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goldenstoriesfromgoldenhearts · 2 months

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Underdark Chats

Meeva'Rae sat by the edge of their camp, legs hanging off the edge of the cliff face, staring out into the glowing patch of the Underdark and the usual darkness beyond it. There were quiet crackles of the fire heard faintly from behind her as well as the heavy footfalls of a Owl Bear no doubt playfully chasing around Scratch.

Gale had long since called that food was ready but she had declined, offering instead to switch shifts with Lae'zel so she would be able to eat dinner while Rae took first watch. She didn't quite remember what she had said to convince the warrior she could rest but she was glad it had worked, even if the look Lae'zel had given her was. . .one of suspicion. She understood why, of course, the two of them weren't terribly close but it had cut a bit all the same.

Truth be told, she just needed a moment, a second to herself.

They'd arrived in the Underdark fully prepared to. . .well find whatever the Nightsong was. She hadn't expected to get drawn into the Myconids fight-Panae had firmly sent her and Astarion a look when they both had argued to just move on- then to learn that her own people had been taken as slaves? Plus her own history of the place.

It was just, far too much really.

She had barely escaped-in her eyes- and yet here she was. Back.

Rae had to keep reminding herself she wasn't the terrified gnome she had been less than a month prior, she had friends, people she trusted and well. She knew how far they were from her “home” she was safe from running into anyone here.

Still she found herself being ready to jump and fight at any point, her eyes scanning dark corners, convinced she could feel eyes on her.

She hated it

if any of her companions had noticed her behaviour none of them had mentioned it to her.

A relief if anything. She didn't want to unearth her past, the reasons why she was sometimes first up, hours before the sun had risen, the reasons she shoved her best qualities to the front, why she weaponized her anger.

She sighed softly, the sound escaping her chest as she closed her eyes.

Taking a deep breath, she held the scent of heavy earth, salted meats and something slightly bitter in her lungs before slowly releasing it through her lips.

She would have to continue to act as the moral compass, a balance to Panae's nature first attitude, battle with Astarion's whining and Wyll's hero act. She would have to act like none of this was effecting her down to her damn core.

That's what whispered in her head, over and over, pretend, hide, quiet. Pretend

She was exhausted.

Could she not just rest a moment?

Her eyes opened and she looked over her shoulder, saw glimpses of her companions all around the campfire. Panae leaning into Wyll, him leaning into her, the two enraptured in whatever tale Gale was spinning, both Shadowheart and Lae'zel flicking looks from time to time while Karlach beamed beside Halsin who had a book perched on his lap. Seemingly abandoned as he appeared to be reading the same page over and over.

Which just left. . .

Her eyes unwillingly flicked over to Astarion, the group's Pale Elf, sitting there, an amused look on his face. She bet the firelight danced in his red eyes, catching in the strands of his hair, slightly messy from the nature of the fights they'd had today but no less perfect. Not in her mind.

It was truly unfair how quickly he'd caught her interest, handled her heart with sweet words only to turn her down, almost laughing at her. And Yet. She still found herself watching his back, letting protective anger overtake her rage on the odd occasion he got hit, found herself wishing for nothing but his safety as he snuck off ahead of the group.

Was this love? Maybe. It certainly hurt like it.

Astarion's keen senses must have kicked in as his eyes flicked from the animated wizard to hers, red meeting pink, causing her to quickly look away, back at the scenery. Heat rushing to her face as she quietly cursed.

Standing in a quick motion, she grabbed her sword from where she had hung the thing and hurried away from the campfire. Making the show of going to walk the parameter of their little safe haven, even though they all knew it was safe. The Myconids had promised such.

She had hoped she had gotten away with it, returning to camp a good thirty minutes later, finding tents closed and quiet snoring filling the previously fairly loud camp space. The previously filled spots by the fire empty. . .save one elf.

An elf who turned to look at her, a bowl of still hot food in his hands.

“We were beginning to get worried you'd gotten eaten darling” His voice still sent small tingles along her spine

“No. . .we?” she questioned, all too late as she felt feathers along the back of her legs. The Owl bear cub cooed at her, snuggling into her side causing a small smile to appear on her face. “Hello baby”

“They refused to sleep until you were back” Astarion said, staring at the two of them while Rae ran her hands gently over the small one's feathers

“Is that why you are still awake?” She asked, giving him a curious look as he merely shrugged

“Figured the creature shouldn't be left unattended” he said before holding the food bowl up higher “Now dear please do come eat, my arms are beginning to get quite heavy”

“You poor thing” She said snickering, herding the feathered being over to the fire. Her stomach audibly growling at the thought of food “Not a word”

“Not a one” Astarion said, chuckling softly and she just huffed. Taking the bowl of what appeared to be soup off him before taking a seat on a large mushroom, the fungus holding her weight seemingly quite easily while the owl bear, happy that their second person was back, vanished off towards the tents. “How was your walk? Stumble on anything particularly horrific?”

“Good, it's secure. The Fungus Folk are good on their word” She said after a moment, beginning to push the soup around with a spoon. Something that did not go unnoticed

“Rae dear” Astarion started, her eyes flicking up to him as he gave her a look “Are you alright?”

She found herself pausing at the question, words flying a million miles a minute through her head as she just stared at him, lips parted in. . .Shock? Surprise? Had anyone actually asked her that question since this had all begun? Was she alright?

Why was he asking?

Did he care?

Or was he just concerned his meal ticket wasn't eating?

Her last thought had everything screeching to a halt and she gave him a warm smile, the mask falling firmly back into place

“I'm fine Astarion, thank you” She told him, giving the spoon a final swirl around the bowl before shoving a mouth full of soup and potatoes into her mouth. The food tasting like nothing to her. “Have you eaten tonight?”

The look that the vampire spawn gave her did not pass her notice, yet she pretended otherwise, giving him a concerned look that felt. . .cracked if anything.

A beat passed before

“I have not yet darling, but I will be alright tonight I suspect. With everything we have planned tomorrow, I will not doubt be able to have my fill shall we say” he said, a playful grin on his face and she found herself relaxing a touch.

He was allowing her to pretend. Her heart unwillingly warmed to him more than it already was. She truly was cursed with her feelings wasn't she?

“Well that certainly won't do, can't have our best rogue in camp not in perfect shape now can we?” She teased, giggling as he lifted a hand to his chest above his heart. An amused look on his face

“Flatterer”

“Learning from the best” she countered, waving her spoon his way. Another tasteless mouthful down, she put her bowl down on her seat and hopped off.

Pulling up her sleeve, she walked over to Astarion and held her wrist up expectantly. He wasted no time despite his earlier comment.

Cold hands met her cool skin as he pulled her wrist close, a slight pain felt as his fangs pierced her skin. She had long since stopped holding back her wince as she got a reassuring squeeze every time and let her eyes wander around their glowing camp while he drank his fill.

The experience for her was always a bittersweet one, her skin singing and tingling, a touch starved being she was that she almost dreaded him pulling away, letting go of her.

She could only imagine how she would react to being held, touched without giving anything, like her blood for example.

Rae felt the disappointment curl around her heart as he pulled away and used a napkin he had to wrap around the bite marks, they would fade by morning but still he insisted on it every time.

“Thank you dear” his voice snapped her out of her thoughts and she gave him a bright smile, nodding

“Of course! What are travelling companions for otherwise?”

Soon back on her perch, she focused on trying to shovel as much food into her mouth as she could. Knowing, from experience, that Gale would take offence if there were any food left. That and Panae would possibly scold her for not eating it all.

She was still trying to work their druid out.

Most of their group she sort of had down.

Panae and Astarion however continued to elude her, both were guarded in different ways. Panae felt comfortable, an elder sibling energy evident in their interactions but she was still unsure if it was an act or if that was just how she was. If she was pushing that energy as their defunct leader or what.

And Astarion well

It often felt as though every part of him she had seen, save for their first interaction where he admitted he had never fed on another living humanoid being, was manufactured in some way.

There were parts of him there but she just couldn't untangle it all.

Her feelings about him were certainly not helping the matter.

Sneaking a glance at him, she found him still sat in place, his eyes locked on the fire in between them. Her earlier thoughts about the fire dancing in the light of his red eyes were proven correct and she sat mesmerised for a moment.

“Meeva'Rae darling your staring” Astarion's voice broke the silence and she just coughed and quickly looked down at her food, her face beginning to get hot again

“My apologies” she mumbled quietly, blushing more at his quiet chuckle. The sound dancing on her spine.

“It's only natural to want to admire perfection” he preened and she snickered, glancing at him to see him dramatically flicking some hair out of his face

“For one that is unsure about his reflection, you seem quite sure of that statement” she teased

“I don't need a mirror to know that this” he paused before gesturing at his face “Is gorgeous”

“You are” she said, the words out her mouth before she could stop them. “I mean! No! I mean um yes but that uh, I, I am going to stop talking now”

She pressed her lips together as though that might stop the word vomit that was currently escaping and he just gave her a look.

It was. . .part amusement? Part. . .something else she couldn't place.

“No need to hide it dear, I am the prettiest one at camp” He said, relaxing the tension that had gathered in her shoulders “No matter what our wizard or cleric might have to say about it”

“They um, they would have comments there. It's true” She agreed before clearing her throat “I am...going to retire for the evening and take this with me”

Rae lifted the bowl up before carefully slipping off her perch and onto her feet for the second time that hour. Astarion rising to. . .not quite meet her as she was tiny but well.

“I appreciate you waiting up for me, that was...kind” She said, choosing her words carefully and he looked surprised for a moment. Whether it was at her or himself? She had no idea

“You are quite welcome” He said giving her a nod, his eyes darting over to his tent “Goodnight Meeva'Rae”

“Goodnight Astarion” She said quietly, the two of them parting ways. The elf's steps faster than hers and his tent was locked before she had even reached her own.

Tucked in between Shadowheart and Lae'zel's tents was hers, it was a simple white thing. She wanted to dye it but well, dyeing clothes in a bucket was a lot easier than dyeing tarp. She doubted it would happen. A Shame.

Slipping in through the door, she rested the bowl on the small table she had near it. Quietly latching the buckles on her tent door. Planning on just resting and well if she fell asleep? She was sure the owl bear would not mind finishing off her food for her.

He was a useful little creature, growing still as he was, he always required more food than they thought.

Slipping off her sandals, she crawled into the soft wool of her sleeping bag and closed her eyes. Focusing on her breathing, in, out, in, out, in, out, in.

Out like a light.

#Meeva'Rae The Deep Gnome #bg3 #bg3 Tav #Astarion #mine #stories #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate 3

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captain--nox · 10 months

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Chapter Two

-*-

Hera shot up awake with a start, a sudden roaring filling her ears. The depth of the roar, the deep deafening rage echoing before she could fully adjust to the room around her. It was still slightly dark out, sparkings of dawn glancing at the sky as Hera looked out of her window to the distant horizon. Arcs of light spread like arms pushing at the darkness over the land, awakening the air from its deep slumber in gentle caresses as their pale beams drifted over the ceiling of Hera's room.

Hera turned and gathered her face in her hands, attempting to steady the thumping ruminating through her body and shoving off the throw she'd pulled over herself in the night. The house on the other hand, was completely silent in deep sleep leaving her reeling over what she'd heard and, almost as suddenly as the roar blinded her senses it was gone, leaving Hera wondering whether it was something she'd dreamt instead. Dreams had that affect on Hera, dreams so raw, so intense and severe that they encircled Hera in an invisible stain and trailed after her even when she freed herself from the sleep. Or maybe it was not a dream, maybe it was real--as real as an anguished cry erupting in torment from the walls around her.

There was no real joy in experiencing dreams like Hera did, so vividly real and cryptic in their messages through a startling vision. It also felt delusional; believing in a knowledge of those unspoken in their wants or needs, barely presenting them to Hera if they ever did at all. Dreams like these tended to linger within Hera for days afterwards with some concerning almost private matters, and she often felt awkward at possessing and fixating on some of the knowledge. Diving into messages and symbols within the realm of the unknown, yet resurfacing and taking a step back; the whole thing could also very much be a cover to mask the fact her own brain had conjured it up, mixing and twisting all thoughts and feelings of the day into figments of the night. Whenever her seemingly prophetic dreams arose, in the days following she would crawl through her mental perplexes, wandering through mists of uncertainty that often left her disjointed far beyond what she had begun with. Yearning for a tug that solidified her in reality and not dragging her into dreams; like lost families across a stretch of water with no real means to build a bridge to. Thankfully, her warped dreams had stopped becoming regular occurrences that Hera thought was due to her moving on and taking steps past her old life, and she leant more towards the idea of her body developing a coping mechanism rather than an ability that she had little belief or faith in. Having internal issues as well as external became too much to juggle as it meant that she couldn't trust what she saw and felt, and so with eliminating a few hurdles that plagued her Hera was then caught off guard by this most recent encounter. It cracked at the foundations she had built for herself, the tether waning despite the long length of plaited rope she weaved from the failings of her past into a grounding existence. Unsettling for Hera, as she vowed to create a world where she --and only she-- was in control.

In a more positive reflection of her life, Hera was once happy with those around her and they in turn reciprocated those feelings; her own morals were reflected in them, and they clasped each other in unity. The beliefs and support systems Hera was convinced were enough to challenge any and all scenarios granted they held to. However it was an unfair choice to be made for those around her once parts of her life were tossed up into Hera's own chaotic storm; walk alongside her or leave in an attempt to salvage their own wellbeing. Hera did think that the noble cause was to support those in turmoil yet when she herself was left in her most vulnerable state, tumbling down into a well of despair there was no one for her to turn to. Except perhaps; to look inwards. She chose to be her own best friend; her own mother, father, lover and guardian--or so she hoped was a revelation in a moment of clarity rather than a dire result of her lowest form. And so, walking in dreamland, discovering messages and feelings unknowingly sent ruptured the anchor setting her off the straight road, and she yearned for its cure. There was however, one person she caught a glimmer of support from, even as they lived a great distance away.

When Hera felt herself frightened, alone and most vulnerable, she remembered the kindly and weathered face of the village elder of her homeland, his words ringing true even if they were spoken long ago. An Uncle to many, and a voice of reason lost to the onward strut of time and cultures; she'd met the man through her father at one of the few gatherings held by her people, and she'd met him again before slipping away into the world. He had an aura about him that Hera connected to, which made opening up all the more comforting and aiding in settling the constant dark rumble within. Hera met the elder to bid him farewell and ask as to where she could grow encouragement from now that she was by herself though a lot of it was more to provide solace and validation before she finally left. Throughout Hera's struggles of later years, he remained the only figure in her life that gave her an ounce of respect, who didn't turn her away nor chastise her for her decisions. He was also someone respected in their community, and someone who accepted that what is is what would be, with a level of deep understanding lost on most who walked on by.

"Your ancestors live within you," the old man said, eyes distant in their peering at Hera. "They are in every part of your make up; your hair, your eyes, skin and bones. Your spirit. Don't reject your ancestors, for you're rejecting yourself. If you're ever in need, call to them; they created you, and they'll guide you in the most intimate ways. Speak to your ancestors. They're your guardians; ghosts of love through time, walking the paths you tread on. You are their legacy; don't leave them, and they won't leave you."

The words weren't overly profound to Hera though they did provide her with another perspective. While she was lost in herself, yearning to fix the seemingly unfixable, the Uncle had reminded her of something she found herself rejecting; her culture and her people. It was what they were all tied to wherever they were and for many years she felt half of something and half of another; torn between two cultures so vastly different and constantly clashing. Yet, Uncle had reassured her in his words no matter how lost she felt either now or in the future, her people accept her as part of them and sharing the bloodlines was enough despite how she may appear to others. His words echoed those who came before her, and it stayed with Hera everywhere she went; she was welcome amongst her people and that door was always open.

"Could probably use some help right about now," Hera muttered raggedly, rubbing her eyes in the process to regain some sense of her surroundings. She wasn't even sure how to call on those ancestors; hadn't known of them before or had met and built a relationship with. Somewhere internally, it was clear to Hera to seek comfort in her long lineage, but given the amount of pain she had been in she doubted it would alleviate those feelings. Another part of her ridiculed the idea, feeling so foreign in its concept and she struggled with the idea of accepting that what made sense to her in those moments was enough.

"You'll know when to call them, there will be times where you can't explain and yet want the company of those who came before you; they'll protect you."

Protection.

"Where were they when everything turned to shit," Hera muttered, suddenly annoyed at the state she was left in from her dream and her mess of thoughts.

Making her way up from her bed, she grabbed the long coat hanging by the bedroom door and then treaded out into the darkened hallway, needing the outside air after suffocating under her restless sleep. Her sudden rise from the bed along with the heat of the night caused her to clumsily move, and lightheaded and stumbling she sought the coolness of the dawn's fresh touch. Slowly staggering past Brahms' room as her muscles sluggishly awoke to movement, Hera made her way to the end of the corridor to where a balcony entrance lay behind the dark red of the velvet curtain. The cool, sharp breeze enveloped Hera in a brisk hug as she stepped out onto the balcony stones and made her way to the edge of the balustrade. Wrapped in her coat, she greeted the day marking the beginning of her stay at the manor, as glimpses of the dream haunted her from the night before.

Hera dreamt of moving through the endless rooms in the house alone, a gleaming specter lost in the abundance of woods and carpets. Eyes had followed her; eyes in the fabrics, the curtains, books, toys and walls. Sunken, harrowing eyes masked in despair and inflamed bored into Hera as she struggled to free herself from the following gaze, lost in the manor's strobe of hidden memories and private warrens.

She shivered then, immune to the chills of the morning air and attempting to slow the puffs of warm that swarmed her face. A fine mist settled along the ground below, likening the house to sitting amongst the clouds as the damp lawn dyed a green haze. Birds began to stir the insects, calling out to awaken them in the familiar sounds of dawn; dull to their song, Hera looked up to the steadily lightening sky, to glimpse at the stars above while taking in deep breaths in uneven rhythm.

Green eyes had watched her; green eyes layered in warm honey morphing in all the objects Hera had passed. Closer and closer they followed, trapping and surrounding; predatory eyes glowing brighter and deadlier, and just as they were about to engulf Hera the almighty roar ripped her from her slumber.

"Hello to the stars," Hera whispered, yearning for their comfort to turn the stark glows of her dream into the warm guidances of the night. A breath of wind shifted around Hera's ankles billowing her coat out from between her legs, laying kisses on her now freezing toes. Head still titled to the heavens, her long hair trailing down her back as she stood like a sullen beacon against the nearing light. For a long while Hera stood silently, a sense of ease washing over and refreshing her from the dream shadows; being outside had a calming affect on Hera, outside to the noises of the early morning. Her whipping thoughts stemmed their flow as she took in eveything around her; the chains of her past rattled less and the embers of somewhere new started to glow and reawake her senses. Suddenly, the wind changed direction and wrapped her from behind where she was overcome with a sense of someone--or something--watching her from the house. The embers went out and terror grew again as her hair stood on end, afraid to turn and confront whatever it was hiding in the shadows of her new home.

Echoes of her dream encapsulated Hera, sending a cold reminder of what followed her when she roamed the house in the night before. Sharp, icy tendrils weaved their way through her veins as she turned slowly back to the opened door to the balcony, staring into the beyond of the darkened hallway. Flashes of gold and green ripped their way across her eyes, the fear of the night confusing her vision as she tried to peer into the darkness. Rage, rage like the roar that awoke her earlier merged with the presence before her; she was an intruder, she wasn't supposed to be here.

Get out.

It was like a gale, a brute force, a wind of warning erupting from the door entrance; sparks radiating from the dark sent to shock and deter while Hera stood frozen blinded by its growl. It was enticing yet impending; lovingly cold and, as suddenly as it came, it was gone; a phantom glazing past, disappearing into morning sun. Hera dropped to her knees, coat sprawling around in defence and gasping for air. The familiar rush spread through her limbs as she was overcome with the rapid events of the morn.

