a hold of your heart earlier tightens its grip, making you gasp for breath.

“Steve,” you tell him, your voice soft as you see him turn towards you, his shield in one hand as he closes the trunk with the other, “it’s ok. It’s time to let me go.”

You think you hear Tony whisper a quiet, “Fuck,” over the comms unit.

“I know. I’m sorry guys,” you tell your team, “but I guess we all know there’s no other way.” “Are you sure?” It’s Tony who asks you the question. You nod, even though they can’t see you, “It’s the only way.”

“It’s ok,” Nat says, her voice a little unsteady, “It’s ok. I’ll take care of him.”

“I’m gonna miss you, kid,” Clint tells you in a whisper.

“It was an honor working with you,” Bruce says, his voice catching on the last word, “I’ll keep your research going, doc.”

“You are braver than anyone I’ve ever met,” Tony admits quietly, “I won’t forget you.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, a single tear sliding down your cheek.

When you look back up you see Steve is still rooted in the same spot, disbelief written all over his face. You try to smile at him, “I love you,” a sob then, “I just want you to know that.”

Something else registers on his face then, something you recognize as the determination to make things right and you know it’s your cue.

“Let me go, Steve,” you nod to let him know it’s ok. A faint smile then as you remember the first time you met him, “I guess this is where I leave you.”

From that moment everything happens in slow motion.

Steve is running towards you, eyes wide in shock when finally he understands what you’re about to do.

You give him one last apologetic smile, and another “I love you.”

He comes to an abrupt stop just thirty yards away from you and watches you as you take one last deep breath.

It’s time to move, you tell yourself, and when the neurons fire from your brain and the muscles in your leg react you whisper a final, “It’s ok.”

The last thing you see and hear is Steve, his eyes finding yours as he quietly tells you, “It’s ok. I love you.”

#Steve Rogers Fanfic #Steve Rogers x reader #Harley Sunday x Steve Rogers #Chris Evans #Chris Evans x reader #Marvel fanfic

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scandinavianfairytale · 4 years

Text

I wish you knew

It was a perfect summer evening in the capital, the sun was setting and the previously heavy humidity reclined. While the air got cooler, the pavements radiated the absorbed heat, creating the perfect atmosphere to be outside and enjoy the evening.

Ivar was sitting at one of the many open-air bars, overlooking the castle with a dear friend and they discussed a pressing issue.

"She's so persistent and tiresome. I swear, every time I meet her, she wants me to validate her as my girlfriend and I always get home exhausted." Ivar complained as he sipped his lemonade and looked at his friend.

"So why don't you just ask her out, properly - as a girlfriend. I know for a fact that you like hanging out with her." She responded. This particular friend was someone Ivar knew for over 5 years. She was the one he usually talked to when he had problems he didn't know how to solve on his own. She was also the one he fell in love with. The same one that he was hoping would say to dump the girl and be with her. His hope was dying slowly as she spoke.

"I mean, I do like being with her, she's nice to talk to, but I don't see why we would need to change our arrangement."

"What do you think will happen if you just help the girl out and call her your girlfriend?"

"I don't know.."

"It's not like you're getting married or signing a contract. This would be your first real relationship, Ivar. Explore, what you like and what you don't. In the end you can still break-up, or maybe even find out she's 'the one' or whatever." she fixed her bangs and grabbed her Mojito. She knew she would need one as soon as he started talking about the 'girlfriend'.

"But I don't know if I want to be with her."

"Then don't be with her." she rolled her eyes. This man...

"You think I should leave her?" he asked, adjusting in his seat.

'Please say something.' his jaw clenched. There was always something between them. Everyone saw it and everyone wondered. They were constantly teasing each other, putting their heads together, talking amongst themselves. She was one of the few ones that he felt completely comfortable with. When he was annoyed, she was the one that calmed him down.

"I don't know, Ivar. This is not my decision to make. But you need to stop stringing this poor girl along." she looked away.

"Right..." he didn't avert his eyes from her.

"We should probably leave, I'm meeting Erik in 20 minutes." she notified as she looked at her phone.

"Erik?" Ivar squinted his eyes.

"Yeah, you remember - the guy I've been seeing, silly." she slapped his arm playfully.

"You stopped talking about him, I just assumed..."

"We just kind of hit it off. I really like him." she smiled. His heart fell in his stomach.

Ivar insisted on paying and he walked her to her parked bike. As they said goodbye, they hugged and she settled her head in the crook of his neck, inhaling him. He smelled like fresh mint mixed with vanilla.

She smelled like lavender.

As she left, Ivar looked at his phone, two texts and missed call, all from the same person. He sighed before calling his future girlfriend. She was going to have to do.

She was with Erik 15 minutes later. He pulled her in a hug and kissed her. He smelled of sandalwood and tasted like lemons.

'Ivar probably tastes like lemons too.' was the first thing that popped into her head. It was his go-to drink in the summer.

She sat down with Erik and they ordered their drinks. Erik was fun but so, so similar to Ivar. She didn't connect the dots immediately, but the more time she spent with Erik she realized how he reminded her of Ivar. It was then she also realized that she might have feelings for him. Which, coincidently, is also the same time he casually started mentioning the 'girlfriend'. So she started mentioning Erik, maybe to hopefully get a rise out of him. But no reaction came, so she took that as a sign.

The drink with Ivar was tough. She wanted to cry and scream at him for putting her through this. All she wanted from him was to just leave the 'girlfriend' and be with her. But her love was unrequited. And Erik was good enough.

Thank you so much for reading! 😊

I'm in a depressing mood, I guess...two in a row, phew 🥺

Please note that the GIF is not mine - full credit goes to the awesome creator! Thank you! 🙏

#ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #modern ivar #ivar imagine #ivar x reader #vikings #modern vikings #alex hogh andersen #fanfic #short story #i wish you knew

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mtayl0rr · 4 years

Text

I present to you, my preferred epilogue to “Ruin and Rising”

There stood the remains of an orphanage. Not many dared to venture over to the grounds, especially after hearing the tales of what happened there, and why the building was as dilapidated as it was. All but one young girl, who’s hair faded from red to bright white. She received strange looks, either from the deep bags forming under the eyes, or her fragile state. Maybe even the fact that she was strikingly familiar to some of the residents who heard the tales of Sankta Alina. Yet, nobody questioned when she took the land in as her own and began to rebuild it from the ground up, with the help of friends in high places.

She never spoke to many people, keeping to herself and her work, finally allowing her hair to return to it’s natural white as time passed. Whispers of a dead lover circulated around the quaint town, as rumors flowed as easy as the river in the mouths of the townspeople. But, nobody would ever know the true horrors that kept the girl locked up in the crumbled ruins of the old orphanage.

Time heals everything, but healing Alina Starkov would take more than that.

Each night as the girl closed her eyes, she felt the emptiness of the bed beside her, and the sharp intake of breath that her lover drew as her dagger pierced his skin, claiming his life for the sake of Ravka.

I am become a blade.

Every time her eyelids closed, she was met with the vision of haunting blue eyes, staring up at her without any spark. The girl could feel the blood dripping down her skin from the dagger, warm and bright red. Her throat still felt horace from crying out to him, even as the last strings of life dripped from his body, taking him from her.

But it was not only the tracker that she felt the absence of those lonely nights. The girl found herself aimlessly attempting to tug on the once present tether that connected dark and light. The string that connected her to true balance. Her mind went to pull onto something that wasn’t there. Something that she also killed.

The girl was forever haunted by the look in his quartz eyes- not of a monster, but a beautiful boy, trapped in an eternity that was close to an end. The feeling of sticky tears trailing down her face as the man she once swore to kill laid dying in her arms, asking of her to remember him as Aleksander. A boy with a name, and not a title. The boy who listened too closely and lost everything he had held dear. A boy whose grave would be spat on, if one ever existed. The boy who’s heart now held the blade of her dagger, still stained with the crimson blood of her lover. The man he wanted to be.

Don’t let me be alone.

The dying words of the man who hurt so many, all stemmed from his fear of being alone. Yet now that he was gone, she was truly one half of a whole, for sunlight is worthless without darkness to shine in. Although, there was no light left to prevail.

The darkness never frightened the girl again, even though she had nothing to fight it with.

There were still wars, and from those wars came orphans. The girl turned the ruins of the old Duke’s house, once full of things to be seen and not touched into a place for children to call a home when violence tore through what they once knew. War was inevitable, and the girl knew that all too well.

An oil lantern was always lit to fend off the darkness from those who were still afraid, and the grand piano in the music room was left uncovered, allowing the once hollow halls to be filled with great music. Children sang and laughed, playing around in a manner so unlike the way the girl was raised, along with the boy she once loved. Yet, she knew that she was doing good, and that his death was not forgotten.

Children with no parents to call their own learned the stories of the brave, handsome young boy who sacrificed his life for the good of Ravka. No matter how much it pained the girl to tell, she illustrated the boy’s life nevertheless. She spoke of him as an old friend, whose life was torn away too soon, but for all the right reasons.

The staff and children noticed how in all the tales of the boy she once knew, there were never mentions of the masters of the small science who were ever prevalent. No man who controlled the darkness, or Sankta of the sun. It was an unspoken rule that one was to never ask about the sun summoner, and they all abided by it.

Wealthy and mad, were words spoken about the white haired girl who ran the orphanage. The staff never approved of her. She allowed the students to be too loud, too much money was spent on sugar for tea, coal for winter, and books filled with stories of magic. Why would one go to such lengths to make orphan children happy?

She mostly kept to herself, when not reading to the young students, or discussing matters with the well paid staff. Some say that at nights, they can hear the haunting cries of someone who lost so much, and gained too little. Some well eyes children noticed the small grisha-made dagger that was always tightly nestled in her belt. When a young girl, no older than five, asked about it, the woman simply replied, “It belonged to someone I once knew.”

She never said who, for it pained her to mention the white haired Sankta who died alongside the tracker and Aleksander that night on the fold. The girl who would never come back.

The students learned math and geography, science and art. Tradesmen were brought in from local towns and villages to offer apprenticeships. The new King hoped to abolish the draft in a few years time, and if he succeeded, every Ravkan would need some kind of trade. When the children were tested for Grisha powers, they were allowed to choose whether or not to go to the Little Palace, and they were always welcome back at Keramzin. At night, they were told to keep the young King in their prayers— Korol Rezni, who would keep Ravka strong.

Although the girl was certainly far from nobility, she had friends in higher places. Constantly, gifts marked with the royal seal would arrive, filled to the brim with goods like blankets for warmth, or books to stock the library. The staff noticed the girl smile at the small parchments left alongside the lavish gift, even sometimes allowing a laugh to escape her lips. They never saw her laugh before.

Once a man arrived with a fleet of toy boats that the children launched on the creek in a miniature regatta. The teachers noted that the stranger was young and handsome, with golden hair and hazel eyes, but most definitely odd. He stayed late to dinner and never once removed his gloves. Every winter, during the feast of Sankt Nikolai, a troika would make its way up the snowy road and three Grisha would emerge dressed in furs and thick wool kefta

—red, purple, and blue—their sledge weighed down with presents: figs and apricots soaked in honey, piles of walnut candies, mink-lined gloves, and boots of butter-soft leather. They stayed up late, long after the children had gone to bed,talking and laughing, telling stories, eating pickled plums and roasting lamb sausages over the fire.That first winter, when it was time for her friends to leave, the girl ventured out into the snow to say goodbye, and the stunning raven-haired Squaller handed her another gift. “A blue kefta,” said the math teacher, shaking her head. “What would she do with that?”

“Maybe she knew a Grisha who died,” replied the cook, taking note of the tears that filled the girl's eyes. They did not see the note that read,

You will always be one of us

The girl knew grief, as she spent her days clutching the dagger in her hands, or trying to pull on a tether that had been gone for years now. They couldn’t see the small eclipse necklace that she kept over her heart, under her shirts and away from the world. She never wanted him to be alone.

One day, on the rare occasion that the girl stayed outside of her room for more than what was needed of her, the golden eyed man walked by the small window seat to find her playing with the rays of sun that speckled into the glass, a sympathetic frown forming on his face. At the feeling of his uncovered hand, the girl allowed herself to cry into his arms. She cried over all those she had lost, over the boy whose name was replaced by a title, or her tracker who’s life she took. The tracker that she had wished foolishly would be there beside her.

Time. something that for a small period seemed irrelevant to the girl, eventually healed her. Yet, the scar over her heart never faded.