"What the fuck was that?" she heaved to herself, released from the warped chokehold held by the hall. It took a few moments for Hera to regain stability and slow her breathing; moments inviting her to spiral and lose control of everything around her. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened to her though it was the first in a long time, and shuddering greatly she dragged herself back up again. This house was old, and whoever walked the halls in a past lifetime no doubt left their cold mark guarding against anything foreign that entered. Maybe the house was sinister; and what Hera sensed when she first entered was an intense caution cloaked in dampened residue of a tortuous past. Or maybe; her own brain yet still struggled to balance out. It was a tiresome concept, wondering whether she should push it all to the back of her mind instead of acknowledge and be consumed by every sense of wrong thrown at her. Leaning back on her knees Hera exhaled in a slow blow, moving as the numbness of what happened was replaced by the cold. She got up and began to make her way back to her room; entering the house again despite the warning that it sent her, the deep tones of malice defrosting in the air.

After she washed away the sweat of the night before, Hera fixed herself in her mirror and went to wake Brahms as per his morning routine. Everything had seemed a blur; waking, walking and dropping back into her room. The morning had felt very real but due to her own suspicions Hera constantly wondered if she had imagined the events in the dawn. Sometimes, not everything could be trusted once Hera abruptly awoke; reality mixed with dreaming, filters gone and hallucinations could run wild. She wondered if what really happened on the balcony was instead something she dreamt, refusing to believe the house was capable of manifesting something horrid to frighten her, so very real and foreboding. Truthfully, Hera would like to welcome the fact something had occurred, for it meant that her brain ceased in creating scenarios that weren't entirely true, and that she was indeed capable of withstanding any other trauma and mental anguish that plagued her once coming to the manor. The move was supposed to be a chance for her to heal, to be away with everything that had hurt and affected Hera, and start afresh in a new environment. If her brain didn't want that to happen, she was determined to force herself into believing the very real events of living at the house--reality being in what others would deem unreal.

She shifted to enter the hallway, but before her hand met the doorknob, a resounding crash erupted from outside making her jump back in shock. Another crash, and another shaking through the old manor while Hera stood rigid waiting for it to end. Hearing the now familiar footsteps of Mrs Heelshire passing by, she slowly opened her door to the scene she spied through the opposite doorway and into Brahms' room.

"What have you done!?" yelled Mrs Heelshire, ripping the curtains to Brahms' window apart and unveiling the absolute mess about the doll's room. Mrs Heelshire looked flustered around, panicking at the heap before her. "You said you would be a good boy! Mummy and Daddy have to leave soon, you can't do this now!"

Hera's eyes darted to the doll lying in its bed, head staring straight to the ceiling; it looked almost defiant to Hera, almost as if a real boy was choosing to ignore his agitated mother. But this doll was not a real boy, and could not have caused the mess in the room--unless the Heelshires exhibited traits unbelonging to any sane mind.

"Would you like some help?" Hera asked hesitantly, and Mrs Heelshire snapped her head up at Hera from the kneeling position she took trying to gather the toys lying dispersed along the floor. Mrs Heelshire's face was in shock, and Hera noticed something else: fear. Perplexing at the woman's expression, it struck a cord of familiarity within Hera. A fear of consequences, fear of what would happen next. A fear of the unknown in the present of-- an unknown, it seemed. Hera cautiously began to move to enter the room before a voice behind her made her jump.

"Good morning Miss Arthur; pardon the ruckus but it seems Brahms isn't all too happy at his parents leaving." Mr Heelshire caused Hera to rapidly spin as she had not heard him enter the hall behind her.

"Good morning sir," she said, eyes flicking between the elderly couple and the scene before her.

"Are you alright?" Mr Heelshire asked, glancing at Hera's face.

"Fine sir," Hera replied, remembering to relax her brow and she gave a tepid smile in reassurance.

"Early morning starts-- come with me, Mrs Heelshire has that sorted. She'll ready Brahms before we take off shortly."

Hera nodded at the man, following into the hallway. They passed portraits of aristocracy in frames tilted bearing down on Hera, watching her tread the halls of the family. She shuddered then, remembering her dream of the night before. It seemed she'd be haunted long after the Heelshires had gone, if it weren't in her dreams it would be in the winding halls of the manor.

"I apologise about Brahms, he can be very temperamental. I, uh, I do hope you haven't changed your mind?"

"Not at all sir. A bit of child's mess is something I was expecting, somewhat."

Somewhat.

"Good good. I need to double check things over, do you mind preparing Brahms' breakfast? I think everything is there," Mr Heelshire rattled off and suddenly stopped his walk down the staircase both had started taking. Standing on a lower step he peered up at Hera and she too noticed he had a glazed look of fear--or nerves rather, emanating from him. The behaviour of both parents was unnervingly a stark contrast to the reserved persona both had displayed previously. The lines of Mr Heelshire's forehead creased in peaks as he paused to speak to Hera, conflicted in what he may say next.

"Are you alright sir?" Hera asked.

Mr Heelshire snapped out of his small trance, his eyes focusing back on Hera's. "Oh yes yes of course, forgive me. I'm a bit frazzled this morning, I think it's because we're finally leaving for our holiday. It has been so long since we've gone anywhere; I guess I am somewhat anxious to be underway."

"Ah, that's understandable Sir. I guess you have been holding out for one for a long while. You enjoy yourselves."

"Yes indeed, thank you. I hope we haven't forgotten anything; our cab driver will be here shortly."

"Early morning start?" Hera repeated Mr Heelshire's words back to him attempting a more relaxed tone between the two.

"Yes we need to make way for travel." he replied absentmindedly to Hera's quiet dismay.

As if on cue, a loud knock echoed up the stairs coming from the antique entranceway. The cab driver had arrived, and Mr Heelshire turned to resume his passing of the steps down the staircase while Hera followed along silently. Both his luggage and Mrs Heelshire's stood guard at the door as they reached the bottom landing; Hera departing to the kitchen and Mr Heelshire greeting the driver.

Hearing muffled voices and small thunks of luggage moving, Hera moved to put the kettle on while deciding on what sort of breakfast to make the doll. Or herself, rather. The jug rumbled in a growing crescendo as it drowned out all other sounds of the house, with Hera leaning against the bench contemplating the Heelshire's conduct. Peculiar they were, on the morning of their journey. Again, it was the apparent behaviour that Brahms was treated as a real boy, but how the parents were acting was as though they were leaving their child in the care of others for the first time. Be it, it was the situation but Hera could hardly understand it as their first time; it seemed they were reluctant to leave, and fearful of the consequences if they did. Hera chugged it down to the distant feeling of a holiday needed, for the mysterious history of their child coupled with their rapid aging meant that a stress free time away was warranted.

Mrs Heelshire suddenly waltzed into the room, carrying Brahms in her arms. The frantic terror of earlier was gone and a earnest embrace was had around the doll. "Miss Arthur, we're ready to be off."

Hera nodded at the woman, following her into the foyer once more. The door hung open as she spied the taxicab driver waiting expectantly against his wagon for his passengers, luggage loaded and engine running. Mr Heelshire joined them before both Heelshires turned to Hera.

"You will be alright in this house Hera," Mrs Heelshire said with certainty. "You're a bright woman, young and sharper than most."

"Thank you ma'am." Hera replied, surprised at the sudden informal addressing and though not fully convinced at the woman's words, accepting them more as a last encouragement before she was left alone in the house.

"Remember Hera," Mr Heelshire started, eyeing her closely. "Just like the plants; be good to Brahms and he will be good to you. Be bad-"

"-Oh she will be good to him. Won't you Miss Arthur?" Mrs Heelshire finished.

"Of course, I'll treat him well."

Mr Heelshire kissed his son goodbye, turning to Hera to shake her hand and heading off through the entranceway. Mrs Heelshire did the same, but when it came to Hera she handed over the doll before pulling her into an embrace that caught her off guard. The sudden intimacy coupled with the next lukewarm whisper in her ear unsettled Hera.

"I am so sorry,"

Mrs Heelshire kissed her on the cheek then, regaining her composure as she pulled away. Her face was grim, resigned and once more glimpses of fear through her eyes. Before Hera could say anything in response, Mrs Heelshire nodded and walked out the door leaving her alone in the foyer, the final shutting click commencing Hera's stay. She slowly walked back to the kitchen, reeling at what Mrs Heelshire had just done.

I am so sorry.

"Jesus," Hera said, suddenly realising it was the first time she had held the doll properly. "You can sit over there." She almost chucked the doll on the opposite of the dining table, and resumed the task of making herself a tea, consuming herself in her thoughts, and back turned to the doll so that she could think without witnessing the prying, porcelain eyes watching her. Feeling watched wasn't something Hera was all too fond of on her first day, the events of the entire morning giving her mental whiplash and tiring her out before the sun was properly high in the sky.

Sitting down at the table opposite the doll, she watched it silently, slowly turning the spoon in her mug. It was her and the doll, no noises except the old grandfather clock ticking away at the house. Hera and Brahms; an odd pairing, but nothing short of odd with what the parents had displayed minutes earlier. "What was wrong with your parents?" Hera asked Brahms, half expecting the doll to shrug its shoulders. "Actually no, don't answer that."

The room; mysteriously totaled in the morning. Hera's eyes bored into the doll's, the realisation of how rapid and tumultuous the morning really had been. Her dream, the balcony, the room, the Heelshire's behaviour; Mrs Heelshire's words. Nerves started to wash over Hera, goosebumps beginning to rise as she felt the phantom eyes of the house on her once more. She had been whisked away from Brahms' room, Mr Heelshire employing an out-of-sight-out-of-mind manner that until now, Hera had little time to process. Her body started to lock up at the enormity of what had happened, her limbs growing tense while the underlying tones of unease flickered about. The kitchen started to grow smaller, bearing down on her and the doll sitting silently opposite seemed to grow in size, its face slowly creeping larger as it sat staring ahead at Hera.

"You know what, fuck this." she said, quickly standing from the table and marching over to the doll, grabbing it roughly from the seat. "I've had enough of a fucked up morning, I'm trying again later."

Adrenaline started to course through Hera as she quickly walked out of the kitchen, beelining for the staircase and tunnel visioning her way up the levels. The feelings of eyes grew heavier, the walls around her groaning while she moved as if the portraits of those hanging in the paintings were shuffling through each frame to follow her. Reaching both her room and Brahms', she shoved open the bedroom door of the doll's and tossed it onto the bed. "Sleep in this morning." she declared, turning to leave the room, "And don't trash your toys while I'm gone."

Hera almost ran into her own, her heartrate picking up again as she shut her own door. She hadn't been spooked like this in a while, not for a long time; it felt as though the house itself was folding inwards to ogle at her every passing movement. Growing more and more sluggish, she shuffled over to her bed and crawled under the covers huddling herself into a ball, eyes staring ahead at the bookshelf before her. Silence danced around to the tempo of her heartrate drumming in Hera's ears, an unpleasant silence that kept her still from moving even the slightest. The joys of discovering a new house, one full of enticing histories and extravagance had nearly vanished, replaced by a haunting aura instead with all that Hera had witnessed. There was something unsettling about the house, enigmatic to anyone stumbling through lost in its dark chasms.

She felt weak, lazy and incompetent about her hiring now that the Heelshires had gone. It seemed straightforward and easy, though now she was caught up in the paranoia of her own mind susceptible to every changing air about her through each room she entered. This house was odd; the family odd, and whatever was going on wasn't healthy for Hera and her rapidly changing moods now that they were set off by the uneasy environment. The once grand house shrouded in old melancholy sheltered a far more unsettling aura now that she was alone though Hera could not fathom whether it was the reality of something more ominous or not. In fact, Hera couldn't fathom much at all in her state; lying frozen under the covers and alert to every noise the manor plagued her with. She lay like this for a long while, watching the sun slowly pass shadows across her room as it beamed brighter with every minute. Each surface, each crevice solidifying in form as the light soothed over the area like a warm compress, easing wounds left by the gloom.

After a long while, Hera's stomach rumbled, pleading to fill the emptiness within and summoning her to move. Calmer than what she was earlier, Hera pushed away the covers of protection now she felt she didn't need them. Sitting up, she slowly slid her feet over the bed and crept to the door that lay closed, blocking off the dark corridors of the house. "You've dealt with much worse Hera, come on." she muttered to herself, feeling more confident and stable. Hera opened the door and made her way to use the bathroom, a purpose that would override any feelings of anxiety about her. The sun cast filtering shades in the hall through the windows sitting high up though instead of the animals and statues standing forbiddingly at each post, they gleamed in spotlights of their own celebrating the house arts.

After washing her hands, Hera used the dampness to palm her face and wipe underneath her eyes, taking in her ragged appearance in the bathroom mirror. Her curls stuck out haphazardly in parts where she had lain on the bed, a full mess of a mane. "Good, you match your brain then."

She shook her hair out further and made her way through the halls and back down the house into the kitchen to prepare lunch due to her missed breakfast. Opting for a sandwich, she sat at the kitchen table again chewing at her food and mentally planning her day now that she had maxed the quota on unsuspecting events in the manor. The gleaming white of the room contrasted with her hunched figure as she ate, Hera concluding that she would at least fulfill one task set out in the list given by the Heelshires:

Play music loud.

After finishing her food, Hera stalked her way back up the stairs to Brahms' room as she yet again climbed on up to a chorus of creaks and groans; the sounds now a constant soundtrack to the house. Entering the bedroom, she spied the doll still perched half facing down on the bed she threw him on earlier.

"Right where I left you," she whispered, side eyeing the doll in reluctance. Grabbing it by the arm, she traipsed again through the house to a small music room, scatterings of chairs, poufs, a grand piano and a gramophone lay waiting. Embellished woods climbed high into the ceiling from the stone walls that enveloped the room, large tapestries full of hunting motifs and paintings of past lords peppered around. Red leather armchairs gathered in a small half circle against the dormant fireplace, a fur rug nestled about their feet in a contrast of beige, browns and blacks. The grand piano was illuminated in the morning light through the tall window, swirls of dust sparkling in the air as Hera moved past and gushing after the doll that she tossed onto one of the armchairs. She walked over to the cabinet that held the records, sheets of music and books, scanning until she came upon a piece she thought fit her wants as well as what would please the silent doll. Drawing the record out of its sleeve, she placed it into the player and dropped the needle to begin.

Deep, slow tones hummed in the air dark and brooding before slowly melting away, the wind instruments creating a daunting atmosphere around the room as Hera sat in one of the armchairs facing the doll again as the music built in volume until it burst forward in a haunting crescendo. She had turned the volume high as per Mrs Heelshire's instructions and now in the midst of the echoing vibrations she watched the doll intently, consumed by the music and scrutinising Brahms' outfit. Sweet sounds of clarinets and bassoons drifted around melting with their string cousins; Hera enjoying the noises other than the moans of the house and she sat silent with small satisfaction. The piece played on, building into a grand finale of triumph and celebration and died down again before becoming silent.

"Well Brahms, I hope you like Wagner because the mans was cool as shit." Hera said to the doll, getting up from her chair to flip the record. "Play that at my funeral, or better yet play it when I'm entering a room. Fitting for this house I'd say." Hera drifted over to the window, sitting herself on the small ledge that heralded soft cushions against the panes. The music played on as she gazed out into the gardens beyond, small sparrows flittering by in a blur of browns where they disappeared into treetop canopies. Comfortable in her position, Hera grew mesmerised at the world beyond the gloomy manor and slowly but surely she drifted into a dreamless sleep, sounds of the Norse Gods playing in lullaby.

Hera's eyes slowly opened to the setting sun and a stiff neck as she'd slumped downwards in her now cramped sleeping position. Stars were beginning to peel themselves away from the masks of day as her eyes turned upward, trying to regain composure after her nap. Hera started to move from where she lay half turned from the room now quiet as the music she'd put on hours earlier had finished. Pushing herself upwards, a small clink surprised her movements as she turned to look at what made the noise next to her body.

"What the fuck!?" Hera shouted, startled at what lay tucked next to her and kicking her foot out in the process. Brahms the doll toppled from his position curled next to her body and landed with a thud on the rug below, face staring upwards at where it had previously been perched. "H-How did you get there?!" Hera questioned in disbelief, snapping her head up to look around the room. It lay silent, not a movement in the slightest with no indicator that anything had occurred out of the ordinary save the doll moving to where Hera slept.

Hera sat frozen in horror, still watching the doll as if it were to get up and charge at her. She wondered if she had grabbed the doll in her sleep, walked over to bring it to her for comfort; her position against the window, barely moving save for her slumping downwards meant that she had not grabbed the doll-- and nor had she pined for it. "This day is getting worse," Hera whispered aloud to herself in an attempt to confirm what was happening as she barely believed it. She slipped off the edge she had slept on and cautiously moved away from the doll, leaving it on the ground as its eyes seemingly watched her shudder away from it. Opening the door to exit the room, she stalked down through the passageway flicking on each light switch she came to, wanting the warm glows of the lamps exposing the shadows she grew more and more fearful of. No noises could be heard, nothing to suggest anyone was found in the manor with her; Hera felt there was no one present, unwillingly realising something weird was happening to the doll. Resigning to that fact she took off up the stairs and slammed herself into her room. Creaks and groans began to rumble all through the walls, stalking around her den in a low menacing growl. Hera rushed over to her windows to try pry them open in an attempt to feel the air against her face in the crowded and overbearing room but to her disdain she remembered Mr Heelshire's words from the day before;

"The windows are sealed shut I'm afraid. A workman painted over them some time ago."

Hera banged the panes in frustration as they failed to move, sending painful thuds shuddering up her arm. She slumped herself down into the corner, holding her head in her hands in defeat. There was too much noise; too much of what was happening and she was alone to deal with it; alone to the terrors of the house that scared her already fragile mind, pushing it to break and shatter. It was like a tempest; through after one bout of whirlwinds she lulled herself into a false sense of security in the lullaby of the storm before now she was plunged into something so unknown and on her lonesome. Hera felt trapped, stark against the darkness of the house and at the beck and call of a doll that plagued her with its eerie silence. Too afraid to move and too afraid to sleep, Hera sat for hours willing the noise to fade as she felt her last sane defences started to melt away.

-*-

#the boy 2016 #brahms heelshire #heelshire manor #brahms au #devoid

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cheesezhonglou · 6 months

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The summer heat is unbearable, and the noisy cicadas mixed with country folk songs are enough to tear everything apart.

Barty Crouch Jr. 's whole face crumpled up like a dried old orange. The Imperius Curse leaves an indelible legacy, the more painful the struggle, the command to crush all your senses and manipulate your body. The pain of the struggle between soul and body is not half as great as the shame and rage of his heart.

He remembered taking Harry Potter's wand, releasing the Dark Mark, and then being attacked.

He could not remember who had attacked him or where he was.

As he tried to sit up, the lingering pain in his insides overwhelmed his thoughts and the smell of blood rose in his throat.

"Are you awake?" The door was wrenched open and a female voice came in. Little Buddy couldn't help but frown. It was a sound he didn't know at all. It was ugly, like a hundred frogs screaming at him.

He saw the owner of the voice, a plain-looking woman whose name did not appear in his memory. "Who are you?"

"Wow. The British. Damn it, I should have known you had a British face." She hammered her hand and rolled her eyes wide, a face that was even more annoying.

"? Who are you?"

"Who am I? Let me see. Well, it's none of your business." Her attitude was almost 180 degrees, and her face was stinky, "Wake up and eat, and after eating, you can roll out of my house." "We'll be friendly for about an hour or so before I call the FBI," she calculated, snapping her fingers.

“FBI? You're a Muggle?" This is incredible! He, Barty Crouch Jr., ended up in the home of a disgusting Muggle! His face darkened. He could accept being tied back, or being caught by Dumbledore, but he could not accept being saved by a Muggle.

The woman stood in front of the table by the bed gathering things, and without looking up, she replied, "No, I am Mahua."

"What twist?" Never heard what it was.

"A kind of Chinese snack, I repeat, wake up early, go wash, eat, and then fuck off." Troublesome Englishmen."

"You're fooling me, who sent you!" With unknown strength, he sat up and stared at the woman at the door with a malicious and dangerous look in his eyes.

"Fate, unfair fate, sent me, and your tone is disgusting," she said, wrinkling her face, shoving a toothbrush into his hand and patting him on the shoulder. "Here, soldier, here are your washing tools, now take your weapons and colonize my bathroom and toilet."

"What? "

“go go go!” She was so strong that, while Barty Crouch was still keeping his angry face, she involuntarily grabbed him by the arm and lifted him whole.

She picked him up and shoved his feet into those frog slippers against his will.