#the darkling #ruin and rising #shadow and bone #mal oretsev #alina starkov #aleksander morozova #alternate ending #ruin and rising alternate ending #Mal dies #I hate mal #books #epilogue

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nyxdelanuit · 4 years

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Hey my little constellations, I've been chatting with @beatific-drabbles and @mammonrights all day, and may have accidentally wrote a lil something. We were talking about reunion hugs and throughout the day I wrote this mess in our chat. It's not proofread or edited or anything, but I thought I'd share.

Pairing: Mammon x Reader

Warnings: hurt/comfort, a lil angst, mostly fluff

You had hoped he would have been honest with you before you left. Maybe he just hadn't been honest with himself. It had been obvious to everyone around you that the two of you were head over heels for each other, but Mammon denied their accusations at every turn. Now you sat in your bed, late into the night years later, reminiscing on the fading memories of his hand stuck to yours as you ran through the fun house.

You had tried to move on. A string of unsatisfying relationships and grasps at the connection you and Mammon shared only made you feel more hollow. Did he even remember you anymore? Did he stay awake missing you too?

You tried, like usual, to put those memories away with the rising of the sun. Devildom daydreams had no place in the light of day, that was how you survived all this time without them. But the light glinting off white hair gave you pause, long enough for its owner to recognize you.

It wasn't Mammon, of course it wasn't. But Solomon was a decent replacement. He treated you to coffee as you caught up, seeing through your happy facade to the melancholy that plagued your every waking moment. Even in sleep, the only brother to visit was Belphie, assuring you they all missed you and leaving you with pleasant dreams without them.

"Do you want to go back?" The question was teasing, but you couldn't help the break in your voice as you answered.

"More than anything."

Solomon was surprisingly helpful, the two of you had never been terribly close. Yet now he was helping you pack, the bag slung over his shoulder full of all he'd need to help you go back. Once you had deemed yourself ready, your world exploded into white, fading to the foyer you had so desperately missed.

Lucifer stood before you, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, but the smile on his face let you know he wasn't surprised.

"A letter every once in a while would have been appreciated." You tried to stutter out something- an excuse, a greeting, an apology- but he quieted you with a motion of his hand. "It's good to have you back."

The next few hours were spent getting resituated in your room. Lucifer had easily slipped away from RAD with the excuse of doing something for Diavolo. He wasn't lying, of course, Diavolo had welcomed you back willingly when you had Solomon ask. With Barbatos at his side, you knew better than to try to keep secrets from him.

Now you stood nervously in the music room as the brothers arrived home. One by one, Lucifer called them to meet you, letting you have a moment of privacy with each before the house erupted into chaos.

He let Belphie in first, the sleepy smile something that had grown into a comfort over the years.

"I knew you'd come back. You kept trying to dream of us." You let out a watery chuckle as he wrapped you up in his arms. "Maybe now you'll actually sleep. I'll drag you off to take naps with me if you don't." The threat wasn't hollow, but also wasn't unwelcome. There was so much you wanted to say to him. Belphie had been the one to keep you sane, granting you sleep on sleepless nights and making sure it was only good dreams that came to you. He understood though, when your mouth opened and shut. You had time now, and he wasn't the one on your mind. With a gentle squeeze as farewell, he stepped away. The click of the door echoed behind him.

Next came Beel, the twins never too far apart. He didn't need words, the gentle arms lifting you up to squeeze you delicately spoke volumes. He shuffled you around until he was sure you were comfortable in his hold, never once letting your feet drop to the floor as he drank in your presence. As nice as seeing Belphie again was, it grounded you more to see Beel again. The feeling of your hands patting his hair and the tensing of his arms as he held you close, but not tight enough to hurt you like you knew he could. He remembered, even after all this time.

You could have stayed like that all night, and there had been nights where you did. Nights when Mammon's denial hurt too much or Beel's nightmares made him feel like he needed your weight by his side. But he knew, just as Belphie did, that he wasn't the one your attention was focused on.

"I'll bring you some food later. I stocked up on your favorites, just in case."

Another click, another moment of silence separating you

Asmo was next through the door, his squeel splitting through the silence before he launched himself at you. He wasn't shy about the tears glimmering in his eyes as he wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling his head in your chest.

"I've missed you so, it's been so dull without you." You chuckled as you returned his embrace.

"I've missed you too, almost as much as my skin has missed your pampering." He gasped, pulling back to you stare at your face, delicate, soft fingers caressing your neglected skin.

"This is terrible. You must let me fix this. Twice a week, my room, we'll have a spa night." You grinned at his pleading eyes.

"Of course, Asmo. I'll be there." With your promise, he finally relinquished his hold. A soft kiss was placed to your cheek before he left. Just a few more now.

You hadn't even heard Satan come in, only noticing him leaning against the the doorway with a grin.

"I knew there must have been something going on with how Lucifer has been hounding us all night, but I never assumed it would be you." You rolled your eyes, opening your arms to him.

His legs took him quickly to you, long strides closing the space before his firm hug enveloped you. He pulled away faster than the others, hands smoothing down your arms as he took you in.

"You'll be staying for a while, won't you?" You nodded your agreement, forever if you could... "Good, we have much to talk about. I wouldn't want to keep you too long, I'm sure you're eager to see the others." The mischievous grin made you roll your eyes.

"I haven't been home for a day, and you're already teasing me?" He didn't continue his teasing, instead smiling at you.

"Home?" He asked, hoping you'd clarify.

"Yeah, home." That was answer enough for him, and he left, the soft smile not leaving his face.

You weren't sure if you were ready for Levi when he came in, keeping his distance. The two of you shuffled awkwardly, neither reaching out.

"You didn't call. Or text. Or hop on Mononoke Land."

"I know... I'm sorry." You lowered your gaze to the ground, not wanting to see the anger you were sure you'd see in his eyes.

"You were supposed to be my Henry..." Your heart hurts at the sniffles you hear after his statement. "Was I not good enough?" Your head snaps up at that, seeing Levi roughly wiping away tears with his sleeves.

"No Levi, never that. I was just scared you guys forgot about me." You took a tentative step towards him, but he quickly comes to you, falling to cry into your shoulder.

You wrap your arms around his shuddering frame. You let him cry and wrap his arms around you, clinging to you desperately as you ran your fingers through his hair.

Once his sobs die down, he speaks again, voice hoarse. "You have a lot to catch up on." You laugh, noticing how rough your voice was too.

"Guess I'll be spending a lot of time in your room then." He nods, squeezing you once more before stepping back.

"I'll hold you to that, so don't skip out on me."

You wanted a moment to get tourself together before you saw him. To straighten out your clothes, to rub the remnants of tears from your face before your first twenty minutes of being reunited with Mammon became an interrogation of who hurt you.

The door opened with a click, denying you that chance. You turned toward him, all the explanations dying on your tongue.

Lucifer.

He strode toward you, gloved hand wiping away the last remnants of wetness on your cheek.

"You seem surprised."

"I thought Mammon would be next..." You stammered, trying to find the words to convey that you were happy to see him but confused, but his pride stayed in tact with a chuckle.

"I'm not daft. I know how the two of you are together, if I wanted a moment, I needed to steal one before he attaches himself to you for the remainder of the night." You laughed softly, leaning into the gentle warmth that bled through his glove.

"Why not earlier?"

"And have your attention divided between myself and settling back into your place in the devildom? That would not be fair to you, and much less to me. For now, I have your attention all to myself."

"Careful, Luci, you're starting to sound like Mammon." That ever rare blush graced his cheeks as he turned away, clearing his throat.

"You bring many things out of myself and my brothers. Greed, adoration, selflessness. We have you to thank for a taste of who we used to be." It was your turn to blush, the compliment unexpected. Lucifer smiled down at you, dropping his hand from your face once he laid a chaste peck on your forehead.

His arms surrounded you, an unparalleled safety you wouldn't find with anyone else.

"I hope you never grow to regret your choice. And if Mammon were to ever lose your affections, please let me be the first to know." With his emotions laid bare, he turned, quickly fleeing the room, leaving you to your thoughts and anticipation.

You fixed yourself in the mirrors of the music room, worrying the hem of your clothes as the time started to stretch. Anxiety started to thrum through your veins, what if he heard you were back? Did he run? Did he truly not care, were you really just some puny human that glued themselves to his side for a year?

Your thoughts were interrupted as he fell through the doors, pushed by a multitude of hands and cursing the bodies behind the now closed door.

"What do ya think you're doin? I've got shit to do tonight!" His hands pounded on the door, begging Lucifer for an explanation of why he was being punished this time. He hadn't noticed you yet, until you took a step forward.

Your small step echoed through the room, causing Mammon to stop and collect himself to his full height. He turned to you slowly, catching your eyes in his gaze. It felt like seeing the sun after a long winter, warm, golden, melting you to your very bones, and yet you were frozen to your spot. He drank you in, eyes never leaving your form as he tried to figure out if it was truly you. You and not some taunting daydream, a cruel ghost of words left unsaid and feelings unexplored.

The spell was broken once he took a step toward you, urging you both to rush for each other, meeting in the middle of the room. His hands flew to you, one arm wrapping around your waist to bring you flush against his chest, and the other hand trailing up your neck to bury in your hair, pulling your face into his neck. He sunk slowly to his knees, pulling you down to sit on the floor with him, on him, in his arms.

"I thought I'd never see ya again." His voice was barely more than a breath on your skin, his face hidden from your view.

"I wanted to come back as soon as I left." You ignored the shuddering in your voice, excitement, nervousness, trepidation dripping from your tongue. Nothing had felt more right than he did under your hands, clutching his jacket in your fists, unwilling to let him go again.

"I shoulda asked ya to stay. I shoulda asked ya a lot of things."

"You can ask me now, I'm here." You felt the anticipation in the shaking of his hands against you, in the way he held you as if you were precious. All combining into this sweet tension that you were begging for him to break.

"Stay with me? Be with me? Be my girl? Fuck, let me show ya how much I feel for ya?" You were scared to pull away, to look at his face. Would he still back pedal after all of this, still clam up now that he's finally asked? Yet you needed to know, needed to see the look in his face.

He was red, you had expected that much, but the panic he normally wore was replaced by a gentle desire. A plea for release from his long wait, to finally be something with you. He didn't turn away, didn't avert his gaze as you forgot your words, the shaking in his arms spreading throughout his body.

"Yes, Mammon, yes to all of them, I've only been waiting for you to ask." Your hands released Mammon's jacket in favor of caressing his face, trying to convey all of your love through the simple touch.

"Ya really mean it? You'll be mine? Just mine?" His voice broke as he asked, the emotion to heavy to carry.

"Yes, all yours Mammon."

He kissed you then, the way you both craved for so long. Deep and slow and sweet. Even when his brothers flooded the room, he didn't relinquish your lips, holding your head to his and claiming his place at your side.

#nyx writes #mammon x reader #obey me brothers x reader #mammon x mc

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tenebriiis-archived · 3 years

Text

The door behind her closes, almost soundlessly as the Enchantress stepped into a chamber fully reserved for her only. It’s secluded from any source of natural light & somehow, flowers are growing at a considerable rate among all the vast space. Branches caress the stone ceiling, roots dare to break into the hardened ground, & none of this is beyond more than a mixture of siphoned magic given shape. If one would choose to take a bite from the Apple hanging from the tree at the corner, it would be no more than deadly poison bitten their tongue. But it was the detail about Illusions, wasn’t it? Things didn’t need to be genuine to still evoke emotion.

The Red in a Frame, could be blood or paint – would it matter too much in the little second a gaze would settle upon?

Awe, Pain & Sorrow – all could be brought forth in that single second of wonder as the brain attempts to avoid differing from reality & fantasy when her bare feet stop touching cold marble & find the grace of grass.

Silk & Organdie murmur against delicate petals as the hem of her dress offers them a caress. Every step is a little more of her magic leaking into this little self-imposed light, walking forward until reaching a little Altar where incense is being burnt. It smells of frankincense & patchouli as her faerie companions flutter in graceful patterns among the fake wind that caresses her skin. All the remembrance of a life that may never return to her; & it didn’t matter for how long it may go, how many decades or centuries may go by… the small wish was nesting, hoping for things to be the same. –Another lie, for the child in her heart who still craved for her burnt home to be brought back, even if her motivations on the present time were highly different.

The darkness in the Paradise of her memoirs is interrupted, as dainty digits started enlightened each fragrant candle around the stone statues on the Altar, one by one with tenderness few had seen as if this wasn’t a mere ritual but a loving gift – A Silent Conversation, exchanging words that no human tongue could translate or known. She hears her voice ever singing in the wind, she feels her delicate & warmth touch on her dark tear-stained cheeks as the facades of security crumble, & her tired heart craves for the affectionate embrace only her Mother could offer to her & her sisters.

Forest Incarnate, she was all around among the vast lands, possessing a consciousness no mortal would ever understand, a voice few could hear if only they chose to pay attention to nature’s orchestra of birds, & the blessed arcane that gave the breath of life to the nymphs out of enchanted trees –extinct by now; in Valoran at least.

“Mother… I – “ She looks up to the figure she had asked many years ago to be made out of her memories. A tall woman surrounded by six ladies of different physical ages, beautiful butterfly-like wings on their backs & the smallest of them all, probably comparable to twelve years old, tightly holding one of her hands. Emilia can’t barely remember times where she wouldn’t look up for her hand when she was young. & Helena –one of the many names given to her Mother by the mortals leaving offerings at the borders of the forest for the Faefolk in exchange of protection–, was ever endearing & kind to allow her to reach for it when she needed it.

“… I saw today those birds you used to like so dearly. You always mentioned how clever Ravens are, & you have not the idea.” She could almost hear her laugh if concentrating. Remembering a sneaky bird who stole something shiny left by the mortal neighbors once. She had followed it for an hour when barely knowing how to fly with her wings even, only to end gifting it to it cause apparently, the shiny ribbon made a cute addition to their nest. The memory was simple, but it was the beauty of childhood: Things didn’t need to be extremely big or mesmerizing to be meaningful, & the way Helena had giggled so beautifully when her daughter’s chase had ended into gifting the ribbon to the bird was enchanting enough. She felt silly back then, but her Mother hugging her after was the precious part…

… She missed her, probably wouldn’t ever stop to do so.

Her Mother lived among the songs, the illusion magic, the gardens, the flowers, the wind, the forest silence only interrupted by its own melody, the sun peeking between the leaves, the animals' flight or steps, the taste of honey & the glow of pristine water. Lullabies lost in time for protection she would sing over and over again in a way to not forget them, write them in different places as to never let go of the lyrics when her Coven had taught her how to write, renouncing sometimes of a couple of memories from the past in order to maintain her Mother’s remembrances.

It was painful to know, that even her own true name had been exchanged for other memories to be preserved. But it was fine; cause it was her actual given name that turned to be the key to preserve her Adoptive Mother’s memory as well. When she had forgotten it in the feral state the loss of her home had left her, & it was the nomad group of sorcerers who would stop near the burnt trees to extend a caring hand… it was their High Priestess who would give her a name until she could remember the exact word.

Emilia had been the given name of one of her daughters, acolytes had told her after a couple of years. It was always a question without answers – Had Fate been so capricious to pull the loose strings, until those could have been woven together in a sole piece?

The Enchantress ever preferred to not attempt breaking the dulcet tones of their shared symphonies with meaningless vicissitudes, as looking to the stone statue next to Helena’s, there was also one for the High Priestess with an older depiction of herself. Mortality had eventually reached her, as such were the subtle details of reality for humankind, no matter how much magic they would possess, & yet… the caring & motherly smile carved in the stone was ever-present, even for those who would do wrong. There was something so generous about her, so unforgettable & unique… that eternity was not required for the ripples of her presence in the ocean of her life to still be seen.

She lived through her Magic & the thousands of spells she learned, through the words on many ancient tongues & the flowers she learned to preserve by drying them among golden pages of grimoires & spell-books. Her voice was in every teaching, her gentle soul in every motivation even if underlying of the dark ambitions. It was inevitable for the Matron to every so often wonder if she was ashamed of what her arcane power had turned into… on all she had to do in order to free many from the Revenant’s Tyranny.

“Forgive me, dearest Mother.” She would whisper more than once, & not solely aloud, to the figure. As among the desperation, many she had lost were generations & generations coming from the same roots & branches as the old sorceress had. Spilling their blood, siphoning their magic, taking & taking despite all the suffering that had been involved, despite all the protection she had offered to the grandchildren of her very own grandchildren. Was it alright to think she had forgiven her?

Perhaps it was equally what moved the strings of her current attitude towards the little blossoms of her Garden. As Above, so Below: Her desire to take care of all the kids belonging to her Night Garden was a mirrored reflection of what she did previously. .. At least until some may learn how to hate her; just as some had attempted to kill her when faced with the options of living or dying.

Such was the Noxian way after all; to be so reverential towards Strength & Might, right from the roots of the first noxii tribes that had inhabited the place. A cult that shall exist until blood would run through its people’s veins – & she may too, respect it on her own particular ways… … But she would ever wonder regardless, was she proud of her? Or would she despise her as an assassin as much as when their bodies would lie in her bloodied embrace?

“...I will do what I must to keep safe as many as I can, Mother. Even if some sacrifices must be done.” Her voice would be hushed, & ever soft-spoken, almost pleading like none would ever get from her. Was she seeking approbation or permission? Perhaps; even if there was no way of giving it, it was partially a manner to offer her soul relief from all the sins she required to commit in order to eventually –she hoped- reach the goals of salvation & redemption of those broken lands...

…

— When she reached the surface once more, walking across the favored Manor connecting to the secrecy of those passages, there’s a sound that never fails on drawing her immediate attention –corrupted or not, no Fae would ever resist the ardent urgency to follow the beautiful sound: The laughter of Children pulling from the strings of her darkened heart, little blossoms of her garden who haven’t yet been tarnished by the cruelty & truths of the Empire & the Night Garden itself. Small ones who knew the kindest & more endearing sides of her, many almost immediately right away after their first cry into this world. Their first scream for a place to exist into the mist of expectations & uncertainties of life that would surely be already settled, some probably too heavy for a child to bear…

… & nonetheless, she cherished them as her own, as a Gardener relishes endearingly on the first blossoms opening among the leaves after days of hard work, just as any fae would feel the inherent need to protect them –especially, if magic gifted- & assure their innocent minds were kept for as long as it could be possible…

A month, a year, a decade, a century… it didn’t matter to her. Their lives all belonged to this soil, & she hoped one of them would be able to see it someday as it was always meant to stay.

The gentle chimes & bell-like voices of the butterflies surrounding her break the little sparks of memories attempting to consume her mind ever again. They tell her about the little feet approaching her, the colorful & bright eyes recognizing the Pale Lady’s silhouette who had ever been around them as closely as their own Mothers had, Emilia’s heart is filled with full contentment – how not to? They haven’t yet learned or found reasons to hate her, their souls were pure & their arcane power clear enough to find its very own branches & roots on it’s own.

A little girl hugged her tightly, & the Enchantress’ hand instinctively seeks to caress the blonde curls of her head as maternal feelings nests in the deepest sides of her Soul; the many voices talking about their newest spells with such glee, her companions would be mesmerized & fluttering in a dance around them.

— She was Mother to none & all in her Night Garden;

& even when her tarnished body may probably never be capable of bare the gift of life for as long as she knew, she didn’t feel it as an impediment to giving all the affection her heart could still offer; at least to every single future petal & thorn that would allow the Black Rose to bloom once more.

#Drabbles #oh; what's this?#self indulgence at its finest #again (?) ; but seeing all writing drabbles about their Muses' mothers made me want to write something for Emilia's too #have those 2k words of monstrosity; cause I feel I can't write anymore x'D #but welp ♥#Hope you all had a lovely Mother's Day ♥#{ ｔｈｅ .ｎｉｇｈｔ. ｇａｒｄｅｎ } — into the black rose #long post #very long post #tw: blood #tw: death mention

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 5 years

Text

Imagine:

Reader/ OC trying to keep her orgasms on the inside because she doesn’t like how she sounds.

This is going to be pretty long and detailed. Figured I could add this bit into an idea I had. I wanted to write it out just like this 😩.First time using an OC. Enjoy lovelies xoxoxo

Hello, it’s your girl Ebony here and you’re listening to The Love Zone. We already have a caller number one on the line...

“Hello?” Élise timidly spoke into the phone while seated in her dimly lit living room. There was a 100% chance of showers that evening and rainy nights were the perfect nights for her. Alone in a home she inherited from her grandmother in Marigny, New Orleans, Élise decided to call The Love Zone on WQUE-FM, New Orleans mainstream urban radio station. Ebony Starr was a famous Sexologist and radio personality from Bywater, New Orleans. She inspired Élise to start her own podcast that she titled Finally Exhaled which discusses overcoming past toxic relationships and starting new ones.

“Caller number one?” Ebony said into the microphone. Her voice echoed since Élise could hear it twice.

“Yes,” she licked some cocoa butter from her lips, “I’m caller number one.”

“Alright, love, do you have a question for me?”

“I’m a huge fan,” she nervously laughs, “Just...I didn’t expect you...to answer my call.”

“You’re so sweet, honey, thank you,” Ebony made Élise smile, “what’s your name?”

“Yolanda,” that was her mother’s name.

“Yolanda, Pretty name. I know a lot of Yolanda’s.”

“Yeah,” she toyed with her long dreaded hair.

“Why are you up so late, Yolanda? No work for tomorrow?”

It was 11:00 pm. She worked as a waitress in a bar and grill but that was just to keep busy. She was an only grandchild left with her grandmothers money. Her Father didn’t like the fact that she got everything. Typical. He wasn’t around so why did it matter to him?

“Work tomorrow evening,” she pondered for a moment, “Now I remember my question.”

Ebony laughs, “go ahead, what’s your question?”

Wiggling her toes at the fireplace she opens her mouth to speak, “How do I overcome being embarrassed by the way I sound when I orgasm and moan? I’m nervous to even ask this question but it’s been bothering me and I just...I don’t like it.”

“Hmm,” Ebony’s smooth hum reassured her, “Why don’t you like the way you sound, Yolanda?”

“It’s-its because I was told it was ugly mainly. My last boyfriend-shitty boyfriend by the way, told me I sounded like a dying animal,” Élise chuckles, “I want to move past that and embrace the way I sound whenever the moment happens for me again but...”

“You’re afraid the next man will find it just as ugly and look at you weird?”

“Yes, ugh,” Élise closes her eyes, “What the hell should I do?”

“Honestly? Embrace it. That sound is a beautiful sound, Yolanda. One of the sounds of love making. When it’s real and sudden like that it makes you stutter out incoherent words and sounds but only a real man, an experienced appreciative man, would love to hear those noises. How old were you when he told you this?”

“I was 20 years old. That was when we first started dating. A start to a long toxic relationship.” She didn’t mean to vent like that but she couldn’t help it. Her ex, Sean, was such an emotional abuser. He shot her down every chance he got to make her feel ugly. That was for four whole years. She was 25 now and wanted to heal from that.

“Oh, that explains it,” Ebony made a noise of disapproval, “See, boys don’t know a thing, honey. I’m happy you’re not in that toxic relationship anymore and there is a man out there that will love every screaming orgasm you have. Especially if he’s the cause.”

“I know you’re right but gosh,” what man anyway? The closest she’s ever come to a man since then was working at that bar and they all were too pushy and drunks. She was loosing all hope honestly.

“Yolanda, when was the last time you had sex?”

“Over a year ago.”

“You’re craving sex heavy, sweetie. You want to give yourself to someone badly and a year can do that. I don’t think it was only the way you sound it’s a trust thing as well. Sean betrayed your trust.

Bingo.

“I’m better now. I can trust but I just don’t know where to start.”

“There is no rush. Let it come to you, honey. Once it does...accept it. Feel it. If you can listen to yourself moan and shout when you orgasm alone then you can definitely do it in front of a man again. I bet you sound angelic.”

Élise blushes.

“I actually heard that smile through the phone, Ebony laughs, “Sweety, let that moan out, snatch a man’s soul, and feed that craving.”

Élise laughs pleasantly, “I really needed this thank you so much, Miss Starr.”

“Please, If you need to talk you could always come to my meet and greets and workshops in The French Quarter.”

“I’d like that,” Élise smiles wide with her high cheek bones, “thanks again, Ebony.”

“Thank you, Yolanda. Enjoy the rest of your evening, love.”

The line disconnected. Élise places her phone on the carpeted floor and thought about their conversation. She was pining for sex. She wanted her year back. A year of no dick or lips on her pussy. Sex toys over used and calling her name as we speak.

Let’s take it slow with some Beyoncé- Dangerously in Love 2...

Baby I love you/You are my life/My happiest moments weren’t complete if you weren’t by my side/You’re my relation/In connection to the sun/With you next to me/There’s no darkness I can’t overcome/You are my raindrops/ I am your seed...

The rain was coming down in sheets, banging against Élise’s rough top like bullets. There was no lightning or thunder. She was glad that she got the lighting in her grandmothers home fixed because if she didn’t the power would be out and Élise did not want to go into that cobwebbed basement to find candles. Last time she went down there she saw a possum. Élise has on nothing but a retro Voodoo Fishing T-shirt while seated in front of the fireplace. She finally stands, the heat of the flames warming her butt before she walked back to the couch where her crinkled copy of Roar of Thunder, Hear My Cry rested on top of a quilt.