Ten minutes later, little Barty Crouch was standing at the washstand, his eyes cold. His toothbrush and towels are new, which makes him happy, but what do you mean, pink frogs? This stupid Muggle has no other hobbies? He kicked his slippers hard against the tiles, and the green frog slipper flipped and hit him on the shins, landing firmly. He hissed with pain, and the frog's greasy leer and big red lips were full of derision.

Oh, he's decided, he's going to make this Muggle's house full of frogs.

（The copyright doesn't belong to me.）

#harry potter #barty crouch jr #original character

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campmurderparty · 7 months

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ingrid & soap.

She jumped back the moment his eyes snapped open, but not by much. “Soap!” she cried, her voice instantly going from sorrowful and mournful to relieved and grateful. He wasn’t dead! He was near death, but he wasn’t dead. She had saved him. Thank you, jesus, god, allah, zeus, thor, flying spaghetti monster, whoever the fuck was out there and listening to her teary, frenzied praying. His hand—the one he had left—grabbed her arm and she let out a keening sound without realizing. It felt like all the air squeezed out her lungs with just one touch of his hand, but she regained it all seconds later when he released his hold.

He released her, just to try and get up. Her hands flew up to his shoulders, trying to hold him down. “Soap—” honey was just about to be tacked on, but she caught herself. There was no time for terms of endearment, and she knew he wouldn’t appreciate the affection. “Wait, stop!” she implored, uselessly trying to push him back down. She’d have better luck knocking over a brick wall with her bare hands. Like before, he ignored her and tried to get up again, successfully this time. Did he have nothing to say about his fucking arm being blown off? She would never understand that soldier’s mentality, how he just pushed on without dwelling on a single thing. It was baffling to her, a woman that spent most of her life reacting.

Ingrid was still on the floor as the men discussed the next situation at hand. Her face screwed up as gonzales stated he had dibs on one of the pods. Soap threw her a look. Her stomach turned. No. She didn’t even have to say it to know she was thinking it, her expression darkening as she stared at the two of them. There was no fucking way in hell she’d been through all of that with soap, just to leave him behind. Didn’t he care that she dragged his ass out of an inferno after gonzales tried to stop her? Didn’t he care that she needed him? Did he care about her at all?

The tight smile he gave her, if it could even be classified as one, did nothing to relax her. In fact, it soured her stomach. He really meant it. He wanted to be left behind to die. How sick! The one bit of affection she received from him was the rictus he was going to wear when he fucking died, probably torn to shreds by one of those creatures or perhaps a self-inflicted gunshot wound. It was unfair. It was stupid. There had to be another way.

Even as there were more bangs against the door, mere feet from her, she stayed on the ground and craned her neck to keep her angry stare on soap. It did little to deter him as the escape pods opened with a susurration behind her. Soap crossed the short distance between them and lifted her off the ground like a wayward puppy picked up by their scruff. She let out a shallow yell of protest, hanging in the air for a few seconds before he placed her in the pod.

You have to go.

Yes, she did. Ingrid didn’t plan on staying on the ship, minutes from freedom. She just wanted soap to come along. She didn’t want to die with him, but she didn’t want to live without him, either. There had to be another way, god damn it!

“Oh, screw your fucking nobility!” ingrid screamed, full of rage. She saved him just to be shoved off into space without him? In what universe did that make sense? She was being repaid poorly for saving his ass, and it just made her angrier. “Don’t just fucking give up, you fucking piece of shit!” she felt like slapping soap, but there wouldn’t be a point. She was shouting into the wind. The decision had been made. “There has to be something we're missing."

she knew they were short on time. the banging outside the escape bay was only growing more intense, not slowing down. any creature that missed the first act was coming around for the encore. ingrid strong-armed her way out of the pod and ran towards the other side of the room, where some computer interfaces and panels were embedded into the wall. on one of the screens, she saw a camera feed that showed the hall outside. it was nearly wall-to-wall with those things. fuck.

ingrid was just delaying the inevitable, she knew that. however, that didn't stop her. over her shoulder, she kept yelling at soap as she opened up drawers and knocked items to the ground, “I don’t fucking care, you’re not staying on this ship and that’s IT, soap!” there was a box on the wall above her head, but she couldn't reach it. that didn't stop her from trying, straining on her tiptoes, her hand outstretched. her fingers only grazed it. she hadn't stopped sobbing since they saved soap, chest heaving and tears streaming down her face.

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lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks · 3 years

Text

Not Enough

has anyone else just wanted Danny to go completely fucking feral at Dash? anyone?

yeah me too

this is some truly self-indulgent shit y'all

"Hey Fenton!"

Danny slammed his locker shut, sighing as Dash clapped him roughly on the shoulder.

"I'm throwin' a huge ass Halloween party this weekend, ghosts are all about Halloween right? You should totally come!"

It wasn't the first party Danny had been invited to since being outed as Phantom, but somehow Dash didn't seem to get the hint that he wasn't even remotely interested.

"No." Danny snapped, he threw his bag over his shoulder and turned his back on Dash, walking away without another word.

"What's your problem?"

Danny stopped, turning back around with a face of utter disdain.

"Excuse me?"

"I've been trying to be nice, but all you do is just brush me off! Like you can't even pretend to be busy or something?"

Danny stared, mouth halfway open as he tried to find the words to respond.

"Are you actually serious?" he finally choked out, almost too bewildered to be angry.

Almost.

"You're not still mad about all that stuff from before right?" Dash asked. "Like, I don't even do that shit anymore, it's over."

"Is it?" Danny's eyes flashed brightly and Dash took a half step back as the air went cold. "Because I'm pretty sure it was just yesterday that I pulled Mikey out of his locker."

"Well, yeah but that was Mikey." Dash laughed. "C'mon man, I wouldn't do that to you. We're totally cool now, so why you gotta keep blowing me off? You talk to Kwan like it's not big deal, and he used to wail on you all the time!"

Danny took a deep, slow breath, then another.

"Have you considered that maybe it's because I don't like you?" Danny said through gritted teeth.

Dash huffed, shoving his hands into his pockets and staring at the ground.

"Look, I get it, I was a jerk, but it's over! I'm actually trying to be nice, now you're the one being an asshole."

Danny looked as though he'd been slapped.

"You're such a fucking idiot Dash." Said Danny, his voice trembling with barely restrained rage. "You can't just treat someone like shit every single day for two years and then expect them to get over it because you invited them to a few parties."

"Then how come Kwan gets to hang out with you?" Dash could feel his face heating up. "You're just gonna let him off the hook? That's not fair!"

"HE APOLOGISED!"

In one thunderous moment, every locker in the hallway slammed open, sending papers and books flying across the floor. The few students still packing up their things got the fuck out of dodge, whether this was a ghost thing or a Fenton thing (was there even a difference at this point?) they wanted no part of it.

Dash couldn't move, his feet felt heavy, he wasn't entirely sure if Danny had done something to him with his ghost powers, or if he was just afraid.

Because he was certainly afraid.

Even after everyone found out, Danny still didn't use his powers at school unless it was a ghost emergency. He didn't use them for pranks, didn't use them to get even, didn't even use them to show off.

But he was sure as hell using them now, and Dash suddenly realised why he was always holding himself back.

He was terrifying.

Danny took a few steps forward, stopping barely an arm's length away from where Dash was rooted to the spot, trembling.

"Kwan apologised to me." He said, quietly this time. "He apologised to my friends, he even apologised to some other kids, and when I told him that I wasn't ready to forgive him, he accepted that and left me alone until I was ready to talk to him again."

Dash wanted to speak, but he couldn't seem to make his brain form the words he needed, it was too busy buzzing with danger run danger get out run run RUN.

"You made every single day of my life miserable for two whole fucking years, and that isn't even counting the bullshit you pulled in middle school. How do you feel right now Dash? Does it scare you to be around me? Does it scare you to be at the mercy of someone that you know damn well can hurt you?" Danny leant in, grabbing a fistful of letterman jacket. "I hope it does, because now maybe you'll have an idea what it was like for me going to school every fucking day knowing that you would be there, ready and waiting to hurt me. Every single FUCKING day."

Dash found himself being thrown backwards, his feet finally able to move again as he caught himself.

"I'm s-sor-sorry." he mumbled, his lips felt numb and tingly and his head swam with panic as he struggled to get the words out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Are you?" Danny's voice cracked, his face wasn't twisted in rage anymore, his eyes were blue once again, and shining with tears. "Are you really sorry for hurting me? Or are you just sorry that the guy you were beating the shit out of turned out to be Phantom?"

"I didn't... I didn't know." Dash gasped out, he could barely hear his own words, all he could hear was his own heart beating loudly in his ears as he struggled to draw in breath. "I didn't know it was like that, I just thought-"

Thought what? What had he thought? That he wasn't really hurting anyone? That it wasn't that big a deal?

No, he hadn't thought that, because he hadn't thought at all.

"And you're gonna stand here and tell me I'm an asshole." Danny was almost sobbing as he raggedly spat out each word. "Because I won't forgive you for something you never even apologised for. This is the first time you even acknowledged that you were an absolute jerk to me, and you followed it up by demanding that I just get over it."

Dash stared down at the floor, it sounded terrible when Danny put it like that.

"I wasn't... demanding anything." he said, he was embarrassed by how whiny he sounded. "I was just trying to make it up to you, I was trying, I just thought... it's not fair that I can't have second chance. I was trying so hard and all I wanted was a second chance-"

"I DON'T CARE." Danny's eyes were screwed up tight, but it didn't stop the tears of fury from pouring down his cheeks, his voice so shredded with pain it was barely recognisable. "I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOU. I DON'T CARE ABOUT WHAT YOU WANT. I DON'T OWE YOU A SECOND CHANCE. I DON'T OWE YOU ANYTHING. YOU FUCKED ME UP AND YOU. CAN'T. FIX IT."

Dash didn't know what to do. Danny was openly sobbing, his breaths came out in grunts as he couldn't hold the rage and misery back.

He was still standing within arm's reach, Dash cautiously put out a hand, to comfort him? He wasn't sure, but he barely brushed Danny's shoulder before Dash found himself spinning violently and his cheekbone exploded with sudden pain as he hit the floor. Cold hands drew away from him roughly.

"DON'T TOUCH ME." Danny screamed. "DON'T YOU EVER FUCKING TOUCH ME EVER AGAIN."

Dash watched as Danny grabbed his backpack and his footsteps disappeared down the hall.

It was over, just like that it was over.

Dash sat up and touched his face, he wasn't bleeding but he knew it would bruise pretty bad. It hurt, he would be squinting through one eye for a few days.

Danny could have done this to him at any time, he could have done it to him every day if he wanted, and maybe he would, now that he'd done it once.

The thought made Dash feel cold as dread pooled in his stomach.

The next day Dash told people he'd gotten his black eye from playing football, his team knew it wasn't true, but they didn't ask. He kept his eye out for Danny, wondering if he would pop up invisibly and knock him off his feet, or drag him through the floor, or hit him when nobody was looking.

He clung to Kwan's side all day, afraid to be alone.

Phantom could be anywhere, he could get him anywhere, if he wanted to hurt Dash nobody would be able to stop him.

Nobody had been able to stop Dash, and he didn't even have superpowers.

But in the end, nothing happened.

Dash went through the day untouched. Danny didn't even look his way. Not once. He just acted like yesterday never happened.

But it did happen, Dash still had the bruise on his cheek, and the terror set deep in his bones.

In the following days, weeks, months, Danny still never touched him, never looked at him, never talked to him. Dash realised that Danny probably wasn't going to do anything else after all, that maybe he hadn't even meant to hurt him in the first place.

He was a hero after all, he protected people, even people he didn't like. The only time he had ever come into contact with Dash again was to haul him out of the way of a ghost, and he did so with the same care as he would with anyone else.

Danny wasn't like him, he didn't gloat about hurting him, he didn't revel in the fact that Dash was scared of him. He just went about his day, acting for all the world like Dash didn't even exist.

Dash never gave him a true apology, it was clear Danny didn't want one, it was far too late for that.

It left Dash with a sick feeling of unfulfillment. He understood now what Danny had been going through, the pain, the terror, he wanted Danny to know that he was truly sorry, that he really had changed this time.

But he couldn't, because forcing an unwanted apology on him would just make Dash the asshole all over again, he was trying to steal a forgiveness that he could never have.

So he had to find his closure somewhere else.

He stopped picking on Mikey, and Nathan, and all of the other nerds he frequently hassled. He even tried apologising to them, some forgave him, others didn't, and he had to be okay with that. He struggled not to lash out, it still felt unfair, the world had always told him that you were supposed to forgive people when they apologised. It always happened that way on tv, in the cartoons he grew up watching. The mean kid would apologise, the other kids would forgive him, and they would all become friends.

He was realising that the real world was a whole lot more complicated than that, he didn't earn forgiveness just because apologising was hard, he was learning fast that he didn't earn any brownie points for taking responsibility for his actions. He was just doing what any decent person should.

It took him a while to come to terms with that, to stop being angry at people for not letting him make it up to them. For not letting him prove that he had changed.

All it took was to occasionally pass by Danny in the hallways for him to cool his jets and think more clearly. To remind him that he was the bad guy, he was the one who hurt people, that his victims did not owe him anything.

In his last year of school, he had found himself watching the juniors below him falling into the same behaviours, the same struggle for power and control. Pushing other kids around without so much as sparing a thought to how it made them feel.

After a lengthy chat with Mr Lancer, Dash was given permission to pull out younger students from detention one day a week. He would talk to them, ask about their lives, ask about their feelings. He would ask why they lashed out, why they thought it was okay to treat people that way. Most of them didn't have an answer, or simply refused to give one, but he would push, he wouldn't let them hide in ignorance like he did.

Some of them did feel guilt for the way they treated people, and they only needed someone they could talk to who could understand what they were going through, so they wouldn't take it out on whoever was around at the time.

Others would take more effort, they need a far stronger push in the right direction, they were defensive and combative, selfish and unapologetic.

Dash had been one of those kids, he knew they would be hard work, but he did his best. He couldn't help all of them, some were simply unwilling to change.

So he contacted the school-board, he pushed for better protection for students, more programs to help troubled kids, he volunteered to keep running his own counselling groups even after he graduated.

It still never felt like enough.

After graduation he turned down his favoured college to attend one closer to home so he could continue his volunteer work. He joined petitions and rallies for change across entire school districts, he spoke at other schools' anti-bullying campaigns. He'd attended enough of them in his own childhood that he knew they did next to nothing, but it gave him the opportunity to reach out to kids for one on one support.

He found more volunteers for his counselling groups, he helped people start them up in other local schools. It was a lot of work, especially when he was also juggling his college studies. He was taking a major in psychology, it was brutal, Dash had never been good at studying, but he'd decided that this was what he needed to do, this was important to him.

It still wasn't enough.

It would come at him in the night, as soon as he laid his head down on his pillow. He would see the faces of all the kids he hurt, it felt so much worse the older he got, they just looked younger and younger every time the memories came back to plague him.

He had beat the shit out of children. Kids who were the same age as the students he now counselled. He beat them until they were bloody or bruised, he shoved them into lockers, pulled pranks that humiliated them in front of the whole school, and he had laughed.

He'd laughed at their pain.

When the guilt weighed him down, he would begin searching for new programs to volunteer for, new petitions or rallies to get behind, always finding another way to help protect kids like Danny from kids like him.

And to protect kids like him from doing things that would one day haunt them.

He had spread himself thin across every school in the district, barely keeping afloat at college, but it wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

Kids still slipped through the cracks, schools were still too lenient, there were too many kids, not enough volunteers.

Casper High was holding another anti-bullying assembly. It had been a few years since Dash had attended one at his old school. This year they had excitedly announced that they'd even secured an appearance from Phantom himself.

Dash's blood ran cold, his hands shook as he went over his notes, he was slated to do his speech alongside Phantom's, they would be sharing the stage for a solid 75 minutes, barely a few feet from one another.

When Danny showed up he was already in Phantom form, Dash spotted him discussing emergency exit plans with one of the organisers in the event of a ghost attack.

He was so different from when they were in school.

He was tall, and broad, he stood with confidence and had a good natured charm to him. He was a hero, he was strong, he was brave. He could fight monsters ten times his size with a smirk and a witty one liner. He could take on anything, he wasn't afraid of anything.

He was a kid, running down a hallway, screaming words that still pierced through Dash's mind every time he saw the hero's face.

"DON'T TOUCH ME."

Dash's hands clenched around his notes, shaking so violently that they barely even looked like words.

"DON'T YOU EVER FUCKING TOUCH ME EVER AGAIN."

"Dash?"

A deep voice cut through the chaos in Dash's mind as cold hands closed over his tremblings ones.

"It's good to see you again."

Phantom was smiling at him, his hands still closed around Dash's.

"Good... good to see you too." Dash mumbled, not able to meet the man's eyes.

Phantom paused before releasing Dash's hands.

"I've heard all about your work." Phantom grinned as Dash finally looked up and met his eyes.

"Yeah." he said, and then before his mind could catch up with his mouth, he blurted out, "I'm sorry, for everything."

Phantom's eyebrows rose for a moment, before he gave a gentle smile and clapped a hand on Dash's shoulder.

"I know." he said warmly. "Thank you."

They gave their speeches, Dash had told his story many times before, the victim that he'd pushed to breaking point, the boy whose words drove the change that made him the man he had become.

For the first time ever, that boy was listening.

After the assembly had packed up and the volunteers were heading home, it was Danny Fenton who approached Dash and asked if he wanted to go grab a beer together.

Dash thought it would be rather awkward, but Danny had plenty of experience socialising with the public, awkwardness slid right off him, and soon enough Dash found himself laughing alongside Danny as he told a story about the new misadventures of the Box Ghost.

He returned to his dorm that night, head still swimming from one too many beers, and he had the best sleep of his life.

He pulled back on some of his volunteer work, hunting for new people to take his place as he focused on college. He was falling far behind, but he would work hard to make his way back. As a volunteer he could only do so much, but with the right education and training, he could do so much more.

The guilt still haunted him, every so often when the pressure and the stress weighed heavy, it would creep back into his mind. It would probably never go away, not entirely, but at least now he had his closure.

Finally, it was enough.

#lula's fanfics #I'm still in a creativity funk so this isn't like #my best work #but I needed to get it out of my system #danny phantom #dash baxter #danny phantom fanfiction #tw bullying

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motivationisdead · 2 years

Text

Some moments in Chapter 54 of Mo Dao Zu Shi (ExR translation) that caught my eye. AKA teen Wangxian are hopeless:

Wei WuXian protested, “It’s very unhealthy for blood like this to be held in. It gets out with just a scare, though. Don’t worry—I don’t like men, I won’t take advantage of the opportunity and do anything to you.”

Uh-huh. Sure. I totally believe you Wei Wuxian. It’s not like I know the two of you get married in the future or anything.

In all seriousness though, Wei Wuxian says this here but it’s definitely apparent to the reader that he seems to have a little bit of a crush on Lan Wangji. It’s fair that Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem interested nor focused on romance right now though. I mean *gestures vaguely* he kind of has a lot going on. And it’s not really a priority for him later either.

I also wonder if this is when Lan Wangji decided a romantic relationship between him and Wei Wuxian would be impossible—assuming he hadn’t already thought so before.

Without speaking a word, Lan WangJi took out some of the herbs from his palm and pressed them onto Wei Wuxian’s chest.

Wei WuXian’s entire body trembled as he exclaimed, “Ah!”

He had forgotten that there was a fresh wound on himself as well, created by the iron. It was also still bleeding and had also been soaked in water.

I’m kind of reminded of Chapter 45 when Lan Wangji applied ointment to Wei Wuxian’s wrists.

Lan Wangji still wants to take care of Wei Wuxian here but how he goes about it is very different to how his future self does. Here Lan Wangji is forceful and almost rough in his treatment. In chapter 45 Lan Wangji is much more gentle and attends to Wei Wuxian’s comparatively smaller hurt with the utmost care and attention.

Growth! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Suddenly, Lan WangJi shoved him [Wei Wuxian] hard, raging, “So you also know that she will not be able to forget you for the rest of her life!!!”

Collapsed on the ground, he broke into a cold sweat from the pain, moaning with his neck stretched forward, “… Lan Zhan, you… Have I done something to you?! … This would be enough revenge to pay for killing your father!”

It’s a little funny because Lan Wangji is very mature for his age and yet the only thing Lan Wangji can not seem to handle with any level of maturity are his feelings for Wei Wuxian.