She couldn’t sleep and Beyoncé had her singing with her eyes closed. Grabbing her Walt Disney World coffee mug that had lukewarm herbal tea in it, Élise snuggled into the couch while facing a small window just above the heater in her living room.

I hope everyone is being safe on this stormy Friday night. We have another caller on the line, caller number two?

Élise tunes in.

“I’m still unfaithful to my husband. I can’t shake the need to be with the other man. Just tonight I came home after frantic car sex in an open lot. I want to tell him...I want to tell him I’m happy with the other man.”

“Wow,” Élise loves this juicy talk. She could faintly hear Rihanna-Unfaithful play in the background which causes her to giggle. Ebony was hilarious.

Whew, honey, juggling two men?

“SHIT!”

Élise’s head shot up from the couch. The angry shout came from outside. Maybe someone was locked out the house, she thought. Élise covered herself with the quilt further to listen to more of The Love Zone.

You are killing this man. Just tell him the truth. I can hear the pain in your voice. If you want to end this the right way stop stringing him along and communicate...

Thump

A rather loud kick could be heard from outside. Now, her interest was peaked. Élise tosses the quilt back , tiptoeing to the window with her mug still in hand. She could see a little better only because the house had a porch. But it was still foggy. A man was outside with his hazards flashing. He had to have been out there for a minute with how drenched he was messing under the hood of his car. No lightning or thunder. Just the rain, but the rain was more than enough to make the situation extremely uncomfortable.

Élise couldn’t see him that clearly as he hopped in and out of his car every minute or so, probably trying to warm up before trying something else to get his car moving again. Thanks to the street lamp about twenty feet from where he parked she could make out the type of car. A Ford Mustang 2006. It was parked beside a neighbor of hers that she didn’t like at all. His name was Kevin and he was a white supremacist. Nothing new in the South. No family but she could have sworn she heard screams from his house...

“Fuck!” The man shouts again. Élise felt kind of guilty. She had no idea why. She was sure most of her neighbors saw him stranded out there as well. As quiet as her neighborhood is, something out of the ordinary rarely goes unnoticed. However, the fact that the man was still out there struggling on one of the worst nights, weather-wise, of the year didn’t sit right with her. What harm would it be to offer to let him into her home so he could properly make a call for a Tow service or have a nice cup of tea and a hot meal? Loan a flashlight, or let him warm up by the fireplace for a moment?

Élise stares down at what she was wearing again. That retro Voodoo Fishing T-shirt. Élise went to the closet to grab her red longline puffer coat and black Hunter rain boots. She grabs a flashlight from the closet shelf, trying it out to see if it worked. A couple slaps with it to the palm of her hand made the old thing ignite and she was headed for the door. Élise swung the front door open like a women on a mission. She stomps across her front porch and right down the steps, pulling the back of her coat up over her head to keep from getting her dreads wet.

“Excuse me!” She yelled out from the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street from where the man was parked. He looked in her direction, and she could finally make out his soaked face. She was not disappointed.

“Wassup?!” He responded loudly, “This rain is a bitch!”

“Yeah, it is! Do you need some help?! It’s pretty cold out too my place is warm!”

He kept a steady gaze on her from under his hood. He had this look on his face as if that were a bad idea. Now, Élise was regretting it.

“Are you waiting for someone?!” She started up the conversation again. Her legs were so wet now.

“Nah!” He shook his head and from what Élise could make out she saw short dreads fall over his forehead, “Listen, it’s bad out here, sweetheart why don’t you go back inside, huh?!”

“You sure?!” She pointed her flashlight to the house, “My offer still stands if you change your mind!”

“Thanks, I appreciate it, ma!”

Even though it was dark she could see his smile. Damn, he was good-looking. All that out here melting in the rain. Élise turned to run back to the porch only to fall right on the concrete. She felt both her knees hit the ground. She wailed in pain. Her hands planted to the ground and she tried lifting up but her rain boots slipped right from under her. She could feel hot tears prick her eyes.

“SHIT!!! Hey, Ma!” He called out. Élise could hear heavy feet splashing in the flooded streets and then a pair of wet hands grabbing her waist and lifting her all the way up into bridal style. She squinted her eyes up at the nice-looking man with the fucked up car. He started walking back to her porch. He sat her down on an old chained swing chair before removing his black hoodie and tossing it on the swing chair with her. It was probably uncomfortable walking around with heavily soaked fabric. One thing was for sure: he was built. He had on a charcoal gray tee that was hugging his body something fierce. Élise could make out his physique thanks to him being up close and personal now. Then there was those dreads. They fit his rugged look so perfectly. He definitely wasn’t from around here.

“What are you doing out here? It’s bad, sweetheart, you could have cracked your head open on the ground instead.”

She blinked up at him with timid eyes. He softened his stern ones before his eyes closed. His hands finger combed his dreads back before he shook his head to stop the dripping water.

“My bad,” he looked down at her on the swing chair, “you’re probably thinking who the fuck he think he is talking to me,” he laughs awkwardly.

“Not at all,” Élise looked away and down at her lap. He was right. She was so quick to come running to the rescue. It was almost flooded outside.

“Let me see the damage,” He crouches down to look at her knees, “just scraped skin but it needs to be cleaned off.”

His onyx eyes landed on hers before turning back to his car. Élise studies the back of his smooth neck and the curve of his ears. It seemed like forever that he was staring at his car.

“I have everything in my house I can take care of it. Thank you though.”

He turned back with a tilt of his head. His eyes looked up at her house while his fingers lazily drummed on the swing chair.

“My name is Erik.” He reached out to shake her hand.

“I’m Élise,” she grabbed it and noticed some cuts on his knuckles, “looks like you need some help too.”

Erik drew his hand back before covering his knuckles by folding his arms, “Shit, I forgot that was even there.”

“No worries, I’m not afraid of blood.” She clarified.

“You must not be afraid of much talking to a stranger at 12 in the morning in the rain.”

His tone was serious. Élise looked away from him with a shy smile.

“I have a big heart and my shitty neighbors wouldn’t help you out so I figured what the hell I can do it.”

“Not much happens around here, huh?” He asked with attentive eyes.

“No, it’s pretty quiet,” she took in every inch of him with her eyes. The tight charcoal gray shirt was damp and exposing every single muscle. She liked his short dreads, almond colored skin, and long, sexy eyelashes.

“You could have knocked on someone’s door to give you a jump.”

“Ha,” his chuckle was dry, “You don’t answer doors when strangers knock, baby girl. And I don’t trust knocking on doors in this neighborhood. I’m lucky you even stepped out,” he smiled faintly, “like a breath of fresh air.”

“I agree,” she changed it up, “it’s just-“

“Don’t explain yourself. It’s cool,” Erik stands, stretching out the muscles in his arms. His eyes were studying her home with a new found curiosity.

“In this world we live in, you never know what you might find knocking on someone’s door. Most people are suspicious, especially of us black men.”

“True,” she stood with him, wrapping her coat around her, “so...do you wanna come in?”

He licked his lips and placed his hands in his black cargo pants pockets. He looked like he was freezing and she could see his cold breath.

“Erik, I have blankets and dry shirts,” she beemed up at him.

He squinted his eyes playfully at her before his head fell forward with defeat. Success.

“A blanket does sound nice. But, as tiny as you are, I doubt I could fit into one of your shirts.”

Élise thought she saw a flicker of lust in his eyes when he said that. At least, a part of her hoped she saw lust.

“Unless...” He gave her quizzical expression, “your boyfriend got some shirt he left behind.”

Élise blushes, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

She could tell he was fighting a grin. Élise finally turned to lead the way back into her place, Erik grabbing his hoodie and walking through the door. The second he ended up in there he felt his body defrost and dry.

“Fuck,” he ran his hands over his short dreads, “I’m glad I let my pride down for once and let you help me. A nigga was cold.”

“Uh-Huh,” Élise laughs, “I see your skin warming up, Erik.”

“Oh yeah, I’m nice and toasty now,” He smiles flirtatiously.

“Hungry? Thirsty?”

“Nah, I’m cool.”

“Tow service?”

“Not available and...I’d rather not,” His jaw clenched.

“Well...” Élise shrugs, “looks like you’re staying the night, Erik.”

Erik raised a brow at her before looking around him to get acquainted.

She felt comfortable with him even though he was considered a stranger. Her grandmother would have higher blood pressure than what she already had if she knew what she’d just done. The thought of having some kind of company that night made her feel a lot better and less lonely. Élise finally locks her door and went to her closet to take off her boots and coat. It was all or nothing.

“Closet is free to put your boots and hoodie in.”

She was so damn comfortable around him that she forgot about only being in her T-shirt. Erik stood back with his arms folded watching Élise move and the fabric of the shirt sink in between her ass cheeks. She was sexy for sure. The second she kicked off her boots Erik could see the flesh of her butt... bare flesh.

This girl is serious? He thought.

Ass swinging while she moved. She was a cutie with a nice body. Alone in this big home. All that alone with no man. Shit didn’t make sense. Maybe she was just fucking someone. Erik began walking up to her while she took off her puffer coat to hang. Long slender dreads with shells in it. He wanted to pull on the coarse hair.

“Thanks, Élise,” He was so stealthy that she hadn’t noticed how close he had gotten to her. Elise’s back stiffened and her body tried to step away to give him space but Erik was already taking off his boots and hanging up his hoodie. She caught a whiff of his cologne causing her to nibble on her bottom lip. He didn’t smell like liquor and cigarettes like the men at the bar and grill she worked at. He smelled like rain, sweat, and what she recognized was Gucci Guilty men’s cologne. She remembered that smell from when she was in Macy’s sniffing around in the perfume section. It was intimate and warm at the same time.

“Don’t worry, your blankets will smell like me even when I leave, baby girl.”

She was caught red handed.

“I’m sorry,” she stroked a few dreads from her face, “Your cologne smells really good.”

We’re they really standing in the closet? She dropped the flashlight on the floor when Erik leaned in towards her to smell her now. He was more than comfortable around her. He acted like he knew her.

“You smell like coconut oil,” He gave her a coy smile, “I like that.” Erik crouched down in the small space to pick up the flashlight.

“T-thanks.” Élise licked her dry lips. She needs more cocoa butter.

“So, nice closet,” He teased.

“Yeah...very spacious,” she awkwardly tried to joke back.

Just show me around, ma, since I’m gonna be sleeping here tonight. Unless...you changed your mind?”

He leaned in toward her with a slight raise of his brow and parted lips. He knew he had hers shooken up.

“Yeah, I have a spare bedroom and the couch pulls out into a bed.”

Erik’s eyes trailed up and down her body, “Pull out couch is fine.”

Élise finally let out the breath she’d been holding once Erik stepped away and into her living room. She watched him look around like he was in a museum, staring at her family photos and the art on the walls. Élise has redecorated since moving in two years ago.

“This you?” Erik had a wide smile on his face while pointing to a photo on the ledge of the fireplace. Élise walked over, spotting the photo in question. Oh, yes, when her hair was in a kinky fro, nose piercing, college T-shirt on two sizes too small, tiny denim shorts, and laying in the grass with her ass sitting out and ready to be grabbed.

“Looking like a little rebel,” He picked that photo up studying it with unrelenting eyes. She shuddered.

“Very sexy,” Erik commented and then he gave Élise that look. She turned away from him; she didn’t want him to see the desire in her eyes. She was beginning to have second thoughts about kissing and possibly fucking a complete stranger. No need to deny herself her own thoughts. She’s been thinking that the second he looked up at her from across the street in the rain.

“Where are you from, Erik?”

He placed the picture back on the fireplace ledge, “California.”

Élise was intrigued.

“Why New Orleans?” She followed him to the couch where he started pulling it out into a bed.

“Business,” He kept it short. She didn’t pry further because she sensed that he didn’t want her to know the nature of his “business.”

“How do you like it so far?”

He gathered the bottom of his shirt, bringing it up and over his head while his zealous eyes never left hers, “It’s cool, I’ve been before during Mardi Gras.”

She froze. Was his skin naturally like that? It wouldn’t make since with how neat the bumps were. What would make him do that? He didn’t seem bothered by her eyes taking it all in or the wondering crease in her brow. He wouldn’t tell her, she knew that. The shit was going to eat her alive.

She snapped out of her daze, “I haven’t been to a Mardi Gras since I was 21.”

“Why?” He settles down shirtless on the pullout. His body bathed in the fire. She could feel her tongue tingling to taste his skin. Erik is so sexy.

“It’s so damn wild.”

“Please, girl,” He laughs, “Drunk white people acting a fool ain’t our kind of wild.”

They both laughed.

“When I came that shit was dead i was not partying with them. So, me and a friend hit up some urban spots and listened to some upbeat jazz and ate Cajun food. I met a chick and had some fun with her.”

What kind of fun?

“Sounds a lot better than the time I went.”

Élise stares down at her scraped knees. The crimson peeked through the tiny scratches. Now that her attention was there it was beginning to burn.

“Where’s your bathroom so we can get those cuts cleaned, baby girl?”

Élise pointed to her stairwell, “Upstairs. I can bring it down you don’t have to come with me.”

“Well,” Erik had a roguish expression on his face, “what if I wanna see what upstairs looks like?”

Her wary eyes stared at his wry expression. Erik was definitely being very coy with her.

“You won’t find anything interesting upstairs except for my bedroom.”

Élise’s wistful expression let Erik know without even saying it flat out that she wanted him in her room. He fixed his eyes on her for being that bold with him. She wasn’t so shy. She was a little rebel.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Élise tries to play it off, “I should probably shut up.”

“Let’s go,” Erik stood up, holding his hand out to her. Élise grabs his hand, leading Erik to the staircase and up the creaky steps. It was dark and chilly in the hallway since she didn’t turn on the heat upstairs. She could hear Erik shiver even though his hand was still warm. They made it to her bathroom, Élise turning on the light. She hadn’t changed it around much. Her grandmother still had Élise’s potty from when she was a baby in there. She never let go of things.

“My guess is this house belonged to your grandmother?” Erik finally spoke while standing at the sink.

“Yep. She passed away from breast cancer two years ago.”

“I know how that shit feels, trust me,” Erik opened her medicine cabinet to find a withering first aid kit, “I lost my mom and my dad so I understand.”

Erik motioned for Élise to come to him. When she did he picked her up and sat her on the edge of the sink. Her short yet thick legs swung back and forth reminding her of when she was a child. Erik opened the kit and grabbed some gauze dressing, peroxide, and neosporin.

“You must really enjoy picking me up, stranger,” Élise’s playful eyes sought out Erik’s and the second he smiled revealing those deep dimples in his cheeks she crossed her legs to simmer the heat growing between them. Even the grip she had on the edge of the sing became firmer.

there is a man out there that will love every screaming orgasm you have. Especially if he’s the cause.

Ebony’s words spoke to her again. She was thinking about the sounds she would make if Erik fucked her. He was still shirtless, his cargo pants riding low on his hips showing her that chiseled v-cut of his, and those lashes with his onyx eyes blinked at her like he was trying to read her mind. Lord knows Élise wanted to read his. He was so mysterious and unreadable and that didn’t scare her. It made her want to stake her claim on him. He was visiting New Orleans and maybe she could show him around and they could have some fun of their own. Élise was lonely and friends weren’t enough to fill the void. Not really much family left either. She needed the warmth and comfort of a man.

But Erik looked like the type to break you down piece by piece. She wouldn’t mind him turning her out. Élise didn’t know how long she was staring but Erik’s soft fingers tapping the sides of her thighs broke her out of her dreamy state. Staring down, she could see the fresh gauze covering her wounds. Élise bit into her lip and without being able to control it her high cheek bones puffed out. He made her blush over everything. Why couldn’t he be from New Orleans and not California? Once he left she wouldn’t find another guy around like him. She already crushed on him and she hardly even knew him.

“What did I do to make you blush, pretty girl?”

“What didn’t you do, Erik,” She reaches out for his hands, “let me see.”

He came in closer between her legs, giving her permission to grab his hands and examine his scarred knuckles. It looked pretty bad. Did he beat a brick wall or somebody’s face? She glanced up at him briefly and without saying a word she tended his wounds. His searching expression made her belly flit like butterfly wings. Now, she was rubbing neosporin in carefully. She could feel his eyes leering at her in a sexually suggestive way.

“These are pretty fresh,” she muttered. Élise’s eyes looked from his Adam’s apple bobbing from swallowing spit to his teeth nibbling the corner of his full pouty lip. He didn’t look at her when she said that.

“That’s because they are, Élise,” he says with a low voice. She started wrapping the gauze dressing around his hand. After she was done she didn’t let his hands go. Élise surely didn’t want to. They stood in a comfortable silence and it gave her time to think about his fresh wounds. He didn’t look like the type to go around beating brick walls but faces? That was definitely the answer. And surprisingly, Élise wasn’t afraid. If Erik wanted to rob her or kill her he would have done that already. Instead he was kind to her and he looked at her like he wanted to fuck her. She liked that look a lot.

“Élise.” Erik spoke earnestly.

“Yes?” She said with a soft-spoken voice.

“You’re not afraid of me. Why?”

“Because I know you won’t hurt me.”

She noticed him watching the way her lips moved when she said that. He was admiring the shape of them. Her lips were the perfect proportion. Perfectly symmetrical on the left and the right. Full lips with volume and a plump pout.

“Yeah, baby girl, I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“...but you did hurt someone...”

Erik glides his tongue over his upper teeth, responding but completely ignoring her question, “what if I kissed you right now? That wouldn’t change your mind?”

“No.” Élise said gazing into his eyes.

Erik leans in with his hands bracing the sides of the sink. His lips sparingly touched hers as he spoke. Élise clings to every word while her low eyes stared at his mouth.

“If you lettin’ me put my mouth on yours then you’ll let me put something else on you...am I right?”

Élise has an anxious feeling and Erik wasn’t helping when the flesh of his bottom lip tickled hers every time he spoke. Now, her eyelids were fluttering. Still in nothing but that retro Voodoo Fishing T-shirt and no panties. She wondered if he could smell her arousal towards him.

“Erik-“

“Just answer the question, Élise.”

“Yes, I would.”

“If you’re not afraid of me you would answer my questions,” Erik moved his lips to her ear, his hard chest touching her clothed one. Élise shuddered when his warm breath tickled her ear, “Why are you so comfortable around me with this little ass T-shirt on and no panties?”

“H-How do you know I don’t have on panties?”

“Because,” the hair from his beard touched her neck, “I could see that ass from the back when you were in that closet, ma.”

She hung on to his captivating voice while staring at the side of his neck. Élise was sweating from how turned on she was and he didn’t even kiss her yet.

“That’s what I’m talking about. You act like you know me...what if I would have pulled that shirt up to get a better look at that ass?”

Élise gasps at his words, turning to look at him with alluring eyes. What if he would have done that? He was already so close to her. Now she was imagining him bending her over in that closet and going deep in her pussy from the back. She found that to be very sexy and thrilling. Élise’s grandmother was probably turning over in her grave right now. Her granddaughter letting a strange and clearly very dangerous man into her home and allowing him to seduce her.

Erik takes his hands to rest on her thighs. He moved them up and down in a slow motion keeping a steady gaze on Élise to see if she would flinch away. No, she was enjoying the firmness of his hands. He knew exactly what he was doing. Élise could feel his fingertips hit the bottom of her T-shirt. Damn...he was so close.

“Élise, you so damn thick, girl.”

“Thank you.” She bit down on her tongue to fight her ugly moan. At least that’s what she thought it was. Her eyes descended when she felt Erik lift the bottom of her shirt. Unhurried and gentle Erik lifts that T-shirt up to reveal Élise’s shaved mound. The phat flesh sat between her plush thighs like a surprise treat.

“Damn, you just letting me do this, huh?”

“Yes,” she let out an airy sigh, “I am.”

“Been too long, ma?” Erik had a wolfish expression on his face, “shit, you nice and phat down there too.”

Erik pulled her shirt back down and Élise’s heart sank before his pillowy lips finally connected with hers so suddenly. Her head almost collided with the mirror from how alarmed she was. Her hands reached up to cup his face while she allowed this man to fuck her mouth with his tongue. She tried to keep up with him but in the end Erik conquered her. His mouth tasted amazing. Now, he was gripping her curvy waist with his forceful hands and practically pulling her into his body. Their heads moved from side to side and their lips smacked and sucked on each other’s. A tiny yelp escaped her mouth when Erik sank his teeth into her bottom lip before drawing back. He licks his lips in one motion all the way around his mouth and Élise was officially hungry for more of him. A man coming in from the rain. A man she would have never expected would be kissing her on her bathroom sink. It was so risky.

“Ahhhh!” She moaned instantaneously. His lips and teeth were on her neck. Shit, Élise actually moaned. Why was she even worried? She actually sounded quite nice. Erik was bruising her skin with the right suction of his lips. If it felt like that on her neck it would feel just as good on her hard nipples and clit. The surface of the sink was moist from her pussy rubbing and gliding along the surface.

“Taste so goddam good, girl,” he flattened his tongue and licked her neck, “so sweet.”

“God, Erik,” she moaned, “I can’t believe I’m letting you do this to me.”

“I can,” He chuckles, “You like that I’m doing this to you. I can tell you’ve been loosing out, ma, got you all sweaty and breathing deep.”

“I just can’t...believe...fuck, Erik.”

His hands grabbed her breasts, circling them and tweaking her nipples through her shirt. He was torturing her at this point. Élise wanted him to rip that shirt off her body.

“You’re driving me crazy,” She whispered, “Erik,” her voice was so hushed and heavenly. The man in question was just as frazzled as her. Panting, a sheen of sweat on his skin, his dick hardening and thickening against her inner thighs.

“Élise...I wanna fuck you.” He grabs her hips to keep her still, “listen to me,” his thumb came up to stroke her dimples chin, “...I wanna fuck you so good, girl. You need to take some good dick.”

“It’s been so long,” she bit into her pouty lip.

“Shit, how long?” He was running his hands through her dreaded strands.

“I feel,” she shivers, “I feel so embarrassed saying it,” Élise’s murmured like she was telling a huge secret.

“You can tell me...don’t be scared, girl.”

“A year,” she closed her eyes.

What the fuck. An entire year. Élise was yearning, longing, craving, and hungry for some dick and attention. Part of Erik wondered if that was one of the reasons why she let him into her home.

“Aye,” Erik soothes her, “that’s a long time, baby girl, but I can help you out with that,” Erik takes her hand to kiss it gently before speaking against her knuckles, “I can make you feel better....”

“Erik.”

“You know you want me to...let me make you feel good...” He kissed her hand again while staring into her eyes. Erik felt her thighs quiver around his waist.

“I got you, ma.”

“Erik,” she kept whispering at him and it had him grunting and painfully hard, “I’m so wet, I can’t believe it...Erik.”

She’s so beautiful. God, Erik needed this right now. He needed her ass.

“Élise, girl, I swear to fucking God-“

“Erik, please, Erik.”

Élise unexpectantly lifts both of her legs to the sink, her entire T-shirt bunched up around her waist now showing Erik all that wet juicy pink. Pussy looking like a wet piece of fruit. A peach drizzled in honey. Tight slit with puffy suckable lips. Erik’s eyes were vicious. He reached out to keep her thighs back since she wanted it that way. Then, in a blink of an eye, he had her pushed back against the mirror with her ass hanging over the edge of that sink.

“Oh? You itchin’ for me, ain’t you? opening up your fucking legs like that. Just telling me I can have it? Girl, I will beat this pussy up right on this motherfucking sink. Fucking playing with me if you want...”

She caved when she saw him spit thickly on her pussy. She drew her lips into her mouth. Élise could feel the saliva practically slap her clit. He was so fucking nasty. She just knew that Erik would have her making all types of noises.

“Still ain’t scared, huh?”

“No.” Her voice shook even though she said no.

Erik’s head went down between her legs. He stuck his tongue out as far as it could go and began licking the underside of her clit back and forth. Élise clenched her teeth, the sounds begging to escape her mouth.

“I don’t hear nothing. If you ain’t afraid why don’t I hear you moaning, baby girl?”

Erik went in again slurping her up and licking in a deadly pattern. She felt him tug on her clit and inner folds. She was ready to cum already.

“Erik, Erik I-Stop it, I’m-Erik, please, please I’m-oh my God you’re-you’re making me-Ooooh you’re making me-“

Like it wasn’t in her own control, Élise moaned as her orgasm erupted from her. Her eyes squeezed shut and the so called animalistic sounds escaped her mouth. She was choking on her moans and she hated that she couldn’t control it but this fucking man...he was eating her. Making up for that year. Every month fueling him to suck and lick on that pussy some more. Even after she came he still covered her with his entire mouth and spit. She waited and waited for him to say she sounded ugly or look at her bizarrely but no. Instead he says...