But it’s also a little sad because it’s due to the environment he was raised in and the fact the Lan Sect doesn’t encourage expressing emotions. So naturally when faced with emotions Lan Wangji has never learned or been taught how to deal with in a healthy way his response is to lash out and push away the source of them.

The problem with that though is that it’s unfair to Wei Wuxian who doesn’t deserve Lan Wangji lashing out at him. Especially not while he’s already injured. And sure enough as a consequence of Lan Wangji’s actions Wei Wuxian immediately creates distance between them after this:

A moment later, he [Lan Wangji] relaxed, seeming as if he wanted to help Wei WuXian up. However, Wei WuXian sat up on his own and shrunk backward a couple of times, “Fine, fine! I know you don’t like me. Then I’ll sit farther away. Don’t come here! Don’t push me again. It’s so painful.”

The wound was on his left side, so it began to hurt whenever he raised his left arm. Wei WuXian shrunk to the side. Picking up the white clothes that had been torn into strips, he tossed them toward Lan WangJi using his right hand, “You can bind it yourself. I’m not gonna go over.”

Lan Wangji’s about to help Wei Wuxian up here but the damage has already been done and Wei Wuxian pulls back further from him—not trusting Lan Wangji won’t lash out again at him. And even though Wei Wuxian was so insistent on treating Lan Wangji’s leg before, now he insists Lan Wangji does it himself.

And you can also clearly see the difference between this scene and how Lan Wangji acts in the future. Lan Wangji definitely takes more of a ‘my feelings are my responsibility, not Wei Ying’s’ stance after Wei Wuxian comes back. He’s very careful not to make Wei Wuxian feel pressured or like Wei Wuxian has to hold himself back with him.

It’s great—I’m so proud of him. Look at how much Lan Wangji has grown and learned from his past mistakes.

Somehow, Wei WuXian had moved beside him again and sat down, speaking without a care for the consequences, “Because there’s no other choice. We’re the only two unfortunate souls left here, aren’t we? If you don’t have useless conversations with me, then who will you have them with?”

But of course it’s not long before Wei Wuxian is drawn back into Lan Wangji’s space to tease him more.

The two of them really are hopeless. - I say with all the love in my heart.

#mdzs novel #chapter 54 #quotes #chapter analysis #wei wuxian #lan wangji #can you tell i miss the present time

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mrs-march-ahs · 4 years

Note

Can you please do 26 15 19 with Kit Walker?? Thank you so much and I hope you're having a wonderful day💗💗

Kit Walker’s Nurse at Briarcliffe

15. “Wanna bet?”

19. “You either cum now, or not at all.”

26. “First one to cum is the loser.”

Summary- You’re a nurse at Briarcliffe and you and Kit have fun together. This one instance you leave him hanging so you make it up to him. Twice.

Words- 2.4k

Thank you for all of your requests! They’re so fun to do, please keep them coming! They’re taking me a while but they’re coming!

As always feedback and requests are super duper appreciated! Also thank you for such a quick solid following! Also thank you @kitwalker02 I’m having a wonderful day and enjoyed doing your request, I hope you like it.

Enjoy:)

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You leave room 7 and walk towards your trolley to collect the next set of medicine. You pick up the medicine cup and swirl around the indistinct white pills. A sigh of relief leaves your mouth as you look down the corridor and notice you only have a few patients left to give medicine to. You drag your finger down your clipboard list of patients and smile noticing that Kit Walker is next. Although working as a nurse in a mental asylum is difficult, it’s sweet and grateful patients like Kit who make the nightmares worth it. You push your key through the door to unlock his room and walk in, greeted by the sight of Kit tied up to his bed, like usual. His eyes wander around the room bored but when they meet yours, they sparkle and his whole face lights up. He smiles at you and you shut his door and walk over to him.

“Morning Walka”, you say mocking his accent. One of the main things about him that make you tingle and melt inside. He playfully rolls his eyes and opens his mouth when you put the medicine cup near his face. You sprinkle the few pills in his mouth, and he swallows them dry. You smile and stay still, standing by his bed. As much as you wish you could sit and spend the whole day with him, there are other patients who need tending to and it’s unfair for them to be neglected just because Kit’s accent makes you wet. You sigh softly and take a few steps towards the door before Kit’s innocent and happy voice stops you.

“Hey nurse, suh-thing to wash it down with?”

You look at him and place the cup on the table besides him. Although every bone in your body knew it was wrong, you did what your heart and lady bits told you to. You lean down to him and look him in his dark brown lustful eyes.

“I have something special you could wash it down with”, you say smirking. Flirting wasn’t particularly your forte, but you hoped he caught your drift. And boy he did. His usual soft and sweet expression was overpowered by hunger and excitement, as he looks down at your lips. A naughty smile creeps up on your face as you carefully climb his bed, hoping to stay quiet. Knowing Kit’s skill, that was almost impossible. You try to keep your trembling legs still as you straddle his chest, about to move up to his face and have a comfortable sit.

“Nurse, could you get me with a problem, while you’re here?”. You look at him worried, before his eyes motion down. It takes you a few seconds to realize he’s not in danger, and the problem he’s referring to was the tightness in his underwear. You smirk at him seeing his massive bulge and whisper to him.

“That’s what I’m here for”.

His smile widens as he can’t contain his excitement. You turn around, your ass practically in his face, and you gently slide your skirt up, to reveal your bare ass. You look over your shoulder at Kit sucking in his lips and looking at how dirty you are to not have underwear on. You give him a cheeky wink before you lean down and get on your hands and knees. You lift his gown and look at his paper-thin underwear. You moan softly looking at his massive cock about to rip through and slide down his underwear slowly. His cock springs up and Kit gasps at the cool air hitting him.

“C’mon nurse, we don’t have all day”.

Kit was tied up by his hands and ankles while you had the keys to every room in the asylum. You could throw him in isolation for a week with just one word, but the clear authority you had over him didn’t change the fact that it was him who owned you. You obeyed his daring words and push your ass closer to his face. You lean down until he can reach your soaking pussy and he blows on it, making you shiver. Knowing the powerful effect he had on you, he proposes a deal.

“First one to cum is the loser”.

You bit your lip instinctively at his dirty words and sexy accent and nod.

“Winner gets a treat”.

Kit lets out a chuckle at your addition and gets to work, lapping up your soaking heat. You gasp at his eagerness and tighten your grip on his gown. Within a few seconds you can feel yourself get even wetter in his mouth before you are snapped back to reality (oop there goes gravity) when Kit stops his incredible work.

“Are ya forgettin’ something, nurse?”, you laugh awkwardly before you lean down and stroke his cock. He groans quietly and goes back to licking you. You put the tip of his cock in your mouth and suckle on it, running your tongue around it. How hard he feels in your mouth and hands turns you on even more. You become a part of an incredible cycle, where the occasional harder suck on Kit makes him groan, and the vibration that gives you, makes you moan. Though you both know you had to stay quiet, you couldn’t help but want to scream about how good he makes you feel. With one last powerful suck on your clit, you try your hardest not to moan and instead whimper, releasing into his mouth. Kit licks up everything you give him and continues sucking after you’re clean.

You shakily sit up from his cock and gently get off him, standing on your shaky legs. Kit looks at you and licks his lips, earning a soft laugh out of you.

“Looks like I win”, Kit says cockily. “Can I have my treat now?”. He says thrusting up as best as he can, considering his restraints.

But quiet footsteps coming from the corridor make your eyes widen and your hands immediately straighten out your skirt. You quickly put Kit’s boner back into his underwear and cover him with his gown, giving him an apologetic look as you walk to the door. He throws his head back and sighs. You shut and lock the door behind you, trying to look as calm and regular as possible. You smile warmly at Mary Eunice right outside as she takes the medicine trolley from you and gives you a different task to do. You hesitantly agree to do what she tells you and walk out of that ward. Guilt fills your stomach as you imagine Kit tied up, not being able to help himself. You try to focus on the task at hand, sweeping the common room, and ignore the idea of Kit hot and desperate.

Your sweet spot for that man was reciprocated, and it wasn’t a secret. All the nuns and nurses knew that you were the only one who could get Kit to behave or do things he didn’t want to do. You were the only one who believed in his innocence and the only one who didn’t treat him like a criminal nor a looney. You trained to be a nurse to help people in need but instead your main job at Briarcliffe became being Kit’s nanny.

After what felt like ages, you swept up the whole common room and began cleaning it up in general. You put all the checker pieces back to the box and collected all the magazines from the room to make a pile. But your mind wasn’t on the tedious task, and instead still on the handsome brunette with a raging hard on from half an hour ago. Your legs tingled at the thought of him slurping you up, and just as you close your eyes to try to recollect the feeling, your dirty thoughts are interrupted by the door creaking open. You look over at Mary Eunice, who explains to you that Dr. Arden wishes to do some check ups on some of the patients.

“He’ll get through them all eventually, but it’d be easier for everybody if we got Kit Walker out of the way”, Mary Eunice explained, half rolling her eyes, evident in her voice that he isn’t her favorite.

“Doctor Arden called and said he’d be here in like half an hour, why don’t you go take Walker to his office? He’s less likely to bite you”. The way she talked about him made your chest burn. He was a grown man and not a child or a wild animal that only you could tame. He was a man who expected respect before he gave it back, and she wasn’t willing to give him it. You nod and shove the magazines you collected into her hands, before promptly walking out. It was clear that she wasn’t happy with your attitude, but you didn’t care. Her recent change in character wasn’t on your mind, not when you were minutes away from seeing your Kit again.

You walk to his room and unlock the door. He looks over at you with a blank expression and you force a smile. Without saying anything, you uncuff him from his bed and help him sit up. He looks at you with a puzzled expression, but you stay silent. You cuff his hands together and walk with him to Arden’s office.

When you get there, after a quiet trip, you’re surprised to see his office still locked. You simply unlock it and let yourself in, and lay Kit down on the table. Mary Eunice warned that Dr. Arden wasn’t here yet but on his way, which gave you and Kit some quality time. As you cuff his hands and ankles to the bed, you look at him apologetically. Before you have time to say anything, Kit speaks.

“Listen nurse, you heard Mary, you scrammed, I get it. We woulda got in trouble otherwise.” You smile at him and place your hand on his chest. “I’m not mad at cha, don’t worry”, Kit continued.

“Well… I’m sorry I left you hanging”. You circle your fingers on his chest for a few seconds before confidently walking towards the door and locking it from the inside. Kit looks over at you with his eyebrows furrowed and you lean close to him.

“I’ll make it up to ya”. You say, once again mocking his accent. You leave a tender kiss on his lips and he happily accepts. You waste no time and slide your hand down his chest to his pants and cup him. You run your fingers along his dick in his pants and he gasps against your lips. Excited once again, you flip his gown up and take out his hardening cock. You give him a few pumps before cupping his now swollen balls. You stroke him and squeeze him and he slowly fills the office with soft moans. The idea of Dr. Arden coming any time soon and you having to stop and leave him hanging once again fills you with dread and you jerk Kit off faster. You look at him to make sure he doesn’t feel rushed and his groans suggest he doesn’t mind your new pace.

“You gotta hurry kitten”.

Kit looks at you and tells you off, “Ain’t this my treat? Don’t rush me”. You look at Kit’s smug expression, him rubbing it in your face that you didn’t last long.

“You either cum now, or not at all”. Kit’s once confident expression softens and he looks at you with pleading eyes and whines again. You look at him sternly.

“Dr. Arden might come soon”. Kit opens his mouth to protest, “But-”, but doesn’t finish his sentence. Your eyes widen realizing the mess he might make, and you quickly bend down and wrap your wet lips around his tip and suck on him harshly. He groans and gets harder in your hand.

“Not if I cum first”, he moans.

He groans and wriggles against his restrains before releasing his load in your mouth. You continue sucking on him, his moans urging you to continue. You slide your mouth down him and start sucking him off properly. He looks down at you confused and tries to make out a coherent sentence despite your mouth working on his sensitive cock.

“But I already- oh fuck, -I already came…I can’t cum again”.

You pull your mouth off him and continue pumping him with your hand. You spit on his cock, your filthy action making Kit gasp.

“Wanna bet?”.

You bend down and suck on his balls, as he throws his head back and shuts his eyes tightly shut. After being denied an orgasm an hour ago, his first orgasm came quickly. And now with you sucking his soul out of his body before he had time to come down from his first high, Kit groans and fights against his cuffs harder and sooner. Feeling him twitch you quickly take your hands off him and take as much of him as you can into your mouth. You slide down on him and in his fight against the cuffs, he thrusts and hits the back of your throat, making him cum instantly. You resist the urge to choke and swallow everything he gives you. He slowly starts to come down from his high and you suck him a little longer, until he whimpers making you stop. You pull your mouth from around him with a satisfying pop sound and wink at him. He tries to catch his breath and looks at you tired. As you lean down to kiss his cheek, you both hear a key going in the door. You look at the door and Kit quickly thrusts and motions to his dick. Your eyes widen and you hurriedly put his now soft cock back in his underwear and pull his gown down. Dr. Arden enters the room the second you finish and only sees you run your hand down his gown straightening it out. He greets you both and walks over to his desk to find Kit’s file. Taking opportunity of him looking away, you imitate holding a clip board and whisper to Kit.

“Willingness to eat pussy?”, you look down at Kit and he smiles and mouths ‘ten out of ten’. You pretend to write it down and whisper one last thing to him, before going back to your regular job as a nurse.

“Ability to ejaculate? Ten out of ten”.

#ahs #american horror story #ahs asylum #american horror story asylum #asylum #asylum ahs #briarcliffe #kit walker #kit walker smut #kit walker imagine #kit walker x reader #kit walker x #ahs kit walker #american horror story kit #american horror story smut #ahs smut #smut #asylum smut #patient smut

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earthlyyan · 3 years

Text

Little Trainee (Platonic(?)Yan! Childe x Reader)

For @bye-bye-sunbird (thanks again for your help) Warnings: Abuse, Graphic descriptions of violence, Implied Torture, Eye Trauma, Unhealthy Sibling relationships, Childe being a sadist, Kidnapping? If you squint? Imprisonment? Betrayal

Word Count: 3084

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He was gone.

Tartaglia held his younger brother’s fur-lined cap in his calloused hands, bringing it close to his chest. He’d taken off without it, wanting to be as far away from the killer that was his big brother so badly, he’d neglected to dress for the cold.

Despite his best efforts, Tartaglia had been unable to find him, and though tempted, he had refused to get the Fatui involved. It would further remind Teucer that his brother’s job was a terrifying one, too dark for the mind of a child to fully grasp. A child’s mind would never truly grasp why he had to kill, only that he had taken the life of another. And how that was an unforgivable sin.

He’d requested a day off work to prevent him from making any rash decisions on duty. He’d spent the day wandering aimlessly, desperately trying to gather his thoughts. He’d found himself in the familiar shambles of Dunyu Ruins. Perhaps he’d take out his frustrations on some ruin guards, or at least he’d considered it, until he saw you.

In and out and in and out.

Your sword found its way into the ruin guards eye again and again. It had been dead after the first thirteen stabs, but you didn’t care.

Your thrusts were becoming harder to maintain, your shallow breaths and sore arms halting your rage filled pursuit. Your legs straddled its large, heavy body, thick vines restrained its arms and legs.

It killed him. It killed your brother. The laser sliced his body while simultaneously cauterizing the wound, leaving him in two, unable to bleed. His face still frozen in that of agonizing pain.

It was going to kill you as well until a blinding green light appeared before you; a dendro vision.

You didn’t know how you did it, but now it was dead, and the gift of the archons laid on the ground before you. You hated it.

A gift of the gods, what a fucking joke.

You choked back the urge to vomit at the rancid scent before removing your sword from the gaping glass wound.

You kicked the hunk of metal as hard as you could before losing your balance and falling back onto the ground.

A man stood there; a couple years older than you. You’d fallen right at his feet.

He wordlessly helped you up off the ground before clearing his throat, as if to clear the air with it.

“You know, I’ve never seen someone receive a vision before.” His voice was light and airy. “I had been walking when it’s light blinded me. I regret not showing up sooner.”

You refused to look at the strange man, his words not registering. Your mind was too busy trying to process what had just happened.

“Hey,” His voice was louder, shaking you from your stunned stupor. He held out a handkerchief from his pocket. “You should probably get out of—”

“He’s dead.”

The man’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

“That thing killed him. He’s dead.” Your words were empty. You contemplated if you should be feeling anything else other than thinly veiled anger and disgust. You should’ve been sadder. The only thing you had felt at the time of you mindlessly stabbing the guard was desperation for your own survival, and fear that it would get up again. You were revolted at the sight of the corpse before you, but you weren’t terribly torn up about the death in itself. And that disgusted you.

Anyone else would’ve been. Anyone would’ve been devastated if they had watched their own kin get cut in two. But no, you were more worried about what you’d tell your mother.

You walked over to the remains of your brother and poked it with your foot, your blatant disrespect for the dead caught the man off guard. Your gut did flips in your stomach at the gruesome sight.

“You don’t seem too upset about it.” He seemed to lack the same feeling of fear at the sight of a corpse. You didn’t quite know how to feel about that. “Though, you don’t seem like you’ve got the guts to orchestrate it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He laughed. “The way you kept stabbing the poor ruin guard made me think it was self-defense, and that the death was an accident. But the fact that you’re not devastated at his death made me wonder that you did it intentionally.”

“And if it was?” “Then I think I’d applaud your ambition.”

The man introduced himself as Childe, a member of the Snezhnayan organization called the Fatui. He claimed to be a warrior of sorts, and that he had gone to Dunyu Ruins to take out some frustrations he had one some ruin guards. He then had stumbled across you stabbing a lifeless robot corpse.

He had treated you to lunch in Liyue, saying that leaving you to stew in your thoughts after witnessing something of that caliber was ill-advised.

“What were you doing in Dunyu Ruins?”

“My brother wanted to do something there. He wouldn’t tell me what it was.” You mumbled.

“And the sword?”

“The sword I have with me was the one he was carrying, but when his torso disconnected from his legs, his scabbard landed close to me. So I thought I might as well use it.” You stirred your soup with your spoon, not having much of an appetite.

“So why did he have the sword?”

“Archons know.” You sighed. “If I’m being frank, I think he was going to kill me.”

Childe lowered his tigerfish from his mouth. A light laugh left his lips, startling you. “What makes you think that?”

“I was father’s favorite, though I am the younger of the two of us. So when he found out he had left the inheritance to me instead of his eldest son, he thought it unfair.” You reluctantly brought the spoon to your lips and swallowed. “We had never gotten along; I was like a punching bag than his younger sibling.”

“And I suppose that’s why you’re not crying and mourning the loss?” His voice was mocking.

“Well, would you?”

Childe hummed. “I’m not sure, family is family, but…” his voice lowered into an inaudible mumble, pondering.

He was silent for a moment. He took a few bites of his grilled tigerfish. His eyes wandered to the scabbard at your hip. “You don’t know how to fight.”

“What? Where did this come from?” He hadn’t even finished his thought from before.

“The way you were holding the sword as you used it to kill the ruin guard was way off. Had you kept going, you could’ve gotten hurt. If you had held it properly you could still be stabbing it now. If you didn’t get that vision when you did, it could’ve killed you with how poorly you were handling yourself.”

“That’s the whole point of getting bestowed a vision. Saving you when you’re on the brink of death or something like that.” You shoved your spoon in your mouth again.

“Yes, true.” He sighed and set down the now empty skewer. “But if you hadn’t gotten it you would’ve ended up like—” “Okay jeez I get it!” You grumbled around the metal in your mouth. “What are you getting at?”

“Luckily for you, I’m quite skilled at the sword.” His chest puffed in pride. “And it’s not like you’re going to go home with half a brother in tow, yes?”

“So you want to train me? What good does that do you?” “I’ve always wanted to train someone in a weapon.” He smiled, though there was a tinge of sadness in his voice. Like he was looking forward to it before the invitation presented itself. “And now, I can.”

You were on the ground again, some shallow, superficial cuts littered your body, Childe’s blade inches from your throat.

“You left yourself open again. I told you this weeks ago and yet you can’t get it.” A disappointed sigh escaped his lips as he pinged the bridge of his nose. “Hunch, keep your legs apart, again.”