“Good fucking girl. That’s right, cum in this mouth. Shit, cum all you want, do it, baby girl.”

Thank god for his car breaking down.

“Yes!”

“Uh-Huh, you want some more!”

She nodded her head with vigorously.

“Look at you,” Erik bit his lip while thumbing her clit, “look at you shaking and moaning,” his motions increased, “cumming again? That pussy cummimg for me? she ready to bust for me, Élise?”

“Mmmm, Erikkkk, baybeee!”

“You just keep on going?” He smiled.

“I-I’m sorry,” her body spasmed, “I can make a lot of mess.”

Élise was referring to her squirting habit.

“You can squirt all over Daddy whenever you like,” He inserts two fingers inside of her. She rolled her eyes shut, body vanquished but feeining for more.

“Grabbing my fingers like that? Gon’ head and cum...better yet fuck these fingers. Get you some, ma, pop that pussy on these fingers.”

Her hips lifted to get all of his fingers as he dug deep.

“Ooh...ooh...look at you...got my dick heavy in these pants.”

Élise watched him grab his dick. He was so long. She couldn’t wait to see it. And fuck it. And suck it...

“Damn, shit, I can’t wait to pound that puss.”

She shouted out again, pussy convulsing around his thick fingers. Her throat was raw from how hard she screamed.

“So fucking beautiful. Shit don’t make no sense.”

@tgigoldie @soufcakmistress @chefjessypooh@chaneajoyyy@pananegra@theblulife @becincere @blaqwidow91 @fish-outta-watah@moonlight-night-sky @eyeknowmywrites @crowngold@njadakillthiscookie@blktinkerbell@luvanxi @sheisexcellent1@chocolatedippedinhoney@brandithecrystalgem@dababydababydababydababy@soulfulbeauty19@btitannaaa@sunkissedebony97 @youngblackndgifted@harleycativy @rbhp@thee-germanpeach @thadelightfulone@bugngiz@palmstreesallday@skylahb @bakaris-shorty @nizzle-mo @truglori @queenflaws @ljstraightnochaser @nickidub718 @vikkidc @thehomierobbstark @rent-emspoons @abluesforlyssa

#nahimjustfeelingit writes #killmonger smut #killmonger fic #killmonger x reader #killmonger imagine

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e8luhs · 4 years

Text

THE CHANGELING.

but if we ourselves are to suffer deception, our hands are no longer tied.

LISTEN ON SPOTIFY.

a playlist for clara saburova, tracklist & annotations under the cut

I. OMEN / MOTHER MOTHER

something about the world today makes a boy feel a bit insane from daffodils to acid rain, to antichrist on a tidal wave but that's all right, that's okay i can look the other way upon a path of old primrose beyond the smoke and smoldering chrome

II. KILL THE LIGHTS / THE BIRTHDAY MASSACRE

we kill the lights and put on a show it's all a lie but you'd never know the star will shine, and then it will fall and you will forget it all

III. THERE’S SOMETHING HAPPENING / JACK STAUBER

there's something happening (uh-huh) there's something happening too! is it repaired? no, i don't know if it ever will be it's really nice, oh, it's really nice to not meet you because i'm scared someday you might actually see me! (oh no) scratch that (bum-bum), i'm ready!

IV. PSYCHE / MASSIVE ATTACK

conjure me as a child, slipping down a web side stretch up, i cannot reach him jumping up they drag him from the water

V. DON’T DECONSTRUCT / RILO KILEY

judging from picture books, apparently heaven is a partly cloudy place and if the sky opened up, and they let you in and gave you a formal invitation... would you go? you could work from home

VI. & / TALLY HALL

came back again to make it clear that he never said it would meet demand shame on a martyr claiming friends from either perspective of &

VII. THE CRY FORUM / MOTHER MOTHER

are they all out of touch? are they touching it too much? are they on some kind of drug that i haven’t done enough of? i’m not one to judge, i just like to make fun of everybody and their dog, am i wrong?

VIII. VERSUS / LADYTRON

force of nature versus range, nature versus what is strange "there's a fire starting here" versus "there's nothing to fear" versus lonely versus safe

IX. 1940 (AMPLIVE REMIX) / THE SUBMARINES

something's wrong when you regret things that haven't happened yet but it's a glorious day when morning comes without that feeling of alarm

X. EIGHTH WONDER / LEMON DEMON

and i have hands, and i have feet i'll never die, i am a freak hello, i'm here, I'm living in the wall i know i might be small, but i am a freak

XI. SKIN / OINGO BOINGO

this is someone else's story, someone that i never knew this is someone else's body, am i getting through to you? if you peel away the armor, is something underneath? if you look below for hidden treasure, underneath another layer are you hiding underneath the skin?

XII. PERSONAL JESUS / DEPECHE MODE

feeling unknown and you're all alone flesh and bone, by the telephone lift up the receiver i'll make you a believer

XIII. RAMALAMA (BANG BANG) / ROISIN MURPHY

could a body close the mind out? stitch a seam across the eye? if you can be good, you'll live forever if you're bad, you'll die when you die

XIV. GIRL ANACHRONISM / THE DRESDEN DOLLS

there i go again, pretending to be you make believing that i have a soul beneath the surface trying to convince you it was accidentally on purpose

XV. GUILTY / MARINA AND THE DIAMONDS

guilty on the run and i know what i have done guilty on the run and i'm never forgiven

XVI. THE MIND ELECTRIC / MIRACLE MUSICAL

see how the brain plays around, and you fall inside a hole you couldn't see and you fall inside a hole inside a-- someone help me understand what's going on inside my mind doctor, i can't tell if i'm not me!

XVII. THE CHILD THEY LEFT BEHIND / HOT SUGAR

[instrumental]

XVIII. MARROW / ST VINCENT

muscle connects to the bone and the bone to the ire and the marrow so i pretend these aren't ten strings attached to all ten of my fingers

XIX. COMMUNITY GARDENS / THE SCARY JOKES

the culmination of man's mistakes came the day the sun ran so hot, it turned the desert to glass if there's something to be learned from all these losers it's that the price that you pay for arrogance and a false sense of immunity is to face the wrath of a dying star

XX. 13 ANGELS STANDING GUARD ‘ROUND THE SIDE OF YOUR BED / SILVER MT ZION

[instrumental]

#plylsts #pathologic #OKAYYYY my fave out of the three im done now. thank u all.#back to your regularly scheduled programming

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tokyoghoose · 4 years

Text

forgive these bastards ➤ prologue

summary ➣ when detective akaashi comes across a rather complicated case, he is faced with many challenges along the way. In his attempt to solve the murder of a young woman and a string crimes, he must work beside the reader to learn more about the victim. ( detective au )

theme song ➢ im not a good person - pat the bunny, sleep is for the weak - the dreadnoughts, the quittin kind - eleisha eagle, how do you sleep - himalayas, blow my brains out - tikkle me, when i was done dying - dan deacon, stalkers tango - autoheart, youre nobody until somebody wants you dead - saint motel, kitchen fork - john conte, distant past - everything everything, cough cough - everything everything

warnings ➢ mentions of murder and death, description of blood and gore.

announcements!

here it is! the prologue of ftb! :) I'm super excited to start this series! this is a little shorter than i wanted it to be, but I'm still pretty happy with it.

feedback is appreciated and welcome! requests are open!

—————

"Keiji, it's getting dark. Why not come inside for the night?"

The sun was just over the horizon, the moon coming up to replace it. It's bright—the orange and pink colors. The image is burned into young Akaashi's memory when he looks over. He waves at his mother with a nod before passing the volleyball back to his friends and running over. The scrapes on his palm sting and the bruises on his legs hurt a little, but he doesn't mind the sensation. It feels like freedom—even if he doesn't really understand the full meaning of the moon. This is what he imagines it feels like.

Games to be played with friends and laughter. If this is what life holds then he is more than willing to live it. His naivety holds firm when he grabs his mother hand at the door, being pulled into a brisk hug. She laughs and pats his hair and he thinks it's the kindest gesture in the world. He snuggles closer before pulling away to see dinner on the table. His mother locks up, looking quietly into the city with concerned eyes. She wasn't going to let anyone hurt him, the smile that she cherishes wasn't going to fade as long as she could help it. She turns with a smile, passing him a plastic fork before listening to the adventures Akaashi had gone on that day.

Childhood seems so far now.

———

If you were to tell Akaashi's five year old self that seventeen years later everything he thought about freedom and life was a lie and he would become a detective who took away other's freedom, he'd probably laugh and then cry and cry some more. If you were to tell him that his mother would die so he'd have to be raised by his aunt at the age of thirteen, he'd probably punch you in face in attempt to break your nose—and if you then told him that's the reason he became a detective and went through five grueling years of internships and having to learn how to stomach crime scenes in the first place, he'd make sure to add a swift kick to the shin with it. Even at twenty, if someone—anyone—would have told him that he'd never get sleep again because of the things he'd see day to day, eventually becoming desensitized, but still having nightmares that kept him up all hours of the night—well, he'd probably just brush it off because he thought he'd be different.

News flash: he's not different.

In attempt to rub sleep from his eyes (ironic considering he got maybe an hour), Akaashi yawns, triggering a chain reaction from his assistant. The city is bustling with talk of the latest murder—a social media personality. Twitter is blowing up with the hashtags 'rip' and 'always & forever.' Yet, hardly any of the people tweeting and saying things like: 'always in our hearts, never forget,' didn't know her personally. They knew the internet version of her, the side she showed to the world and not the side she was personally. To the world she is known as an idol—a hero to some.

But everyone has their dark secrets.

The car stops along the house's pavement, the driveway a large circle with a statue in the middle. His first thought is someone was in it for the money, maybe a robbery gone wrong. Stepping out the car, he snaps on some gloves and looks around before being handle the case file from an officer on duty, being caught up to speed.

The house is pristine except for the blood that has dried up on the tiled floor. It's a stark contrast from all the white and gold. Minimalist; he notes. Akaashi skims the file before looking at the body and watching it get zipped up into a black bag before being carried away. All that's left is half an outline and some splatter across the floor.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. Just what he needs—more nightmare fuel. But a job is a job no matter how tired he is.

"Alright, let's start at the entrances. Check the windows and doors."

———

Red. Why is there so much red? Whose breathing is that? And why is it so loud?

Your eyes finally focus on the hand outstretched in front of you, widening at the sight. A silent scream escapes past your lips and shakes your body, making you stumble backwards. The shaking hand blocks the view, forcing your eyes away from the scene. The thumping of your heart and blood in your eyes is so deafening that it makes you lightheaded. You felt sick. You were going to vomit, pushing down a gag and covering your mouth.

You look at your hands, willing them to stop shaking in tight fists before looking at the body below you. Blonde hair dyed red from the puddle. A sob wracks through you.

Heaving a heavy breath you weren't aware you were holding and gripping your phone tightly, you dial the police. Your voice shakes when speaking:

"H-help, please. She's dead! "

———

Akaashi rubs at his temple in attempt to soothe an oncoming headache, the dim yellow light at his desk straining his eyes. He looks at the file, nibbling on his lip in irritation. The pictures of the scene and the overall file and personal file just swarms his head with mixed up information and he honestly isn't sure where to start. With a soft sigh he leans back into his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

The case is gruesome, a red massacre. Victim was stabbed six times in the abdominal, close to gutted even, but the blunt truama to her head shows she was dead before hitting floor. The door hadn't been broken in, the wood and hinges still in place like they hadn't been shaken—perhaps she let them in. The window had been forced open from the inside, the paint that previously sealed it being chipped aggressively against the pane. It could've been some loopy stalker, but the more he looks at the case it's less likely.

His head hurts and he can't focus and it's getting late.

He begins to nipple of his thumb nail, bringing it up to his lips in deep thought. The red strings in his brain trying to connect the dots sooner than it's actually possible. He's smart, but not that smart. His eyes slowly shift to the post-it note beside the biege file, a number scribbled down messily. They had sent you home with an officer to calm down from the shock. It had been about two days now as they waited for the autopsies and inspected, but time was running short and he needed your statement before the case runs cold and slips through his fingers. He'd have to interrogate you, ask you to speak on behalf of your friend. It seems you would know the most about her and her true identity as her emergency contact. Maybe‐ hopefully, you'd help provide answers.

But he hates this part. The part where he has to call traumatized homicide victims and witnesses. He doesn't do well at comforting people, especially when he's the type to cut straight to the point. He doesn't know how to stop someone from crying (because someone always does) and he can never stop himself from saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. He's blunt and yet, he's like a double edged sword. And he knows what they feel because he's been there and he sees it every day, even if he wasn't involved directly. If it haunts him at night, then it must taunt them all day. It's a hard push to get over, and even then the wounds never really heal. Suppose that's why Akaashi keeps pushing to solve cases, even cold ones, because he knows how it feels to be hopeless with a dark mentality. Nothing else matters until the killer is at the mercy of law.

He goes back to gnawing on his abused bottom lip, leaning forward to grab the black office phone before dialing the number. He lets it ring, twice before he hears the line click and a soft, weak 'hello?' He clears his throat, picking up his pen to write down anything he may need. This isn't his first rodeo, afterall.

"Hello, is this l/n y/n? Yes, this is the detective on case. Would you mind coming in to answer a few questions about your friend, Michiko?"

—————

taglist ➣

@izzyphantomgamer @callmeignorance @kenmagi @sawasmura @kagsblueberrymilk

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wormholxtremearchived · 4 years

Note

💀 except i want this for raylee -evil laughter-

@pepperpxtts / @mindrcadcr | Death Meme | Accepting

For a moment, Kaylee forgot the battle that took place. Her mind was flooded with darkness. How this very second felt like an eternity and passed as quickly as a tornado was a mystery but she almost wished for that numbing darkness to return.

A fire ran under her skin, she felt like she was being boiled alive but she couldn’t see the effect on her physical form. Instead, her body was covered in debris. Tons of bricks and twisted metal that melted together in a vat of lava was starting to solidify as it encased and crushed her entire body. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, evaporating into light clouds of steam from the heat that continued to radiate off of her.

If she could have moved, she would have nodded. It was the right move. She told herself, replaying the battle with Nitro in her mind. She didn’t have scanners to tell her what power he emitted but Kaylee remembered the horror stories from her parents. It might have been decades since Stamford and the subsequent superhero civil war but the memorial still stood. Kaylee was often brought to the anniversary events that her parents orchestrated. The sight of shadow children burned into the concrete only spoke to the kind of power that Nitro expelled. So when Kaylee saw his body begin to glow as bright as the sun, she was not about to watch another nuclear blast rip apart the city.

She opened the palms of her hands as she slammed into his form, the heat from his ability ran down her arms and she could feel the immense power ripple through her muscles as she absorbed every energy particle her body would allow. She flexed her legs tight, using this sudden power surge to increase her acceleration of flight beyond anything she had ever tried before.

A blast shattered windows as the two superhumans broke the sound barrier easily, leaving streaks of air and golden light in their wake. Their velocity was beyond Kaylee’s comprehension, her very bones threatening to shatter under the sheer force as she tried to stay in control of her trajectory. Her fists tightened on Nitro’s form, grunting with determination, as she slammed their bodies into an abandoned warehouse.

She could hear him laughing maniacally, the sound echoing in her mind. He was taunting her. She couldn’t keep up the pace, absorbing the energy was already taking a toll on her physical form. Her heart practically pounding out of her chest. There was something hot and wet dripping down the front of her face and it wasn’t until she pursed her lips that she tasted blood.

What was once a rush of power, turned into fire as Kaylee could feel her insides trying to cook with the heat Nitro was giving off. But this fight wasn’t over. The gauntlets that wrapped around her arms glowed a dangerous white hot light as Kaylee circulated the expanding energy from her body into the repulsor rays. She gained altitude, reaching the ceiling of the warehouse before twisting, keeping Nitro’s back to the floor and kicked off the ceiling, pile driving both of them into the ground. The heat radiating off their bodies melted through the foundation and several yards below in seconds. Kaylee twisted around, expelling all of the energy she could through her gauntlets straight up, blasting the support beams that kept the warehouse standing. Come on damnit! Collapse!

Kaylee saw pieces of metal begin to crumble before the remaining blast from Nitro hit her in the back. She couldn’t even scream before she blacked out, finding the smallest relief in that single moment of darkness. The radiation melted all of the rubble around her, constricting her body into a tomb of debris as the energy she absorbed began to dissipate.

The numbness from shock also evaporated and Kaylee was suddenly aware of every crushing pain along her body. “O-okay Kay. I-It’s o-okay.” she told herself, her eyes fluttered open. The last attempt to find a way out of her predicament, but she only found more darkness.

It wasn’t fair. Things were finally starting to heal in the aftermath of Zeke Stane. Tony had finally woken up. Wes and Stevie were smiling again, cracking jokes and giving Kaylee the hugs and support she desperately needed but couldn’t bring herself to ask for. Kay even reached out to Sophie and planned a girls night. And Carol, her mother. The worry and pain on Carol’s face as she tried to hold their family together entered Kaylee’s mind. The eldest Danvers-Stark was once again going to be the cause of her mother’s tears.

Kaylee shuddered at the thought.

But one more face flashed across her mind. He was usually surly, drunk even, unshaven and sarcastic, but when he smiled? Kaylee’s heart skipped a beat at the mere thought. She knew there was more beneath that rough exterior. She remembered the sweet, kind, gentle boy he use to be. She’d seen those same qualities in the man he became, despite the alcohol.

Why she didn’t tell him before that she wanted more than their use and lose policy was a mystery now. A regret that made her heart ache, and the sharp breath she took let the weight of debris crush her chest further. Jason deserved to be happy and for the first time in what Kaylee suspected was a long time, this other woman brought a genuine smile to his lips.

“R-ray,” Kaylee shuddered as his name escaped her lips softly.

Her mind must have been playing tricks on her because a moment later his voice spoke clearly in her mind.

“...Kaylee?” his voice was timid, a bit of disbelief, but it was there.

This can’t be a good sign She responded, doing her best to jest but the realization dawned on her. She was dying. There was no escape.

“Kaylee what’s wrong, where are you?” his voice came again, a slight panic rising in it.

Is that really you? Kaylee asked, the exhaustion evident.

“Telepathy remember?” he retorted.

She tried to nod but groaned in pain at the slightest movement. Ray I-I’m sorry.

“What for?”

That was the question of the century. There were so many things she could say. The fact she never noticed him much when they were younger. The fact she wasn’t there for him the way she was for Sophie when their parents went missing. The fact that she used him when she was at rock bottom and she hated him for making her face her own demons. The jealousy that reared its ugly head when he had found someone who actually made him happy. And now, now she needed him again, and he was the one who was going to have to carry on.

“Kaylee, don’t think like that.” he responded before Kaylee could even form the words in her mind to answer.

She sniffed, tears streaming down like a flood. Listen, Jason, I know I shouldn’t ask you this but please please look after my family. They are not going to take this well. A-and Sophie! You have to reach out to her more. She loves you so much. She needs you. And you need her.

Kaylee didn’t know how much time she had left and the words just fell out of her head.

And, I know now why I was such a bitch when you started dating-

Her string of thoughts stopped. It wasn’t fair. She shouldn’t say it. Even if he could tell, even if his telepathy could make the inference, it would have been wrong to say these words to him.

A guttural scream left her lungs. There was so much pressure on her chest that Kaylee couldn’t breath. The thoughts swirling in her head didn’t make it any easier.

G-god it hurts s-so much she stammered in her mind.

Like a wave cresting over the sands on the beach, the agony that rippled through her body began to dissipate. Kaylee opened her eyes to a soft blue sky, perfect cotton ball clouds hung overhead, casting a pleasant shadow and cooling her down.

Fingers lightly brushed through her hair, pulling blonde locks away from her forehead and tucking them behind her ear. Her natural hair color wasn’t the only thing to cause her forehead to crease as she tilted her chin up to look at who those soft touches belonged to.

Jason looked down at her, the softest concerned smile touched his lips. “I’m here Kaylee.” he cooed softly.

“The pain ...is gone.” she said, still trying to piece together what was going on.

“I know. I’m trying to get to you. Your parents are on their way. Just hold on okay?” Despite the calmness in his voice, Kaylee could hear the desperation.

Kaylee didn’t dare to move. She feared this illusion would fade the moment she tried and that she’d be thrust back into the darkness, alone and frightened. She settled against him, her head resting comfortably in his lap as he continued to dance light touches across her skin.

“You should leave.” she told him, biting back the lump in her throat, that urge to beg him otherwise. “If...if your telepathy is connecting us, you should break it.”

“I’m coming to get you.” he responded determinedly.

“Ray, I...I don’t want to die alone but-” she sniffed, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Don’t talk like that!” he shouted, hands gripping her shoulders tightly and pulling her up to face him. Tormented brown eyes peered into her shimmering blue ones. “You’re going to be fine!”

Kaylee shook her head, but her hands found his arms, gripping on to them for dear life. Tears came harder as she sobbed, pressing her cheek to his hand.

“Kaylee, look at me!” he demanded, his hands cupping her face and tilting her head up as he inched closer to her. The beautiful scenery he tried to press into her mind faded and once again, she was surrounded by darkness. The only light was him. His kind soul that begged her to stay with him.

“I sh-should have told you before…” Kaylee stammered, choking back a cry. “I should have told you that what we had was more than just-” her words faltered again. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t goddamn fair!

“P-please Jason, break the connection.” she begged, falling forward, burying her face into his chest. She felt his arms wrap tightly around her as he pulled her into his lap. She didn’t want him to witness this. She didn’t want to torment him more than he’d already been. And she knew. She knew that the longer he stayed, the more likely she was going to beg him to stay with her to the end, and the more likely she was going to admit it.

Her chest tightened, each breath more shallow than the last. Her hand pressed against his chest and she used all of her strength to push back, but she was unable to break away from his embrace.

She drew the back of her hand across her nose, stifling another sob. “I...I d-don’t want to put you th-through th-this.” Kaylee admitted, her gaze dropping away from his.

“Put me through what?” he asked, bringing out an unamused exasperated brow raise from her.

“Don’t. Don’t pretend. I’m so tired of pretending.” she retorted, her body falling limp against him. What strength she had left grasped onto him tightly. Her eyes fell closed, her head much too heavy to stay upright. Each breath became harder as Kaylee had to force her lungs to work.

This time when the darkness surrounded her there was the comfortable warmth of his presence, even if it was only a projection. She held on as tight as she could. It was selfish. She knew it was selfish but it was too late. What strength of will she had to think of others before herself left and all she wanted, all she needed, was him.

“Kaylee! Don’t leave me!” she heard him shout. It was odd, how far away he sounded, yet she nuzzled closer to his physical presence.

“I…” Kaylee began. It was so hard to form words. She had to be deliberate. She had to fight to say each word, and she was so close to slipping into the void of nothingness. “-toooooold. you. to. go.” she finished, her mouth curved into a tired smile. As tired as she was, her voice was in a sing-song, an attempt at levity.

“Kay-”

“Just. keep. holding me.” she cut him off. Kaylee didn’t want the last thing from him to be a desperate plea for her to keep fighting. She’d been fighting for so long already. She felt his embrace tighten and she nuzzled against his chest. “Before...before I fall asleep…” she chose her words carefully. “You’ve been...the best thing to happen to me in a long time Ray.”

With each word her voice got weaker and weaker. The sound of his heartbeat, quick and raging, pounded through her ears. She didn’t have the strength to hold onto him much more but her palm rested against his chest, her thumb brushing back and forth over his shirt, above his heart.

If her own heart had the ability to, it would have matched the beat his set. Instead, the motion of her thumb ticked along to the slower rhythm, urging his to syncopate. She needed him, that desperate, hopeless kind of need that people wrote songs and poems about. It was just too late. Like everything else in her life, Kaylee realized too late.

The void was coming. She could feel it. She could feel the last breath dare to rattle in her lungs but there was no pain, there was no fear. How could there be when Jason was holding her, when the feeling that he projected onto her was one of calming serenity? God, how stupid she was to only realize now.

“Jason,” she had to say it. She had to say his name, she had to tell him, if it was the last thing she could ever do, she had to say it. The loss of oxygen going to her brain formed little colored spots like rain droplets against black asphalt. It was beautiful. “I love you.”

The word left her lips and her body went limp against him. The false weight that her mind projected slipped away. It wasn’t beautiful, it wasn’t peaceful. He could feel her limbs tearing apart from the inside out. He could feel her lungs burn with the blood that choked her out. He could feel her heartbeat pause, but there was no return. The peaceful place he wrapped her mind around was only to keep her from feeling the agony.

Kaylee’s mind faded into nothing, her projected body slipping out of his grasp no matter how desperately he tried to hang on.

On the surface his fingernails bled in a hopeless attempt to shovel debris out of the way, but the moment he felt her slip away, he fell to his knees. It didn’t matter when one Captain Marvel flew out of the crater holding Kaylee’s limp body. Jason knew there was no hope.