Some part of you wondered if Childe got off on hearing your groans and hisses when he slashed you. Something about the way he bounced on his legs and the way his grin seemed more genuine had you worried.

You slowly got yourself off the ground, your bones and muscles creaking in protest as you readied your brother’s blade again.

“If you’re sore it means its working.” His laugh echoed as he lunged himself at you again, leaving you a moment notice to swerve out of the way. “If you weren’t sore before it means you were doing it wrong.” He dodged an oncoming attack from your sword and swept your legs, leaving you on the floor again. Yup, he was definitely getting off on this.

Three months under Childe’s tutelage toned your body significantly. He seemed to be more eager to fight you these days. Saying that you were finally getting fun to fight or something like that.

“Despite your form issues in the beginning, you’re practically a natural.” He beamed as he extended a hand to you. “Fighting you is actually fun these days, and less boring.”

“It was boring before?” You were borderline insulted.

“Fighting against you was boring. Seeing you grow and mature as a fighter was interesting.”

“Uh huh.” You wiped the sweat from your brow. “Sure.”

He’d been gracious enough to let you room at his house. And for someone of his age, it was quite impressive for him to have one of this stature. You had your own room across the hall from his. He only had two rules when staying with him.

One: The lower levels were off limits. No matter what. He said that it had to do with his work, and that it would be unprofessional of him to allow someone to interfere.

Two: Don’t ask about his work.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious about it. Sometimes he’d leave for days on end and come back beat up, other times you’d hear noises from the lower levels.

They sounded like screams.

You wondered what he’d have to do for a living to hear such noises from below. Sometimes he’d go down for hours and come up itching for a fight with you, other times he’d leave satisfied and covered in blood. You’d wondered if it was his own.

Something about it didn’t sit right with you, but a fight with Childe was not one you wanted to engage in. He’d know all your moves, considering he’d been the one to teach them to you. Whenever you’d try to bring it up, you’d be shut down with an uncharacteristic coldness from him. One that barely used, only when he was talking about his work, that is.

But tonight the screams were louder. They reached your room in the depths of the night, even with the door closed and pillows blocking your ears. You had to know.

You were sick of being left in the dark here, you were sick of hearing those screams from downstairs. You had to know.

Were you training under a serial killer? Childe didn’t seem like the type, or was he?

The strange amount of pleasure he’d get when watching you get hurt by his hand. The ruthless way he’d slaughter hillichurls and treasure hoarders alike. No matter who or what it was, its death was no different to Childe. It seemed to light him ablaze, having him itching for a fight with anything that moved, and when it stopped moving, he’d be disappointed.

The screams had died down after a few hours. You had to wait until you heard his boots go back upstairs and into the room across the hall.

You had to be more quiet if you were going to get in and out of there before he noticed you.

After these escapades he would take a shower, the running water would be enough to cover your footsteps going down the hall, truly.

A minute after the shower started running you made your move. It was easy to pick out what door led to the basement, due to the sheer amount of deadbolts and locks keeping it closed. He’d left the key in the door, probably to stop whoever was in the basement from looking through the keyhole. Smart move for him when it came to living alone, but with company, it was practically begging to be used.

And use it you did. Deadbolt after deadbolt, you finally turned the key.

The basement was warm and sweet smelling. But not in the pleasant way sweets were supposed to smell.

It made your stomach ache and twist as you descended the staircase, closing the door behind you.

The clinking of chains got your attention before the sight of blood had. The lights had flickered on, illuminating the sight before you. You couldn’t hold back your vomit anymore.

Your suspicions were right, or so it seemed, with the sheer amount of bodies below. One was still living, trembling, and hunching away from you. “Did Childe do this?” You knew the answer but had to be sure. Perhaps it was an associate he worked with, or some weird fetish.

The man nodded, “I didn’t have enough money.”

“What?”

“To pay back the Northland Bank.” He stammered. “I couldn’t pay them back, so they sent him.”

“He’s a debt collector?”

The man shook his head. “No. He doesn’t care about collecting the debt, not like the others.”

There were others?

“He gets sent in after the warning deadlines are up. You pay with your—”

The man abruptly stopped, looking past you and onto the stairwell. Then he couldn’t see at all.

An arrow flew past you, barely grazing your ear before finding itself in the mans eye socket. He slumped to the ground, lifeless. You whizzed around to meet the source, only to find Childe, an arrow drawn taught in the bow you’d barely see leave his side.

“Well that’s disappointing.” He sighed. “I was hoping to make him last another day.” He grimaced. “That was a warning shot, by the way.” He walked down the stairs slowly, still aiming at you. “Put your back to the wall.”

He almost sounded sad. You were too shocked to move.

An arrow landed at your feet, standing straight up against the ground. “I said put your back to the wall. That wasn’t a suggestion.”

You tripped over the man’s corpse while making it to the wall. “Childe I—” “Nope, too late for that. Hands up.” He slowly lowered his weapon and made a show of putting it away. He wanted you to know he still had it. He leaned in close to your face. “Now that’s a look I haven’t seen in quite some time.” His voice was low, husky. “Betrayal looks so good on you.”

You could feel his hot breath on your neck. You growled and threw your head forward, colliding with his. He took a step back.

Blood ran down from his forehead, his eyes practically glowing with excitement. “Oh hoh~ Now that’s what I’m talking about. A real fight from you.” He drew hydro blades from his sides and threw one at you. “I’m expecting improvement from you, my little trainee.”

You picked up the cool blade from your feet, never breaking eye-contact with him. “I’ll kill you.”

“You better hope you do. For your sake, at least.” You lunged at him, swiftly finding your way behind him, ready to strike.

“Your stance has gotten better.” He smiled. “But I’m afraid it still leaves you open” He kicked off from the ground and into the air, his foot collided with your chin sending you reeling.

“You bastard.” You hissed, picking yourself off from the ground with the steadiness of a newborn deer. “Why not be more quiet about your escapades down here? If you’d had your victims quiet down, I would’ve never found about what you were doing.”

“I never said I never wanted you to find out what I was doing.” He ran at you again, slicing your shirt and your left shoulder along with it. “I was hoping you’d have enough faith in your teacher to follow my rules.” He sighed. “I didn’t take you for the curious type.”

“I’m not.” You said, you swept at his leg, but he narrowly escaped, jumping just high enough to miss it. “But I enjoy liking to sleep in peace knowing my upperclassmen isn’t a serial killer.”

“I’m no serial killer!” He laughed, landing a cut to your lower back, then stepping hard on it. You fell to the ground trapped under his heel. “I’m simply following orders. I have nothing against these people.” He pressed harder.

You suppressed a scream.

“I do have a problem with those who interfere. You were going to help him, weren’t you?”

You’d be lying if you said you were going to leave him to die.

“Weren’t you?” His voice was closer to your ear this go round.

“Yes! Yes, I was!” You sobbed. “I just wanted to—”

“I’ve heard this before. Suddenly you have the moral upright to save a dying stranger? But you sat back and kicked your brother’s corpse?”

“That was different!” “Sure it was. A man is a man is a man, yeah?” His foot lifted from your back and turned you onto your stomach. “See the difference between me and a serial killer, is that if I was a serial killer, I probably would kill you right now.” He sighed. “But see, I like you. So I think I’ll let you live. Though don’t expect things to go back to normal. I can’t expect you to stay quiet and continue your training in the open alongside me.” He leaned you up against the wall, easily fighting against your protests. He took your wrists and cuffed them to the wall.

The restraints were still warm.

You shuddered.

“See, here’s the thing.” He said. He cupped your cheek with his spare hand. “I don’t want to leave you the way you are, half trained. I do enjoy fighting you.” He finished tying you upright and smiled, admiring his handiwork. “I’ll let you go under one condition.”

For the first time since you’d met him, his smile finally reached his eyes.

“You’re free if you can kill me.”

#yandere writing #genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere childe #yandere genshin x reader #reader insert #childe x reader #genshin tartagalia #tw: violence #tw: injury #tw: graphic depictions of violence

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hajimesh · 3 years

Text

𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝗺𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁

⥅ eren jaeger / 1.8k words

warnings. manga spoilers, fluff and angst, gender neutral reader

a/n. my entry for anilysium's collab, don't forget to check the masterlist !! thank u sm temi for the beta ♡ @thefairywalker

hope is what makes someone hold onto a promise. and that hope it's worse than the broken promise itself.

—

845.

an autumn-like breeze cooled down the summer afternoon, and with the sky barren of any clouds, it was easier for the sun rays to land on those familiar blond strands.

"over there!"

eren's small hand—even though it was big enough to cover yours—wrapped around your wrist before it tugged you through the crowd. your rapid breaths were all you could hear while you mentally prayed to make it on time, just a couple more steps and you would be within reach, already staring at armin’s frightened face which caused your heart to jump. but what finally managed to send you in a state of despair was the sight of eren shoving the bigger kid away.

“what do you think you’re doing, yeager?!”

“are you hurt?” tears gathered at the corners of your eyes while you helped armin up on his feet, you didn’t have to turn around to know eren had received a punch, his pained wail making you flinch.

armin took your hand and together faced the scene before your eyes, holding onto each other's hands while tears dampened your cheeks.

“leave him alone!” the tremble in your voice was obvious, even after multiple fights with those kids it always ended up the same way. armin and you crying in fear for eren and mikasa's safety.

only this time mikasa was nowhere to be seen.

“shut up!”

“don’t talk to them like that!” with a kick on the shin, eren managed to keep the bully out of commission for a few seconds. but that was enough for your saviour to arrive.

“leave before i call the garrison.”

relief began to relax your tense stance, you all knew that it wasn’t the moment to be wasting their time in a kid’s fight, the shortage of food seemed to worsen each day and keeping the people on a tight leash became harder as the days went by.

the kid seemed to finally realize he wouldn't win this time, so with a scoff he took a couple of steps back, "this isn't over," his annoyed gaze traveled from eren to you, "and try not to piss your pants next time."

the three of you watched him run away while the rush of adrenaline began to wear out on your bodies and gave in to the tiredness. had mikasa not intervened, the outcome would've been way worse.

"hey," eren was the first one to break the silence, turning towards you and landing a hand on your shoulder. unfortunately, the softness in his voice was your catalyst and soon you allowed the distress to overcome you, "oh no, don't cry!"

it was useless to try to get your tears to stop, falling one after another as your chest racked with broken sobs, "i-i'm sorry i couldn't be o-of help!"

armin watched in worry as eren tried and failed to get you to calm down. he could tell you were scared when you confronted the bully, your hold on his hand so tight he feared you would end up hurting yourselves. but even so, you had pulled through your fear and stood your ground, something he admired from you.

with a tug on your shirt, mikasa signaled you to start walking, her impassive yet reassuring gaze letting you know she was there for you.

"let's go home."

—

the warm steam that blew onto your blotchy face felt soothing, the taste of mrs. yeager's freshly brewed tea successfully relaxing the tightness in your chest as it ran down your throat.

you could already feel the tiredness hitting you all at once, begging you to lie down and close your eyes so you could rest your mind after the afternoon's occurrences. but with eren's eyes observing you, you knew you weren't off the hook yet.

"better?"

not trusting your voice, you hummed and smiled behind the cup resting on your lips, sniffling slightly when a flashback of eren being punched on the face appeared on your mind.

however, he didn't seem to be done with the topic.

"why did you stand up to him if you were so scared? you were lucky he didn't go for you."

"'cause i didn't want him to keep punching you."

"i don't need your help," his tone gave you the wrong impression. were you bothering him? a frown pulled your lips in a wobbly pout but he was quick to realize his error, "i mean, we should focus on armin, right? he's the one always in trouble."

you rocked your feet back and forth, watching them dangle from the chair as you mulled over his words. he wasn't lying, it was armin who often ended up as the victim of those bullies. at least when neither of you were around to aid him.

"i have a plan!" eren suddenly perked up, eyes brimming with excitement and pride as he obviously found his plan a good one, "dad always says that it's his duty to protect mom because they're married. so, if we get married, i can protect you and we can protect armin—together!"

you couldn't help but gasp, "married?! but we are too little!"

"not now, dummy. when we grow up!"

"what if i cry again and can't protect armin?" you voiced out your biggest worry as you pushed the cup away and made room on the table for your arm, resting your chin on top of it after yawning.

"i'll protect all of us," he didn't even hesitate, “and we have mikasa too.”

the silly promise made so much sense to your 10-year-old brain, which is why you held onto the hope and safety it gave you and agreed.

carla yeager squealed the news to her husband once eren and you had fallen asleep.

—

850.

there wasn't a day where you didn't regret not going with them.

the lively days soon became dull without eren and armin’s excited voices as they discussed the fire and icy lands in armin’s book, mikasa’s reassuring presence gone as well. but you knew you wouldn’t make it through the strenuous military training—or at least that was what you had told yourself.

truthfully, you wondered how were they not scared of continuing with their suicide mission of joining the legion, all those sacrifices just to see what was outside the walls. why couldn’t they be happy with what you already had? it wasn’t much, but you had each other, which was more than what most people could say.

with shiganshina gone, you became one of the refugees that lurked in the streets of trost. the conditions to live growing harsher, food and shelter becoming escarse and a luxury, but eren’s promise gave you enough strength to go on with your days until you landed a job as a waitress at a pub.

you missed them, all of them.

their names flew from the mouths of the military police and other higher ups that passed by, making you wonder what they were up to. however, when news spread about eren’s abilities to shift into one of those creatures, that old sense of worry shook you to your very core.

was he hurt? mikasa wouldn't let anyone lay a finger on him, but what if they separated them?

multiple scenarios ran through your head, many of them not so pleasing and only worsening your nerves. but if their names kept coming up in the authorities’ conversations after each and every mission, then it meant they were still alive.

unfortunately, all you could do was pray for their well-being and silently beg them to return.

—

854.

after years of not hearing his voice, it took you several seconds to recognize it.

“where– where are we? why–”

“you’ve changed,” his tone was soft yet hints of curiosity sept through as he marveled at you, “you look older..." prettier, he wanted to say.

having spent so many years without the intensity of his gaze, you realized you had grown unused to it, “you’ve changed too.”

it seemed like everyone had disappeared, except for you and him. dunes of fine sand slithered under your feet and a bright light illuminated the starry sky, converging by the horizon and causing his green eyes to shine in a way you had never seen before.

“eren… what’s all this?”

one moment you were surrounded by chaos, people screaming while an army of colossal titans walked south and eren declared war against the rest of the world; and the next it all had gone quiet, a man—eren—standing next to you while holding your hand.

"they will pay, and then we will be free," his thumb rubbed the skin on the back of your hand gently.

you caught the way his gaze hardened for a second, rage clear in his features but what confused you the most was the amount of hurt swirling in his eyes.

what did he mean by 'they'? you were aware of marley's feelings towards the eldians but was it truly that bad? there were so many questions you wanted to ask, but something told you that you didn’t have enough time so you chose to stick to the most important ones.

“how's mikasa? armin... is it true? he’s the colossal now?”

eren pulled you closer to him by tugging on your hand, cradling the side of your face with his free hand as a smile took over his lips.

"mikasa's busy kicking everyone's asses," he joked and you couldn't help but laugh, relieved at the sudden lightness in his voice. your eyes closed briefly when he leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours, licking his lips before continuing, "armin... yeah, he's the colossal. looks like i need to find another excuse to marry you, hm?”

you found it unfair how after almost a decade, he could still hold such a power over your heart, the butterflies in your stomach feeling worse than what you recalled.

“you remember?”

he didn't miss the hope in your tone, his own heart aching at the thought of you assuming he had forgotten about your existence. there wasn't a day where he hadn't wondered about your well-being, were you safe? had a titan stole your life just like they had done with his mom? it was armin and mikasa who consoled him whenever the intrusive thoughts became too much to his already stressed mind.

“i never forgot.”

it was subtle, the way that kids promise evolved into a lifetime vow—but neither of you minded.

“i need you to promise me one more thing," he murmured, his breath fanning over your lips while your own faltered at his proximity.

“you’re leaving again,” it wasn't a question.

“i have to.”

it pained him to no end, but it had to be done. the warmth of his lips touched your forehead, your cheeks, and lips; staying longer on the latter while your hearts synchronized for a moment, sharing years worth of affection.

"stay here, on the island. find somewhere safe to stay until it all ends.”

a mere murmur on your lips, that was all it took to harm your hopeful soul.

"and don't wait for me."

#eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger x reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #eren x reader #eren fluff #eren angst #eren yeager #i missed writing angst hehe #eren.c

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when-they-write-stuff · 3 years

Text

IT WAS UNFAIR, Stiles thought, that Derek Hale was so freaking hot.

It wasn’t just because it was a summer day and he swore, it had to be over a hundred degrees. It wasn’t just because the man had shed his shirt long ago, working alongside the betas as they started the paneling of the Hale house’s unfinished porch. And it wasn’t just because Stiles was a raging bisexual and Derek Hale was exactly his kind of dream guy.

Except maybe it was all of those things. Maybe it was because Derek Hale was so goddamn gorgeous, so very shirtless, and so freaking muscled, Stiles couldn’t wrap his head around it all. And— and shit. It wasn’t fair, Stiles thought.

It wasn’t fair that Derek Hale was so freaking hot.

Sighing, he took another long drink of his lemonade, protected by the shade of the trees from across the lawn. He’d started out the afternoon helping the others work on the Hale house, he really had. But Stiles was just human, okay? He wasn’t nearly as muscled or effortlessly tireless as the others. And he’d never admit this any other time, but he was totally okay with being the token human for the day while the others worked their werewolfy asses off.

Sitting next to him, strawberry-blonde hair whisping slightly in the faint breeze, Lydia looked like she felt exactly the same.

“I never thought I’d look at a handful of shirtless, sweaty boys and feel nothing,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully. Stiles choked on his sip of lemonade and Lydia smirked, glancing over at him before her gaze drifted back across the lawn toward Derek. “Just like I’m sure you never thought you’d look at such a hot, shirtless Hale and feel so much.”

“Oh my god, Lydia, really?”

Lydia just hummed and Stiles desperately tried not to blush, dropping his eyes to the dirt. Because his worst nightmare was that one day Derek would overhear what Lydia voiced in ‘private’, and he might just have to throw himself off a cliff if that ever happened.

And he was too young to die.

“Please, just never say that again,” Stiles said. “Like, ever.”

“You know it’s true, though.”

Stiles shot her a sharp look, which the girl completely ignored. But if Stiles had anything to say about it, Lydia was definitely wrong. And— and even if she wasn’t, it wasn’t like he was that obvious about certain things, okay? He definitely wasn’t obvious.

In fact, Stiles would like to state for the record that he was the total and complete opposite of anything Lydia ever said.

Always.

Because Stiles had never tripped over his own feet after Derek flashed red eyes in his direction. And he’d never run face-first into a wall when the man had simply growled his name. He’d never accidentally spilled coffee down the front of his shirt when Derek had brushed a little too close and he’d never almost had a heart attack when Derek had shoved him into a wall after Stiles had spilled a certain... beverage all over the man’s shoes.

Okay, okay, maybe he had done these things before. Once. On the same day. But that was just once.

Just once.

And Stiles was pretty sure nothing like that would ever happen again. In that order, at least.

Yet, here he was, doing his best to pretend like a shirtless and sweaty Derek Hale wasn’t doing unseemly things to him. Unseemingly things like fixating only on the unseemly that he’d like Derek to be doing to him. Because, well, the things he’d let Derek do to him...

“Stiles,” Lydia said, interrupting his daydream. “You’re drooling.”

Stiles snapped back to reality, shaking his head, and automatically flushed at her smug look. “I am not.”

“You are. And it’s a bit pathetic.”

“Okay, you know what? You’re a bit pathe—” Lydia gave him a dangerous look and Stiles promptly snapped his mouth shut. “Never mind.”

“Wise choice.”

“But I wasn’t drooling.”

Smirking, Lydia gazed back toward the Hale house. Then, a devious look crossed her face and she glanced over at him before nodding toward where the others had stopped to take a break on the half-finished steps. “You know, you could be over there giving Derek a reason to drool over you.”

Stiles blinked. “Uh, you mean get all sweaty and gross too? No thanks.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “I mean stop hiding over here and go get yourself worked up over there. Show those idiot wolves what Stiles Stilinski has to offer.”