Kaylee loved him. She said it. Those three little words he’d never thought were possible, and the moment he had everything he thought he wanted, he felt her slip through his fingers.

Tears already streaked his dirty cheeks but there was nothing to hold back the choking sobs. She loved him, but she was gone.

#pepperpxtts #mindrcadcr#[character thread; kaylee danvers stark]#tw death #tw blood #long post

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frywen-bumbles · 4 years

Link

Hidden by the Forest

Chapter one, in which Geralt finds out the bard he's been travelling with isn't what he thought

Read here in Tumblr after the Read More or in AO3

***

“Geralt, please, I... can... let me explain, please...” Jaskier’s voice wavers and he takes another step back. Geralt strengthens his grip on the blood-soaked sword still in his hand and glares at Jaskier. At who he thought was Jaskier but is clearly something else.

“What have you done with Jaskier?” His voice comes out as a savage snarl, his teeth clenched together, every muscle in his body tense like he’s a string pulled tight, ready to snap even at the smallest sign.

“I am Jaskier. Geralt, please, you have to believe me...!” Jaskier’s voice hitches as Geralt takes a step closer stalking towards the bard in slow steady steps careful not to startle the bard before he’s close enough to strike.

“Where’s the real Jaskier?”

***

Jaskier stares at Geralt his eyes shining just a bit brighter, a bit wilder, an unmistakable tinge of chaos radiating from him. “Geralt...” Jaskier starts but is silenced by a feral growl rising from Geralt’s throat. Jaskier puts his hands up in surrender and takes a step back and Geralt can smell the stench of fear radiating from the bard. “Geralt, please, I... can... let me explain, please...” Jaskier’s voice wavers and he takes another step back. Geralt strengthens his grip on the blood-soaked sword still in his hand and glares at Jaskier. At who he thought was Jaskier but is clearly something else. “What have you done with Jaskier?” His voice comes out as a savage snarl, his teeth clenched together, every muscle in his body tense like he’s a string pulled tight, ready to snap even at the smallest sign. “I am Jaskier. Geralt, please, you have to believe me...!” Jaskier’s voice hitches as Geralt takes a step closer stalking towards the bard in slow steady steps careful not to startle the bard before he’s close enough to strike. “Where’s the real Jaskier?” The hurt, the betrayal burns in his veins stronger, brighter than the potion he took, overwhelming his senses, making it impossible to focus on anything but the creature who tricked him, who must have done something to his bard to be able to masquerade as him so easily, without even the slightest vibration from his medallion lying on his chest. “I’m right here, just... just let me explain, please...!” ”Shut up!” Geralt swings his sword. It seems like time slows down. Jaskier’s eyes widen in fear and he jumps back just in the nick of time from the path of the sword. Geralt curses at his impatience, he should have taken a step closer but now he surges at Jaskier. Jaskier — no, the creature stumbles backwards to flee and Geralt feels bad just for the tiniest moment for killing a fleeing man. But before he has the chance, Jaskier turns around and is gone. His sword connects with a tree with a thunk but he yanks it off as he scans the area around him. He senses no one. Like the bard — the creature — disappeared in thin air but he knows that to be impossible. No creature can do that and there was no portal. It feels like his blood is boiling, his heartbeat faster, the potion he took before the fight with the monsters now lying dead around him heightening his senses, making every sound in the forest sharper, louder. But none of the sounds belongs to the... to the creature. No steps in the forest floor, no humming or talking. No heartbeat. Like the bard was never there. ***It takes a few years before he sees the bard... the creature again. He travels far and wide, across the Continent and he tells himself he’s just going from one contract to another. Still, he ends up in Oxenfurt. And in Lettenhove. He learns things about Jaskier he’s never learnt in the years they travelled together. Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, a professor in Oxenfurt academy. He also hears some whispers about Redanian Secret Service but never learns the source of those. Considering the frequency they previously ran into each other, now it’s a series of near misses. Geralt reaches a town, a village just hours, days, weeks after the bard. Or later hears the bard came after he was gone. Every time he hears something about the bard the anger he felt the moment he realised the bard had lied to him seems to seep lower, deeper, coiling around his heart. The hurt, the betrayal follows him even into his sleep, into his dreams and he thinks sometimes he can hear the bard sing. First in his dreams. But then he thinks he hears it when he’s awake as well, a quiet tune just out of reach. He should have noticed. ***A group of wraiths, nothing he hasn’t handled before. Only he miscalculated. There are more wraiths than he thought, more wraiths the villagers told him about and they have him pushed back to the edge of the forest. He’s getting tired, slow. Suddenly, he’s being pulled back with a hard yank right into the forest. Without a thought, he slashes at whatever grabbed him before he even looks but the cry he hears stills him, freezes his heart with its familiarity. “Don’t kill me!” Jaskier- no the creature who looks like Jaskier cries holding his free hand up the other clutching his side. “... not yet... you won’t... you won’t find your way out of here if you do...please...”“What the fuck do you want?!” His voice is a low growl, the potion he took making it even lower, wilder. Monstrous. “I... I just wanted you to be safe...” Jaskier... the creature tries to get up. Geralt’s silver sword is on its neck in an instant, pressing down. Something inside him screams so loud he has to force himself not to listen, not to listen to the voice which tells him to rip the impostor apart, take his betrayal and anger on the defenceless creature lying in the ground in front of him. “Okay, yeah... I’ll stay down so... could you please not run me through with the very scary sword, maybe?” Jaskier babbles, his eyes focused on the sword pressing down on his throat. Geralt listens to the forest around him. To the sounds he should hear, the wraiths, the animals, the wind in the trees. But he hears nothing, the eerie quiet surrounds them like a blanket even his sharp senses can’t penetrate. He keeps his sword at the hollow of Jaskier’s throat and scans his surroundings. Everything looks... off. He’s been in plenty of forests but never in any that looks and sounds like... this. Muted, filled with ancient magic, impenetrable, not even a small path in sight. “Where’s this?”“We’re still in the same place,” Jaskier starts but yelps as Geralt presses his sword harder on his skin, “Ah! I mean technically speaking, of course, we haven’t travelled anywhere, we’re just... hidden by the forest... so to speak...” Jaskier falls quiet and looks behind Geralt his lips pursed. Geralt doesn’t hear anything, but he can’t help but look behind himself, at what looks like an impenetrable forest. “Take me back.” He orders the bard, pressing his sword down hard enough to draw blood. “No.” The bard shakes his head, a stubborn glint in his eyes, “I’m not letting you out there to get killed. We just have to wait until the sun rises.” “I could just kill you now and be done with it,” Geralt growls his anger flaring up again. “No!” For the first time Jaskier... the creature looks actually scared. But instead of looking like he’s scared for himself, he looks like he’s scared for him. It doesn’t make any sense and it makes even less sense when the creature continues, “no, you won’t find your way out of here without me. And I’m not saying this do diss your witcher senses or anything. You don’t know what this place is, what will happen if you’re left on your own in here. It might be days, weeks before you find your way out. If you do. Please, Geralt. I just want you to be safe.” “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”“I’m...” Jaskier makes a face like he’s trying to figure out what to say to get out of being killed by an angry husband before he completely relaxes and closes his eyes, “Just... just let me show you, okay? I promise I’ll let you out in the morning and after that, you’ll never have to see me again.” “Hmm.” Geralt watches the creature in front of him, how it looks like Jaskier, up to the mannerisms and tone of voice. If he didn’t see the unmistakable wildness radiating from the creature he would have thought it was his friend in front of him. When he removes his sword from the hollow of the throat of the creature he can see the unmistakable burn of silver on its skin, driving away any last thoughts it might have been his friend in front of him despite everything. Jaskier’s shining blue eyes open and stare at him in wonder before he gets up slowly. Geralt doesn’t let go of his sword, ready to strike in a moments notice if the creature decides to do anything. But all the creature does is to lift its hands making a triangle out of them. The movement sends a coppery scent in the air alerting Geralt to the fact it’s injured. The hand Jaskier used to clutch at his side is dyed red with blood. Panic surges through Geralt, drowning the anger underneath it and he realised with a painful clarity he can’t bear to watch the bard die even if it’s not really him, even if the creature is just using the bards face to throw him off he can’t kill it. Not while it wears that face. “Look through my hands, you should be able to see to the real world.” Geralt peers through Jaskier’s fingers at the wraiths still swarming the edge of the forest. “See?” Jaskier asks. Geralt hums as an answer and Jaskier drops his hands to his side and leans against a tree his eyes falling closed. ”You're injured, ” Geralt says startling Jaskier to open his eyes. He looks at his hand, covered in blood and laughs in what sounds like self-mockery. ”Yeah... Yeah, I suppose I am. I just need a bit of rest. Sunrise should be in a couple of hours or so, I'll just close my eyes until then... You can do whatever, just... don't stray too far...” Jaskier closes his eyes and slides to sit on the ground pressing at his side with his hand. Geralt looks at him in wonder, at how relaxed and unguarded he is in the presence of a monster who was ready to slay him just a moment before. He looks at how his lips start to turn pale and then a tinge of blue. “It’s almost dawn.” Jaskier opens his eyes and looks up at him a tremble in his voice, “do you just plan to stand there and stare at me for the rest of the time? You’ve been up to it for quite a time by now you know? I’m not going to run away if that’s what you’re worried about. Couldn’t even if I wanted to to be honest. Have to collect my strength a bit more for that and by then you’ll be far gone I would assume. Or is it my good looks you want to rest your eyes upon? If it’s that then, by all means, go ahead...”“Shut up, Jaskier,” Geralt grunts and kneels by the bard. By the creature. “You’re injured, let me see.” Jaskier lifts his doublet and chemise with trembling hands. The wound on his side is deep and angry looking, veins turned black with poison on the edges. And against all the odds the bleeding has significantly slowed down, the wound starting to close. ”It’s starting to heal but we still need to bandage it.” ”Don't worry about it. I won't die before sunrise...” Jaskier falls quiet closing his eyes again. ”Probably... I hope...” Without a word, Geralt takes off his armour and shirt. He crouches next to the bard and rips up his shirt folding up the cleanest part against the wound and binds the rest around the bard in careful practised movements. Despite his anger, despite feeling betrayed and wound, he still can't let the creature carrying his friends face die. ”Thank you, Geralt. Truly.” Jaskier’s eyes close and it doesn't take long for him to fall asleep. Geralt sits down next to the creature. If he has to be stuck here for a couple more hours he might as well get some rest. But rest is the last thing he gets as the creature moans in its sleep, clearly in pain. He keeps a close eye on the symptoms of poison clearly plaguing the bard, ready to wake him up if it starts to look like he will not survive without further treatment. He doesn't want to look too deeply into the anxiety he feels. Into the desperate need to reach for the bard every time he makes a pained noise, into the need to do anything in his power to make his pain to stop. So instead he stays still and silent, watching. ”Oh, Geralt? Is it morning?” Jaskier stirs as the sun has already risen high in the sky. His eyes are still glassy with fever but the worst seems to be over. Geralt doesn't want to think why he didn't wake the creature up at the first rays of sunlight. It didn't matter. The creature was awake now. ”Here, I'll... I'll let you out and you'll never have to see me again...” Jaskier climbs to stand on shaky feet, taking support from the tree behind him. He moves a branch to form an archway and gestures towards it. ”You can look before you go to make sure it's the right place. Just... walk through and you'll never see me again.”Geralt sheaths his sword and takes a step closer to the bard. He only intends to look through the archway but the bard... the creature seems to take it wrong and reaches to give him a hug. Jaskier feels still a bit hot to touch as Geralt wraps his arms clumsily around the bard as if his hands don't know any other action they could make. ”Thank you. For being my friend. For everything. Try not to die, okay?” Jaskier leans heavily against him, his face pressed against the hollow of his throat, every word tickling his skin. ”Hmm...” Geralt doesn't know what to say so he says nothing. It doesn't stop Jaskier from babbling on as the real Jaskier would.”You really were a great friend. Always looking after me. Deep down you do care even if you won't admit it and that's what's great about you. The caring I mean. You always get paid too little because you don't want to burden the people too much and you always did the silly things I asked of you. And I'll write more great ballads about you even if I'm not there to see them, I'm sure someone will tell me about your heroics...”Jaskier rambles on and Geralt’s sure the bard- the creature doesn't even think about half of its words. ”What happened to the real Julian Pankratz?” Geralt tries his luck as the creature seems to be halfway back to sleep. He needs to know where to find him. To be united with his friend again (which is a thought he will look further into another day). He tightens his hold on the creature just the smallest of amount, just to make sure it doesn't run away. ”He's dead, ” the bard mumbles into the crook of his neck.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #frywen writes

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