“Okay, first of all, that is never going to happen,” Stiles said. “And seriously, Lydia, you’re a menace. Do you know what lies under all of this?” He gestured down at himself and accidentally sloshed lemonade over his hand, cursing. Point one for what Stiles Stilinski had to offer. “Absolutely nothing, that’s the answer. Nothing but pale skin, weak everything, and the proof that I’ve spent most of my life living off of curly fries and milkshakes instead of that green crap I make my dad eat.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow, looking slightly amused. Sighing, Stiles turned his gaze back across the lawn.

“What I would give for some werewolf abs, though.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Oh, that's absolutely how it works,” Stiles shot back. “Trust me, I know. I’m the pack expert, remember? The packspert, if you will. And you all rely on me to know these things.”

“Hm.”

Stiles took another sip of his lemonade, eyes still on Derek. Because he definitely was the pack expert, thank you very much. And werewolves like Derek Hale were definitely hot— it was part of the package deal.

Stiles, on the other hand, was lacking hotness on many levels.

And that’s why he was here, sitting far away from where Derek and any of the other werewolves who could catch wind of his... thoughts, daydreaming about a grumpy-growly alpha who would never see him as more than ‘skinny, defenseless, Stiles’. And he was totally okay with that, Stiles told himself. He was.

He’d always been better at lying to himself than others.

Three months before Stiles graduated Beacon Hills High, the Hale house was finally finished.

He thought it was a little strange how four years ago, the first time he’d laid eyes on the old house it had been nothing but a skeleton, the remnants looking like they could collapse in on themselves at any moment.

It was all different now.

The Hale house looked a little bit like the ‘before’ pictures Stiles had once caught Derek studying— although there were also a few different things added on. Like the archery targets, for example. Or the giant porch that curved around to the back of the house, complete with a fire pit and a grill.

Stiles couldn’t wrap his mind around ever seeing Derek Hale grill.

And yeah, the house looked a bit like these pictures Stiles had once caught Derek studying. The man had slammed them down and given Stiles a red-eyed alpha look before he could get a good look, but Stiles had ducked back into the room much later, finding a picture left behind that showed the Hale family standing in front of the house before it burned.

The younger version of Derek Hale had been smiling. Stiles didn’t think he’d ever seen the older one look like that before.

He’d left the room feeling a bit conflicted.

Two weeks after that, Stiles swung by the fully finished house after school, the first one to arrive before the rest of the pack. The Camaro, he noticed, was parked near the trees, but the Hale house itself seemed quiet, the newly built porch so much more welcoming than it had been all those years ago.

Stiles hesitated before climbing out of his jeep, debating waiting for one of the others to show up. Scott would probably go to Allison’s first and Lydia would probably be at Jackson’s. Stiles had no idea what the other three betas were doing, but thinking too much about what they got up to outside of Derek’s supervision never ended well.

Stiles had learned that the hard way years ago.

Faintly, looking at the silent house, he wondered if it would look like this after the summer of graduation. Something about that made Stiles’s stomach clench and he shook his head, trying to banish any thoughts of Derek Hale being stuck in an empty house all alone when they were all gone.

Forcing himself out of the car, Stiles pulled his backpack over his shoulders and started toward the house.

It was eerily silent when Stiles stepped foot through the front door. He hesitated and craned his neck to glance up the stairs, then down the hall. But the house seemed completely empty.

“Uh, Derek?”

There was almost nothing in the house yet, so Stiles’s voice echoed off the empty walls. He moved through the house quietly, checking each empty room that he passed. But the big bad alpha of Beacon Hills didn’t seem to be anywhere around.

Stepping into the living room, Stiles paused. Sitting across the room was a single chair, facing where Isaac had stated the ‘necessary’ pack TV had to go. Behind it was a single picture frame on the wall and as Stiles moved closer, he realized it was the same one he’d seen weeks ago.

The glowing eyes that reflected back at the camera were only a little creepy.

“Stiles?”

“Shit!”

Stiles spun around so fast, he nearly tripped over his own feet. Derek stood in the doorway of the room, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket and a confused, if not a little concerned, look on his face. “What are you doing here?”

“I… thought we were all meeting here after school?”

Derek raised an eyebrow but didn’t offer an answer. Fishing out his phone, Stiles scrolled through his unread messages and— shit. There were a number of cancellations from the others, one after the other.

Stiles swallowed hard, glancing back up. “Okay, I might be wrong.”

Derek just continued to eye him. Stuffing his phone back into his pocket, Stiles glanced around the near-empty room and desperately wracked his brain, trying to think of a reason that he should not be around either. Because what was he even supposed to do now?

This was not going according to plan.

“Well then,” he said, avoiding Derek’s unnerving stare. “I should be going.”

The silence continued to reign and when Stiles glanced back up, Derek just shrugged, turning away. And Stiles didn’t know where the hell the werewolf had come from or where he was going now, but he was not going to wait around and see.

Things did not need to be any more awkward.

Gripping the straps of his backpack tighter, Stiles made for the back door instead— the quickest escape route. Though, he still paused at the doorway and glanced over his shoulder. Derek was gone now, but Stiles noticed a single empty plate on the table next to the single empty chair— the few things in the near-empty room

The house suddenly seemed even quieter than before.

Stomach twisting, Stiles swallowed hard and shook his head, ducking out the back door into the cool evening air. And he didn’t look back until he was in his jeep again, staring at the looming house.

He thought he saw movement in the highest window; the quickest flash of shadow. But when he blinked and looked again, the window was empty and the house stood still. Still, dark, and almost a little more menacing than before.

Stiles jammed the key into the ignition and drove away faster than was probably necessary.

Stiles thought his crush on Derek Hale started sometime after his freshman year.

After Derek stopped scaring the ever-living crap out of him and Stiles came to terms with his possible bisexuality, he realized that yeah, Lydia Martin was hot. But Derek Hale was hot too. And it was kind of hard to look at either of them without his heart skipping a beat or two, which Stiles figured probably meant something.

But his possible attraction to Derek didn’t matter, he’d decided. His sixteen-year-old self was sure that he’d be marrying Lydia Martin one day and with that picture in mind, he could just appreciate Derek for what he was— a hot guy.

But then sometime around his junior year, Stiles realized he probably wasn’t going to marry Lydia Martin. And that… that was fine too.

One year later, he was completely fine with how everything had turned out.

By the time the Hale house was fully furnished, the pack spent nearly every afternoon there. It was nice; close by and large enough for them all. And sometimes, when Stiles came through the front door and met Derek’s gaze, he thought he could remember this one strange feeling he’d had the very first time he’d laid eyes on the man. So many years ago.

Or maybe, that one time in the pool. Or the kanima incident at the sheriff’s station nearly three years ago.

Or the first time Derek had come through Stiles’s window looking for research help.

“Stiles? Bro, Earth to Stiles.”

Stiles snapped out of his thoughts as an elbow jabbed into his side. Yelping, he glared sideways at the offender; and Scott just grinned innocently back, nodding toward the others.

“We’re all gonna go see a movie tonight. You in?”

“A movie?”

“Yeah, man. They’re doing replays of Star Wars all weekend.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “You do realize there’s a TV here, right? One that Isaac literally said was a ‘life or death’ necessity.”

Sitting on the floor across the room, Isaac flushed. “It is.”

“So…”

“Yeah, but Star Wars,” Scott said. Stiles snorted.

“Dude, I literally own all of them. What about a movie night here? Oh, we could even get pizza!”

Scott exchanged a dubious look with Allison, who shrugged. Stiles glanced at Erica, where she was wrapped around Boyd on the couch. The girl hesitated, then cast a dreamy look upward, smacking her lips together. “Movie popcorn easily outweighs boxed pizza, Batman. I vote for the movie theater.”

“I second that,” Jackson said, smirking over at Stiles. Stiles glared at him.

“You don’t get a vote, lizard boy.”

Jackon’s eyes flashed gold. “Say that again, Stilinsksi.”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Lydia said, giving Stiles a warning look. He just rolled her eyes and the red-haired girl considered for a moment, before shrugging. “I agree with Jackson.”

“Ugh,” Stiles groaned. “Don’t side with the snake.”

But the decision was already made up, apparently, as Scott jumped to his feet with a grin. “Sweet!” he said, pulling Allison up too. “Let’s get out of here then.”

Stiles didn’t even have a chance to protest before Erica was snatching the jeep’s keys off the coffee table and taking off toward the door, the holler of ‘shotgun!’ left in the air at her back. Groaning, he ran a hand through his hair and then slowly pushed himself up too.

It was only then that he noticed Derek hadn’t moved a muscle from his spot in the furthest corner of the room.

“Uh, hey, Sourwolf, you coming?”

Grey-green eyes lifted from his book and Derek gave him an unimpressed look. “No.”

“What? Why not?”

This time, Derek’s brows furrowed. And yeah, Stiles supposed the book and the whole grumpy-growly attitude Derek had going on was probably a pretty telling answer. But he still couldn’t squash a strange feeling of disappointment.

“Come on, dude, it’ll be fun! Movie popcorn! I’ll even buy.”

To his surprise, the furrow between Derek’s eyes actually seemed to soften a little. Well, maybe it did. Just a little bit. “No, Stiles. You go.”

That strange feeling of disappointment grew even more. Stiles frowned. “Seriously, dude?”

And just like that, the unimpressed furrow was back again. Along with a flicker of red. “Yes, Stiles. Go.”

And yep, that was the Alpha werewolf that used to scare the crap out of Stiles all those years ago. Sighing, he turned away and waved a hand over his shoulder in dismissal. “Fine, Sourbutt. But you’re missing out on a good time!”

Stiles didn’t get an answer. But he hadn’t really expected one.

The house was silent as he left.

The weekend before graduation, Lydia had a party.

Stiles had been looking forward to it for weeks. Mostly because, yeah, the last party Lydia had hosted ended up going horribly wrong, but weren’t things different now? They hadn’t faced a supernatural threat in months and Stiles was finally starting to remember what it felt like to be a normal teenager again.

So, he was pretty excited for Lydia’s party. And of course, if he had still been in love with her, this would have been the most nerve-wracking night of his life. But Stiles was all good now and he was ready to have fun, do a little dancing, and maybe get a bit drunk if he thought he could get away with it.

He didn’t get a little drunk.

Somehow, three hours after arrival, Stiles was pretty sure he was wasted.

Keeping up with the werewolves was hard, he quickly came to realize, even if they laced their drinks with wolfsbane for a little extra kick. One hour in, Scott, Allison, and Isaac were nowhere to be seen. Two hours in, Erica was doing her best to convince Boyd to go around scaring the shit out of other drunks with their flashing eyes. And three hours in, Stiles had no idea where Lydia had gone, but the entire room was spinning so fast, he was pretty sure he was either going to pass out or hurl. Whatever came first.

He didn’t actually do either.

Instead, somehow, Stiles ended up at the Hale house when the moon was high in the sky. It was dark enough that he could barely see the way to the front door, but that proved not to be a problem when he fell face-first out of his jeep the moment he managed to open the car door.

And shit, his dad was going to kill him if he ever found out about this.

Rolling onto his back, Stiles blinked up at the dark sky and groaned. He was pretty sure getting back up wasn’t an option, not unless he wanted to just go right back down. So maybe he’d just die here…

Except suddenly, a looming figure blocked his view and Stiles shrieked, kicking upward with all his strength. His foot connected with something solid and the figure grunted— and Stiles realized much too late what he’d done.

“Dammit, Stiles!”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, voice barely a whisper. Half-bent over, Derek glared at him and Stiles mustered his best smile, desperately hoping that would keep him from getting his throat ripped out on the spot. “Er, hey there, Sourwolf. Fancy seeing you here.”

Red flickered through the man’s eyes. Stiles winced and after another long moment, Derek straightened up, giving him a look that held the promise of possible murder.

“What the hell are you doing, Stiles?”

Stiles blinked at the man. Then he shrugged, shifting a little in the dirt. “Resting.”

Derek’s expression tightened. The man leaned over again, sniffed deeply, and then his face twisted. “Are you drunk?”

“Only a little.”

“Dammit, Stiles!”

“Oh, please don’t ‘dammit Stiles’ me. I came here so I wouldn’t have to hear that exact statement from my dad tonight—”

But suddenly, Derek went rigid, his eyes flashing again. Stiles cut off, looking at the man in fear, and Derek gave him the most terrifying red-eyed look that Stiles had probably ever seen.

The man really looked like he could kill someone now. And Stiles was the only person around.

But then when Derek spoke, his words were so calm, so steady, Stiles thought that was even scarier.

“Stiles, did you drive here drunk?”

Oh, shit.

Stiles opened his mouth— then closed it again. Derek’s face was carefully blank now and Stiles was pretty sure if he could actually stand, sober him would be running right now. Because this was scarier than he’d ever seen Derek— even when the man had been that grumpy-growly “I’ll rip your throat out” asshole when they’d first met.

But before Stiles could even think of an answer, he was being scooped up. A sputtering noise of surprise left his mouth as Derek all but hauled him over his shoulder and then turned around, starting toward the Hale house.

Stiles’s head pounded. His stomach churned and as he watched the ground just a few feet away from his face, he wondered what would happen if he hurled all over Derek’s back.

As if the man could read his thoughts, Derek’s grip tightened. “Don’t you dare.”

Stiles did his best to keep everything down.

The dirt of the front driveway turned into the porch steps, and then the front door slammed as the ground Stiles was looking at became hardwood. Derek hauled him into the living room and dumped him on the couch, making Stiles groan loudly.

“Oh my god, dude, my head.”

Derek gave him a look of pure fury. Any more complaints dying on his tongue, Stiles shrank back.

“I mean, never mind. I’m completely fine.”

“No, Stiles, you’re not.” Derek’s eyes sparked red. “I can’t believe you would do something so stupid. So irresponsible. ”

“I… what?”

But Derek just shook his head and turned away, stalking from the room. Stiles stared into the darkness for a moment, his thoughts moving slowly, and he totally blamed it on the alcohol. Except, he really just didn’t know what to do with what was currently unfolding.

Derek had actually sounded upset. Concerned, even.

Stiles figured he was even drunker than he’d originally thought. In fact, maybe this was all just a spiked-punch induced hallucination. Just like last time Lydia threw a party.

Except, this definitely wasn’t a nightmare.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled Stiles right back out of his thoughts and he blinked in surprise as Derek stepped closer with a trash can, a glass of water, and a white bottle of pills.

“Uh,” Stiles said, utterly dumbfounded. Derek scowled at him and he shrank back again.

“You throw up on my floor,” the man growled. “I’ll rip your throat out.”

Wordlessly, Stiles nodded. Derek shoved the glass forward.

“Drink.”

Stiles didn’t need to be told twice. He drained the water in a few seconds and Derek set the bottle of pills on the side table, giving Stiles another dark look as he took the empty glass back. “Don’t take any of those until morning.”

Again, Stiles nodded. Derek set the trashcan next to the sofa and turned away again, vanishing into the darkness once more.

This time, the silence lasted a little longer. But still, Derek came into the room after a few minutes, another glass of water in hand and a rolled-up blanket tucked under his arm. As Stiles stared, the man set the water next to the pills, then unrolled the blanket and draped it over him.

Stiles felt a little bit like a child.

He honestly didn’t know how to react.

Then, finally, finally, Derek stepped back and folded his arms over his chest, surveying the entire scene as if he was satisfied with his work. Stiles stayed stock-still, kind of worried that any sudden movements would mess everything up.

Whatever ‘everything’ was right now.

Catching him staring, Derek glared again. “I’m going back to bed. If you wake me up, I’ll kill you.”

“...Got it.”

The man gave the room one more once-over and then turned away, heading back for the hallway. But before he could vanish into the dark all over again, Stiles sat straight up, internally screeching as the blood rushed to his head.

“Derek?”

The broad-shouldered silhouette paused. Stiles swallowed.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t get a single response. Not even a nod.

Stiles blinked and Derek was gone.

Graduation came and went like it wasn’t even worth the hype.

Stiles had avoided going back to the Hale house since that night, but it was like it never happened. In fact, if he hadn’t woken up to an empty house with a cup of coffee next to the glass of water and pills, Stiles might have believed it hadn’t.

But it had, which meant he’d made a complete fool of himself. And as Stiles had dragged himself off the couch and toward the front door, he’d been pretty sure he could never face Derek again. It didn’t really help that he could barely remember anything that happened that night, because what if he’d said or done something totally dumb?

Dumber than usual, that is.

So he’d decided to avoid both Derek and the Hale house for as long as possible. He’d noticed his dad never said anything too, which meant Derek hadn’t dropped by to say a word of whatever the hell had happened.

Things were fine. It was all fine.

But then, when they were all hanging out after the graduation ceremony was over, Scott told him they were holding the graduation party at the Hale house.

“Oh,” Stiles said, his throat going dry. “Oh, that’s great. Great, great, great, dude. Absolutely great.”

Scott gave him a small look of concern. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, great, I’m just fantastic,” Stiles said. Then, sighing, he shook his head. “Okay, no, I'm not. Remember that one time I told you Lydia Martin was the only person I’d ever have feelings for? Like, ever?”

Slowly, Scott nodded. Stiles swallowed hard and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“Yeah. I think I’m in love with Derek.”

In a moment, Scott’s eyes rounded twice their usual size. Stiles winced and almost instantly wished he could take back his words. Especially when Scott nearly shouted his next words.

“You’re in love with Derek?!”

“Oh my god, Scott,” Stiles swore, clapping both hands over Scott’s mouth. But the boy just ducked away and looked at Stiles like he’d grown two heads, mouth opening and closing a few times before he spoke again.

“What does that even mean?”

“Well, gee, Scott, I don’t know. What does being in love with someone even mean?”

“You... like him?”

“Seems we’re both coming to that gradual realization, yes.”

“Like, in a good way?”

Stiles stared at the boy. “Okay, please tell me you’re kidding right now.”

But Scott just continued to stare. Then, he glanced around and leaned closer, words hushed as if he was divulging his deepest secret. “Do you mean find him... attractive?”

Stiles pulled a face and gave the boy an incredulous look. “No, Scott, I don’t think werewolves who like to growl a lot and could probably crush me like a bug are attractive. And I definitely don’t think Derek is the hottest guy I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Scott blinked. Then frowned. “Okay, but you’re not lying.”

“No, Scott, I’m not!”

If Stiles could go back about five minutes ago, he would probably punch his past self for ever thinking he could tell Scott something like this in public. The boy looked like he was still lost and Stiles mentally prepared himself for more questions— before Allison came out of the crowd and linked her arm through Scott’s own, giving Stiles a warm smile.

“Hey, the others are heading to Derek’s. You guys ready?”

Scott looked from Stiles, to Allison, then back. Stiles gave him a sharp, warning look, but the boy just winced apologetically and let Allison lead him away— with knowledge Stiles never should have provided.

Closing his eyes, Stiles took a few deep breaths and then trudged after the two of them, silently hating himself for every decision he’d ever made.

If he wasn’t fearing for some kind of inevitable doom, Stiles might have been amazed by how the Hale house looked in the darkness that night.

Okay, that was a lie. He was still amazed.

Lights had been strung through the rafters of the porch and multi-colored garden lanterns were stuck in the ground all around the lawn. Stiles smelled barbeque before he even stepped out of the car and almost instantly zeroed in on his dad behind the grill, looking like he was the happiest person on the planet.

Except, Derek stood beside him, laser-focused on whatever the hell the Sheriff was grilling. And Stiles was pretty sure they were talking.

“Oh no,” he whispered.

But before Stiles could rush over and intercept what he could only imagine was not a very promising conversation, there was a hand on his sleeve and he was being pulled across the lawn instead. Stiles spun around, cursing, and nearly stumbled over his own feet to see Erica looking at him with a sharp grin. One that made his blood run cold.

Yeah, this might be worse.

“So, Stiles, ” the girl said, letting go of his sleeve only when they were at the very edge of the lawn, far away from the sound of music. “You’re in love with our alpha?”

Stiles froze. Then groaned. “I swear to god, I’m going to kill Scott.”

Erica barked out a laugh. “Oh, Batman, your puny little werewolf friend didn’t have to tell me a thing.”

Stiles blinked. Erica’s grin turned sharper.

“You spent the night here,” she said smugly. “Last weekend.”

“Last weeken... oh my god.”

Crossing her arms, Erica gave him a triumphant look. And Stiles didn’t even know where to begin before the girl was speaking again. “So you’re totally head over heels for Derek then? I mean, clearly you two bange—”

“Woah, no, stop!” Stiles said, waving his hands through the air. Erica narrowed her eyes but closed her mouth, and Stiles took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “I did not sleep with Derek.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I didn’t,” he hissed. “It was after Lydia’s party and I was drunk. I needed somewhere to crash.”

Erica raised an eyebrow. Stiles sighed.

“I almost passed out in the driveway and then nearly threw up all over him. Trust me, you menace, that’s about as far away from sleeping with Derek that I can possibly get.”

“Okay, then,” Erica said, studying him. “But you're definitely in love with him.”

Stiles opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. And the beta’s face lit right back up as she laughed.

“Oh, I knew it! I am so going to win this bet.”

“Wait, what?”

“I mean, Boyd didn’t think it would happen until the end of summer,” Erica continued, completely ignoring him now. “And Isaac clearly has his head up his ass because he didn’t think it was going to happen at all—”

“Hold up,” Stiles said, cutting her off. “What are you talking about? What bet?”

Erica straightened. Then, she grinned.

“Nothing. No bet.”

“Oh, hell no,” Stiles said, shooting a look over his shoulder. Thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed them yet and he was going to get answers out of her before anyone could interrupt. Because if this was another one of the beta’s stupid pranks— “Erica, I swear to god, I’ll skin your little wolfy ass. Talk, now.”

“Well, see, it all started at the beginning of the summer…”

But suddenly, Erica’s eyes lit up and she trailed off, brushing around him. Protests already rising on his tongue, Stiles spun around after her. Only to freeze.

Derek stood a few feet away, hands behind his back as he glanced between them. Stiles was pretty sure his heart skipped at least two beats.

“Oh, alpha of mine,” Erica said, approaching Derek and giving him a sharp grin. “So good to see you. Also, I’m gonna go now.”

Derek raised an eyebrow and watched her move around him, head tilting slightly. Then he turned to look toward Stiles, who was starting to feel like he could be sick. “Er, yeah. Hey, Derek.”

“Was I interrupting?”

“Absolutely not.”

Stiles probably spoke too quickly because Derek’s eyebrows climbed even higher. Flushing, Stiles dropped his gaze and silently cursed himself.

“I mean… no. You weren't.”

When he finally glanced up again, Derek still didn’t look very convinced. Biting down on his tongue, Stiles searched for any other kind of conversation diversion.

“So. Grilling.”

Derek’s expression turned even more incredulous, though his lips twitched a little. Stiles winced, turned his gaze downward again.

“I saw you and my dad earlier.”

“Oh. Yeah." Derek said thoughtfully. As if that wasn't disturbing news. "He offered me a position at the station two weeks ago. Deputy. I thought it was time I gave him an answer.”

Stiles’s head snapped back up so fast, he swore he heard something crack. “What?”

Derek slipped his hands into his pockets. “I’m taking it.”

“You’re— I— what?”

Derek didn't look too bothered by the fact that Stiles was nearly having a heart attack. But Stiles’s head spun and he felt a little bit confused, a little bit shocked, and kind of betrayed all at the same time. Because two weeks ago? That was plenty of time for his dad to at least mention something about possibly hiring Derek Hale.

“Now the house is built, I’m going to need to do something,” Derek said, studying him. “Over the summer and afterward.”

“Why?”

The moment the word left Stiles’s mouth, he felt like an idiot. Because, duh, they were all going to be spread out across the state pretty soon. Except for Lydia, of course, who was going multiple states away. But all this time, Stiles had imagined Derek being lonely and isolated in the Hale house when they were gone…

And just like that, he felt like an even bigger idiot.

Oh.

Looking at Derek with new eyes, Stiles suddenly remembered the past few months a little bit differently.

Derek, working alongside his betas on the new house— all amused looks and soft smiles. Then, that one picture on the wall, right next to the lone chair that soon sat right alongside the rest of the furniture; with enough space for the rest of the pack to be right next to him. And even beyond that, the contented silence when they all went off to do their own thing. Like he knew they were going to be back, no matter what.

A lump formed in Stiles's throat and he stared at the man, feeling like an idiot. “You’re not lonely here."

Derek tilted his head. “No.”

“It’s home.”

Once more, Derek’s lips twitched. Stiles swallowed hard.

“Last weekend…”

“You’re lucky I hadn’t taken the job offer yet.”

Oh.

So, Stiles hadn’t made a fool out of himself that night. But maybe he’d been making a fool out of himself long before then, and ever since. He’d found it so easy to look at Derek Hale and think about all those years ago, like the man was still a part of the past. But maybe Stiles was still the one living back then, not Derek.

“Stiles?”

Glancing across the lawn, Stiles watched the others for a moment. Music floated through the air and he didn’t see a single person other than him and Derek standing apart from the crowd. And they were all different now, weren’t they? It’d been years.

Stiles took a small breath and glanced back toward the man. They were all different now.

“Do you want to dance?”

Derek’s eyes flickered and after a moment, the man nodded. Hands trembling nervously, Stiles followed him away from the edge of the lawn, back toward the others. Gaze drifting a little ways further, Stiles's stomach flipped to see Erica watching with a wide smirk and a wad of cash in hand.

And then, like the entire world thought this was amusing too, the music slowed.

Stiles froze, looking back at Derek. But the man just raised an eyebrow and Stiles thought that maybe he could die on the spot. Because there was nothing even hot about that look. No, Derek Hale was drop-dead gorgeous and Stiles couldn’t believe he was standing literally inches away from the man that he had somehow fallen in love with. And he hadn’t even done anything stupid yet.

Then Derek stepped closer, Stiles’s heart stopped, and he promptly tripped over his own feet, spilling right into the man.

Someone barked a mocking laugh to the side; it sounded suspiciously like Jackson. Wincing, Stiles pulled himself back up and slowly met Derek’s gaze again.

“Sorry.”

“Let me.”

Fingertips brushed against his own and Stiles’s heart hammered against his chest as Derek took his hands. And shit, how many months ago had he been drooling over Derek like a teenager? Grey-green eyes danced in the glowing lights and Stiles remembered Lydia’s words faintly, flushing a little despite himself.

Give Derek something to drool over.

“You know, it's kind of unfair,” Stiles mumbled. “That you’re so freaking hot.”

“Oh, really?”

Stiles chewed on his lower lip, trying to avoid Derek's full-on gaze. “You know. Like, in a ‘I might be kind of in love with the big bad alpha of Beacon Hills’ way.”

Derek suddenly paused and Stiles’s throat tightened.

“Only if that’s okay.”

Beyond them, the music had changed again, turning into something more lively. But Derek still didn’t move and Stiles forced himself to meet the man’s eyes once more, trying to expect literally anything— he didn’t even know what to hope for anymore.

Derek’s brows were furrowed. His expression was a little quiet, a little gentle.

“Derek?”

“It’s about time.”

And Stiles blinked, mouth dropping open. But before he could even say a word, even wrap his mind around what had just been said, Derek was leaning forward and Stiles closed his mouth right back shut as warm lips brushed against his own.

In an instant, some part of his mind screeched. Some part logged off and logged back on again. And one more part replayed that one time he’d run into a wall after Derek had simply growled his name.

Then, Stiles fell right into the kiss and thought what had he even been feeling again?

So much.

But when Derek kissed him for the first time that night, the first time since they'd met, all soft and warm with the Hale house lit up behind them and the smell of barbecue in the air, Stiles realized he only felt one thing right now.

Full.

It kind of felt like the future. Kind of felt like home.

There was another picture hanging on the living room wall after Stiles went off to college, right next to the one of the Hale family. In it, some eyes glowed kind of creepily, some eyes didn't. Some people were holding each other tightly, some weren't. But they were all side by side, and they were all smiling. Older Derek Hale was smiling, just like all those years ago.

Standing next to him, eyes glowing for completely non-werewolf-related reasons, Stiles Stilinski was too.

- -

A/N: so I kind of mixed and matched prompts for this and it ended up being waaay longer than I expected. But I hope it turned out alright? I adore you both @wolfile & @pickosita5stwin !

#sterek #teen wolf #sterek fanfic #teen wolf fanfic #eternalsterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #stiles x derek #ficlet #6k+#stiles stilinski x derek hale #prompts

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sincerelybubbles · 4 years

Text

she’s the one || katsuki bakugou

summary: the three times katsuki bakugou almost kissed you, and the one time he did

warnings: pining, mutual pining, resolved pining, cursing, drinking

2.1k words

a/n: happy sunday, i had to take the opportunity to be cliché as fuck, sorry but not really

Katsuki Bakugou was not the type to like puzzles – he had exactly no patience for that. Life has enough problems, why the fuck would you add more?

And yet, here he was, trying to work her out, turning her words and actions around in his head over and over like somehow the puzzle of her would click if he just thought hard enough. And, the worst part, he was doing it because he wanted to; he wanted to figure her out, why she made his heart beat so fast when she smiled why he hung onto every word that left her lips – why was he so damn fascinated by those lips? He found himself memorizing the way they looked pronouncing every syllable – especially his name.

His name, something he never really considered, unless Deku was calling him by that dumbass nickname, and yet, here he was craving to hear it rolling off of her tongue.

“Ka. . . Katsuki-kun.” Correction – craving to hear it come out of those perfect lips, sober.

She flopped down next to him, giggling as she wobbled and caught herself on his arm and jostling the beer in his hand.

“Yes?” Katsuki turned his head, not even bothering to make his tone sound annoyed like he normally would, she wouldn’t remember tonight anyway.

“You haven’t sung yet.” She was talking too slow and too loud at the same time.

Katsuki let his eyes drag around the Karaoke bar that his friends dragged him to, spotting Mina and Denki singing a duet on the stage. He winced at their clashing voices.

“Not really my thing.” Katsuki told her, looking down at where her hand was still clutching his arm, debating if he should cut off her drinks before it was too late, and she blacked out completely.

“Just one song?” She pouted and Katsuki found his eyes locked on her protruding lower lip, tempted to lean the small distance forward and capture it in his own. He wondered how she would react.

She would probably kiss him back – he’d be lying if he said he didn’t notice her lingering glances and flirting comments. But then she’d hold Kirishima’s arm while walking and talk to him in whispered giggles, and Katsuki wasn’t so sure. Maybe he imagined her frequent smiles.

And, even if he was right, which he was about eight-four percent sure he was, he knew she deserved better. He had no idea how to spoil someone how she deserved to be spoiled. Hell, the only experience with girls he’d ever had were the few flings he had in college.

Even still, he found himself fighting the urge to close the distance, to take her still pouting lip in between his own, to kiss her until she was gasping and clutching at his shirt.

He refrained – she wouldn’t even remember tonight, and if she did, she’d count it as a drunken mistake.

“’Suki-chan?” She asked, and his heart pounded at the shortening of his name. It sounded to pure, innocent, casual rolling off her tongue.

“Fine, but you’re going up with me.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

She squealed and jumped up, grabbing his hand, and attempting to pull him up.

“One song.” He reminded her, standing only when she was nodding enthusiastically.

“One song!” She promised, holding out her pinky to him. She giggled when he hesitantly looped his pinky through hers, a slight blush covering his cheeks.

He followed her, of course he did. And when she asked to sing another duet after their first? Of course, he complied, relishing in the feeling of her eyes on him, her giggles only heard by him.

How dare she wear that. How dare she show up to this dumb ass event wearing that.

The skirt to her dress was surely missing a few inches, and the shoulder she was showing had him transfixed for much longer then it should have.

It was a simple barbeque; how dare she dress so cute. How dare she make him consider something cute.

Katsuki would consider himself a simple man. He typically only really looked at girls as people – obstacles in his way to the top – maybe once or twice on a lonely night as someone to fill his bed. Never as someone cute. He never listened so intently when someone talked, never was so willing to make someone smile. He never considered someone before himself, and yet here he was filling her a drink before he’s even made his own because her favorite drink happened to be nearly gone.

“Here.” He knew he startled her slightly as she jumped before taking the cup from his hand with a smile. He found it wasn’t hard to return it, before he leaned on the table beside her, sipping his own drink. He made a face at the sickly-sweet taste enveloping his tongue.

“Not your favorite?” She asked, and Katsuki realized his error.

“Shit, this was supposed to be for you, that ones mine.” He pushed himself off from the table, prepared to walk across the yard and find her another cup when hands much smaller than his own gently pried the cup from his hands.

“I figured.” She was giggling beside him, offering the cup in her hand to him. He took it, watching the drink she stole from him in her hands. Tracking its path as it made its way to her lips, watched as she took a slow sip and smiled at the sweet taste he grimaced at only moments before. He watched as her tongue peeked from behind her lips to catch any leftover taste. “Thank you, Katsuki-kun.”

It was all he could do to nod, swallowing and taking a sip from his own drink, fighting another grimace as he found it too bitter now.

He wondered if he pressed his lips to hers, would he mind the sweetness?

He let himself imagine, only for a moment, pressing his lips to hers, catching her cheek in his hand, titling her back and deepening it. He could almost hear her gasp.

“Let’s go dance!” She exclaimed, jumping up and throwing back the rest of her drink. Realizing he wasn’t copying her, she jutted one hip out and held her opposite hand out for him. “C’mon Katsuki-kun.” She fluttered her lashes. “You wouldn’t leave a lady to dance alone, right?”

“Ah, right.” He found himself saying, ignoring the small voice in the back of his head reminding him he hated dancing.

Dancing with her was almost unfair, he was allowed to put his hand on her hip, to draw her close, to feel her chest brush against his for a second, but she always wound up twirling away from him.

“You’re an awful dancer.” He observed, catching her as she almost fell again.

“And you’re shockingly good at dancing.” She rolled her eyes before placing her hands on his shoulders, applying pressure. “Although, you’re much too stiff! Relax, Katsuki-kun, dancing is about having fun.”

He rolled his eyes and looked away with a scoff to hide the blush creeping up his neck.

“Yeah, okay.” Why couldn’t he think of something better to say? Now she was quiet, although still smiling. He found himself looking into her eyes. She licked her lips, and he found himself mimicking the action.

They slowly twirled for a few moments, captivated. Katsuki could barely focus on the music enough to ensure that he was swaying to the right beat.

“See? You’re much relaxed.” Her breath fanned across his face, and Katsuki scoffed gently.

“Yeah, okay.” He forced his tone to be annoyed but knew that she saw through it. She always saw right through him. He expected her to call him out on his bullshit, like she always did, but instead she only smiled and pulled herself closer to him – oh God was she trying to kill him?

She tilted her chin up, and he was bending his neck down. Shit, she wanted this as much as he did, right? Her eyes were closing, and so were his. Her bottom lip brushed his upper lip and he fought a shudder forcing its way up his chest.

“Hey- oh!” Fucking shitty hair, Katsuki could kill him right now.

Katsuki listened as they talked and laughed. He fought to keep himself breathing through the rage forcing its way through his veins. In through his nose, out through his mouth.

She had stepped away, although her hand was still pressing into his forearm, holding him in place much closer to him then they usually stood.

“We were just playing ping pong.” Katsuki found it in him to look up at Kirishima, to act as if he had been listening. To act like the best chance he had to fulfil his fantasies hadn’t just been ripped away. “Do you want to go play a round?” And shit, she was just going to leave, and he was going to have to just stand here –

“Maybe in a bit, Katsuki and I were about to go get some food.” Then she was smiling and tugging him along. The lights around him were blurring. No worries, they were dull compared to her.

She brought him to a secluded area before turning around suddenly. His breath was caught in his throat at the repressed frustration written clear as day across her face. He waned to reach forward and capture her cheek with his hand, to hug her and make the look go away.

He pressed the thought down, annoyed at his own thoughts. Who the fuck was he to have such sappy thoughts? Plus, she was obviously upset with him. Chasing this stupid dream wasn’t going to get him anywhere, he needed to stop.

“You always look at me like you want to kiss me, why don’t you ever just do it?” Katsuki hesitated for a moment, taken aback by her words. He shoved his fists into his pockets and shrugged.

It was no use denying the fact, he didn’t think he was able to lie to her after nearly kissing her moments before.

“I didn’t want to assume.” It was one of the most honest things he had ever said, and it was completely true.

“Assume away.” She whispered, taking a step closer to him. He felt his eyes widen and instinctually, he took a step back.

“What? The fuck are you talking about?” He asked, angry that he was probably taking this all the wrong away.

“’Suki-kun.” Her voice was soft as her eyes searched his. She took a step closer and placed her hand on his chest. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. “It’s just me, you don’t have to act that way.”

He watched her with wary eyes as she intertwined her arms around his neck slowly. He found his hands making their way to her hip, the small of her back. He really didn’t want her to move, but he really didn’t want to be wrong.

Fuck, he really really wanted to kiss the breath out of her. He wanted to claim her in every way possible. He had a list longer than his arm of things he wanted to take her to see.

But none of it was worth loosing her entirely over a stupid fucking crush. He had to be sure.

“Kiss me.” She said, clear as a bell. She was close enough that he felt the words before he heard them.

Before he could even think, he moved the hand from her hip to her cheek and pulled her closer, tipping her head back and crashing his lips against hers.

He always swore to himself that if he ever got the chance to kiss her, he would be gentle. He would take his time. But he didn’t have the restraint, and found himself growing into the kiss, kissing her with a bruising force.

He swallowed her moans as he moved his tongue against hers, feeling as though he would never tire of the taste of her. She pulled away all too soon and pressed her forehead against his, breathing heavily. A few short breaths later she leaned forward to press a series of short kisses onto his mouth.

“Fuck.” He whispered.

While he had thought it before, this was the moment for certain that Katsuki Bakugou knew that he was hers. He would take anything she would give and knew he would be content with that. Sharing the same breath with her in this moment confirmed that.

He always thought being in love would make him feel weak, but in this moment, with her mouth reaching toward his again, he felt stronger than ever.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #bakugou #bakugo #katsuki #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #ground zero #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou fluff #x reader

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embrassemoi · 3 years

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Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 18

Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader CW: mentions of abuse, throwing up, depression, horrible coping mechanisms, implied sexual references A/N: Read CW for this chap.

【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】

Chapter 18: Love Isn’t a Magic Potion

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February 14th, 1976

There wasn’t quite another person like James Potter who knew what unrequited love felt like.

After years of harbouring feelings for Lily, making a fool of himself, his failed attempts of trying to impress her; she never seemed to take interest. Lily always sent him disgusted looks, never passing up the opportunity to call him a dirty arrogant toe-rag.

And sure, it phased him sometimes; her words cutting deep, but despite it all, James still believed in the fairytales, the sparks, the magic of true love, finding your soulmate — your better half. His parents were his main inspiration for love. Years — decades they’d been together and still, the love they held for one another, so fierce and unstoppable, it even shocked James at times.

A long time ago, when he truly understood the concept of love, he made a promise that he wouldn’t settle for anything but for the fairytales, the sparks, the magic of true love, finding his soulmate — his better half.

He wanted all of it. The good days, the bad days, the glitter and sparkles, the cheesy one-liners; long walks on the beach, nursing them back to health after they caught the flu, watching the sunsets, dancing in the rain — even the stupid petty arguments. He wanted all of it.

No matter how long it took to find them, he would; after all, everyone had their person.

Maybe that’s why he chased after Lily for so long — hoping for that romantic love — the love that’s made for movie screens — the type of love that conquered all. But he wouldn’t continue to beat on a dead horse, especially if Lily didn’t want that.

He wouldn’t force her and certainly, he wouldn’t harass her.

But, James would consider himself lucky, he found his friends — they were already his platonic soulmates and he’d go to the ends of the earth for each of them. His parents, the Marauders, Marlene, now Whiskers; he was always surrounded by only the purest amount of love.

He was never a person to cover up his emotions — hardly, that is. He wore his heart proudly on his sleeve, never once letting others dictate his life and the way that he loved. He laid himself bare, open, and there was a beauty to it that words couldn’t describe.

Love truly conquered all, whether it be romantic or platonic.

But to the women that fell in love with Sirius Black, well — there wasn’t quite another group of people like them who knew what unrequited love felt like — not even James ‘Oi, Evans!’ Potter could compare.

Love is shit.

Love is cruel.

Love is unfair.

Sirius would go on date after date. One fleeting look and soon enough, he had women at his feet, falling for his devilish charm that captivated them in seconds.

They swooned over his chiselled jaw and thick glossy hair; eyes so mysterious with profound, moonlit mirth. The epicanthic folds highlighted his sharp and pointed look that they swore cut through them, searching through the deepest part of their souls.

He was a part or used to be a part of the oldest and most noble Pureblood families in the country. He was rich, of high status, French, could speak five languages and a mischievous bad boy straight out of your classic Muggle film.

Falling in love with Sirius Black was an easy task, so simple and it could happen in a blink of an eye. The realization would come either fast or slow depending on the poor lovesick git who let themselves fall.

But getting Sirius Black to return that affection was an impossible task.

He was raised as a gentleman and would play the part before becoming bored. They were all fillers, the people he dated.

He would admit it, he’s a bit of a dick.

He never fell in love with anyone he’s dated so far — never got past the fancying stage and even then, it was never strong. It never made him feel those butterflies that James described them as. His heart never jumped, never sped up fast, he never felt his skin heat nor did their laugh ever put him into a trance — nothing like what he described them to be like. If anything, he’d always break it off with the girls he found himself getting too comfortable with; always severing it before it became too much.

Although, it technically never was his fault that they fell in love. Most of his admirers like to daydream from afar, or they’d make a promise at the beginning — no strings attached.

Well for them, it did. It almost always ended with strings attached with Sirius holding a pair of shiny scissors at the end of fried thread.

He did not believe in the fairytales, the sparks, the magic of true love, finding your soulmate — your better half.

But that doesn't mean he didn’t want it.

But, above all, Sirius Black considered himself to be a realist. Unlike James, he couldn't — he wouldn’t let himself believe in that shit anymore. Love is disappointing and it does nothing but hurt you, nothing but a filler he used to distract himself with, no matter who it was. Love did not fix his fuck ups nor himself.

All of the adoring admirers, the ones that lined up for him, they would all leave if they caught a glimpse of the worst parts of him. The ugly, nasty parts. He used rage as a means of defence, he pushed the people he loves away, he was moody, dramatic and above all, reckless.

All they wanted was to take, use him for his body — they wouldn’t love him if they knew him. The real him: the ugly side along with the beautiful one he wore. The side that wasn’t always adventurous, daring, bold, brave… happy, go-getting.

Nobody would stay for the ugly part of him.

In that regard, Sirius was unloveable. Completely, utterly unloveable.

Currently, the uglier, caged part of Sirius re-emerged as he writhed around in his bed. Eyes moved rapidly behind eyelids, squinted in pain as he squirmed around, clutching the bed sheets tightly. His head flopped from side to side as he was unable to wake; stuck in a nightmare.

“You mudblood lover —” “Don’t call them that!” “Babies, Regulus, babies!” “It’s killing me to stay.” “CRUCI —”

Sirius woke with a jolt, choking on a strangled scream that clawed at his throat. His mind seemed to be encased in a wordless static, muting him to the noise around him as he felt the rapid, hard thumps against his chest. Distantly, he could feel his body raking in waves as the sticky, cold feeling of his sweat dripped from his temple and down the side of his face. It made his hair stick to his forehead uncomfortably yet somehow, despite the sweating and the overwhelming feeling of heat, he felt ice cold.

He swallowed thickly, sniffingly away the stinging growing behind his eyelids but failed as a few stray tears had already settled on his cheeks. Sirius looked around frantically, meeting the familiar red and gold bed sheets that were now pushed off of him as he sat upright in his bed. Red velvet drapes hung around the sides, pulled together as slivers of bright light sliced through them. It made him squint and focus on the surroundings.

Soon enough, it felt like a weight lifted off his chest, marked in unspoken forgiveness once realizing where he was.

You’re safe, his inner voice spoke firmly, It was just a dream. A dream.

“Wakey, wakey Padfoot!”

He had just enough time to wipe the freshly fallen tears away before James ripped back his curtains, jumping into his bed. He drew a deep sigh, avoiding James’ eyes and trained them to look outside.

Upon the grass and mountains, snow sprinkled on much like sugar over a cake. The distant chirping of birds could be heard singing their usual song, or more like an alarm clock, as they soared high in the sky without a worry in the world.

If only Sirius could be a bird, what a simple life he would lead.

“Fuck you,” groaned Remus, “He might be awake, but I’m not.” His eyes clenched in annoyance, throwing his blanket over his head.

“Well aren’t you lovely? Isn’t he, Sirius?”

“The loveliest,” he managed to grit out, throat groggy and dry.

“Shut up!”

“Okay, calm down big bad wolf.”

“Well,” he mocks James, his voice going an octave higher, “This big bad wolf can maul you.”

James beamed brightly, the ever morning person he was, unaffected by Moony’s response. Instead, he padded his way over to him, shaking him before Remus flipped the covers off his body, tackling him into his bed.

“Do you guys think I should cut my hair?” James managed to get out as he gasped. Remus sprawled out on top of him, pinning him in place as he was being crushed from his weight. “I want to make sure I look good for today.”

“You’re always in need of a trim,” Peter called out.

“You look fine,” Remus added, “Besides, you and scissors are not a good move right now.”

Meanwhile, Sirius’ stomach felt hollow, worry ate at his very being before he felt something rise within his throat. Quickly, swinging his legs over the edge, Sirius made his way to the loo in a rush while James and Remus were both distracted.

Peter was there, rifling through the cabinets with his toothbrush dangling from his lips. “Morning,” he said, not quite looking over to him, “Do we have any more toothpaste? I keep telling Prongs not to use so much…”

“Get out,” he managed to say before shoving Peter out of the door, closing it shut. He barely managed to cast a silencing charm before opening the lid of the toilet seat, throwing up. For the most part, Sirius gagged on air before finally attempting to collect himself, preventing hyperventilation.

Foolishly, even up until that dreaded night, Sirius had an ounce of hope. For what exactly, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was hope that Regulus might have turned out different, or maybe it was hope that he’d finally be accepted, even though he knew that would never be the case — never with parents like Walburga or Orion.

But every time he dared to dream, to hope, he was always quickly reminded why it hurt. Hope was dangerous, a false sense of reality — a taste of what people dreamt and chase for but could never quite grasp.

It was more addicting than any kind of alcohol he drank — or the girls — or pranks.

Eventually, he got up from the floor, jumped in the shower and followed his morning routine before wrapping a towel around himself and stepped out.

Sirius was drying his hair before catching a glimpse of himself in the large mirror in front of the sink.

Sirius had never been insecure about the way he looked. A part of him, the arrogant and narcissistic part of him knew that he looked good and he’d flaunt it. But there were times like today, where he’d look at himself, but feel as if he’s looking at a familiar face that wasn’t his — a monster reflected back.

He wondered if this is what Moony felt like.

For a moment, Sirius let his face rest, allowing the helpless, loitering fear and guilt he felt engrave its way onto the smooth surface of his skin.

The eyes looking back at him today were his father’s, his hair reminded him too much of Regulus, his high cheekbones reminded him of Walburga and the tired, slightly crazed look reminded him of Bellatrix.

A member of the Black family, that's what people saw when they first looked at Sirius, the heir of the most noble and ancient house of Black.

Sirius Orion Black.

Orion Black… Even his name made him want to cry out in rage. Another reminder.

Pushing back his wet hair, he studied the faded scar that disappeared into his hairline.

It was more apparent than ever that Sirius had scars.

But unlike James, whose scars were from happy memories of the Quidditch pitch, or Peter, whose only scars were from chopping chocolate for a fancy baking recipe — and lastly, Remus, whose scars were visible, laid out for everyone to see, Sirius’ scars were invisible.

He wore them day in and day out without anyone ever knowing.

With a blink, he drowned out his thoughts immediately; his dreams, his past, his thoughts were for another time.

He sucked in a breath, clicking the door open.

Remus was the only other person still in the dorm. He stood in front of the mirror, buttoning up his white school shirt before ducking down and grabbed his bag, shoving in books, his wand and any other loose pages of parchment that he assumed was for his little study group.

“Where’s Wormy and James?” He asked, not liking the way his voice sounded wobbly and hoarse. His eyes no longer peered up at his chap, instead looking around the room. Anywhere but his face.

Thankfully, Moony didn’t seem to notice, preoccupied with the now overflowing pile of Valentine gifts and cards on his bedside. He grew frustrated with them with every passing second as they littered his space.

“Accio bin!”

The black bin from across the room flew into Remus’ hand, quickly shoving the letters in but soon a guilty look flashed across his face.

Remus had always been too considerate about their feelings, perhaps Sirius should take a page from his book.

Sirius had a pile accumulating on the carpet beside his trunk; it seemed like more and more people every year were confessing their feelings, but this time, Remus seemed to be getting a lot more along with the rest of the Marauders. But he smiled, happy to know that Remus had been getting some action. He fucking needed it.

“Er — sorry, Pete’s off to Wood’s room to borrow their toothpaste and James —” Remus cut himself off, bringing a hand to the sides of his temples as he moved them in circular motions. “I’m pretty sure Prongs went to find Y/N. Something about finishing a sign or a song for today —”

Sirius bit back a laugh, “A song?”

“I guess he’s fucking Paul McCartney now.”

Remus passed him, disappeared into the loo, giving enough time for Sirius to get dressed.

It was his third dream that week about that night and it was wearing down on him emotionally. He was losing sleep, he wasn’t eating, he was reclining from the Marauders, he was so prone to anger; lashing out, yelling… he didn’t like how he was acting — it reminded him too much of Orion.

And the thought made him sick to his stomach. He didn’t want to be a monster.

Lost in his depressing thoughts, Remus re-entered the room. But instead of walking up to his bed, Remus halted, looking directly at him before he crossed the room, putting a protective, encouraging hand onto his shoulder. A serious and calculated look crossed his face.

“Do you need anything?” He spoke in a hushed voice, as if he were to speak any louder, the walls might hear.

Sirius felt unexpected annoyance brewing in his chest. Bloody fucking Lupin, of course he knew — using his heightened senses to sniff out his distress.

Unlike Sirius, who hid his emotions, who covered and buried even a sign of weakness, who searched for answers high and low, Remus was so blunt — clear cut with his emotions. He knew just what to say, knew what was happening before others did even if they hadn’t even spoken yet.

He wished his thought process was as clear-cut as Moony’s.

“What do you mean? I’m fine,” he said, faking nonchalance. Jokingly, he prodded Remus’ cheek with his finger, “Turning into Moomy, again?”

His friend did not smile, concern still latched on.

“You know I’m always here for —” Before he could say anything more, Sirius hastily grabbed his bag, slinging over his shoulder, bolting out of the room.

Hiding — running away from his problems — that’s what Sirius was an expert on. And like that, he switched off that part — the ugly, unloveable part of his brain for the day.

When Sirius reached the Great Hall, he wasn’t surprised when a dozen owls bombarded him with letters and chocolates. It brought a sly smile to his lips

What? He did say he was arrogant.

“Looking grand, Black,” Marlene teased as she observed the overflowing amount of cards already in his arms. She ruffled his hair as he was forced to take the seat next to L/N. Marlene turned to chat with Dorcas, who finally was back on her feet and kicking it.

“It’s not even eight and your bag is filled?!” Peter exclaimed, baffled.

A part of Sirius didn’t feel annoyed as he sat beside her. Maybe it was because his main stressor, the Black family, was out of the picture and he’d been desperately trying to control his lash outs, but Sirius was stumped. Since the break, especially after the ‘Muggle’ incident, he found himself tolerating her presence.

Just a bit.

He understood why James, Remus, Lily, Marlene; why everyone took a liking to her.

But he had an inkling as to why.

Although, his mixed feelings towards her were not helping in the slightest as he dealt with the string of recent events in his life.

She was the one that spoke first, which surprised him.

“Ugh —” Y/N fiddled with the hem of her robes, “Kettleburn wants us to switch the Puffeskin between us. I was thinking since we’re in the same house, we could keep it in one of our dorms. I was thinking about keeping it in yours.”

“Why not yours?”

“They liked to hatch in warm places. Your dorm has a fireplace, right? I remember James telling me you had one… And it would make it easier since women can go into the boy’s dorms.”

For some reason, he couldn’t stop himself — he just couldn’t. “I bet you’re trying to get off quick.”

The accusations did not sit right with her.

For someone like Sirius, someone who dealt with the worst shit imaginable; someone who'd been beaten down, both metaphorically and literally — someone who by the textbook was supposed to curl in on himself — keep to himself, be small, avoid drama, don’t cause arguments — Sirius did anything but that. Everything he did, he made sure to cause a reaction.

“No —”

“Are we about to argue because you want to win, or is it because you want to learn?.”

“You’re so arrogant. I don’t need you for grades. Your brain probably grew twice in size when I turned you into a dog.”

“Didn’t ask.”

“Then why are you replying?”

Sirius rolled his eyes, “Very creative.”

“Do you ever just shut up?” She snaps. Her face inched closer to his.

Unbeknownst to her, for a second, a second that he’d never admit, Sirius' brain falters. They hadn’t been this close to each other since that day after Kettleburn had assigned their group project. He catches the smell of faint floral — tulips, he thinks. Or maybe vanilla? Books? Tea? He couldn’t place it.

But his heart did a funny thing. It never does a funny thing like that and it concerns him. He wasn’t sick, was he?

Silence lingers.

L/N scoffed, “Well finally, it looks like you have.”

Although, she seems completely unphased by their closeness.

“Huh, you really do shut up.”

He snorts, his brain finally working again. “You nag an awful lot.”

“Well, you —”

“Whiskers. You’re a woman, how do I look?” James asked. He came bouncing up to them across the hall from the entrance. He twirls a little, showing off his outfit. In one hand, he held a sign and a bunch of roses. “Would you fancy me?”

“Dropping hints, are we, Potter?” She smirks playfully, “Anyway, I know you nicked that from Sirius.”

Sirius looked over to him, his head nodding up and down but was surprised that she noticed the difference, “She’s right, that is mine. Maybe that’s why you look so good.” He meant for the remark to come off as a joke, but cringed as the words spewed from his mouth. He sounded like a complete arse.

James ignores him, “I have everything planned.” Then, he holds up a sign, all in baby pink with hearts dancing across the page as a huge message declaring his affection for Emmeline was written in bold fonts. I looked fairly cheesy, but that was James for you. A romantic at heart.

“Well,” he starts, clearly happy, “Do you like it?! I’ve also got a song written!”

“Remember the last time you wrote someone a —”

Y/N kicked him, hard, under the table, which caused Sirius to look at her sharply before his face turned annoyed again. She hadn’t even glanced his way yet. She continued to calm James down, giving him a pep talk while Sirius would jump in with encouraging words.

“Of course we love it — is it for Lily or —”

James shakes his head and they both knew who he was referring to.

“— Then Emmeline will love it even more! Get the girl, Bambi!”

James smiled triumphantly, sticking his fist out for a fist bump before running off happily towards the Ravenclaw table.

“Y’know,” Y/N starts, talking to Sirius as they both watch as James gets up on the table, preparing to serenade Emmeline in front of the entire Great Hall with a guitar that vaguely looks like Remus’. “You can choose not to be a dick.”

Surprisingly, he laughed, small, but there. And then, he finds himself responding to her comments, “I beg to differ.”

“Then beg.”

Sirius’ eyes widened, feeling his mouth go dry. He bit the inside of his cheek, eyes fluttering shut a couple times. It didn’t help that she smirked at his reaction and it made Sirius feel funny. An odd swoop piddled at the base of his stomach.

“I’ll take that into consideration for later,” he settled on.

Remus and Lily waltzed into the room, both holding small cards of their own. L/N and Sirius shuffled over as much as they could to fit in with both Remus and Lily.

A part of Sirius’ routine had started incorporating Lily doing his hair. Most often, she did pretty braids or buns — but of course, not without James pouting to him later. He only hoped that with Emmeline’s new presence, James would stop.

“Ooo la-la!” Y/N mocked, swiping one of the cards from Lily and Remus. “You two are popular.” She turned to face Lily.

“It’s n-nothing, really, “Lily stuttered, her head ducking down. But her eyes seemed to look up at her, seemingly in hope of some recognition.

“Don’t be so modest!”

“A-hem!” James’ bostal voice. His foot wobbled on the edge of the table that made them all nervous if he were to fall. He finally concluded his song. Lily looked over and smiled, glad to know that James had finally chosen a different target to annoy.

“Fuckin’ barmy,” Remus muttered out, a hand going to cover his mouth in suspense. His hand travelled down to his chin-stroking his jaw.

“Emmeline, thou beauty —”

“Oh my god,” groaned Remus again, sinking in his seat from the second embarrassment but smiling nevertheless.

However, Marlene whopped loudly, a large grin on her face.

Lily looked over to the scene, her eyes finding their way back to L/N, Peter paled slightly at the scene, Marlene was howling in laughter along with Sirius.

But much like himself, L/N found herself laughing with them too.

Her laughter rang out, and Sirius found himself drawn to the noise. But what was worse, was that he wanted to hear it again.

And even though he knew that other women and even men were staring at him right now, ready to give him all their affection and attention, Sirius found himself unable to look away from her.

He felt his palms getting sweaty, his heart beat harder, he wanted to sit closer to her and a smile tugged at his lips but he forced it down.

Fuck.

It was almost as the realization hit him there like a thousand tidal waves.

His heart jumped, it sped up fast, he felt his skin heat and her laugh put him into a trance — everything like what James described it to feel like.

If it was what he thought it was, Sirius wasn’t quite pleased with his newfound knowledge. He already had too much shit to deal with and certainly, someone like her was not worth it.

As the thought arose, there was something else that pulled him from these thoughts; it was the very shit that Sirius was dealing with, coming to haunt him again.

Regulus entered the Great Hall and Sirius had the urge to run to the nearest bin again. He hadn’t seen him since that night.

Within seconds, Regulus sensed his gaze and their eyes locked.

He wasn’t proud of Regulus, if anything, Sirius resented him — hated him and his entire body spiked in anger as he stared at him. He chose his path. But he couldn’t help but feel immense, dreadful guilt.

He could’ve done more, been there for him more, talked to him more. There were so many possibilities, so many outcomes and Sirius managed to end up with one of the worst paths imaginable.

He both wanted to scoop him up in his arms, cry — hold onto him tight like how they used to years ago, but the other part also wanted to take a Beater’s bat and swing a Bludger at his head.

His head shook slightly, just enough for Regulus to get the hint.

There was a hard, hopeless expression on Regulus’ face as he seemed to take a sharp inhale, his shoulders slumping within every passing second.

They were from two separate worlds, more evident than ever now. They weren’t brothers, not really.

Two of the brightest stars were torn apart forevermore.

Once the bell rang, Sirius sprang out of his seat and walked down the halls. He dodged owls, letters, chocolates and even a few love potions. There was a familiar void that punched its way through Sirius’ chest.

It was too early for firewhiskey, he couldn’t get knackered, he couldn’t talk to James, not when he was this happy and getting a pack of smokes from Remus — he’d bloody know within seconds what was wrong and call a Marauder's meeting or sort out some intervention for his sanity. Besides, he needed to apologize to Peter for how he acted that morning.

So the next best thing; snogging — a quick shag.

The next girl that tossed a flirtatious wink his way, he immediately approached. She was pale, had brown hair, soft skin and he vaguely recognized her but couldn’t quite place it. They flirted, Sirius would suggest it, she smiled, nodding her head and giving out a breathless sigh as Sirius dove for her lips, walking into the nearest broom closet.

Things were fast, almost a blur. She reached down, fumbling with his buckle before it clanked to the floor; he unbuttoned her top, hoisting her up and pushing them against a wall. She let out soft whimpers and he groaned into her neck.

The sensation, the building pleasure had left as soon as it came, leaving him feeling empty once more. He peeled off the girl, checking if she was alright like every other time. He didn’t know her name, forgetting it, and smiled awkwardly as she dressed.

He watched her leave the broom closet, the door clicking softly behind her. He could hear the faint scuffle of her shoes as she skipped down the hall excitedly. She had gotten what she wanted, a piece of Sirius; the Sirius that he put out — the pretty, nicely packaged Sirius.

Bent down, sinking to the floor, rocking on the balls of his feet, arms wrapped tightly around his legs and his head resting on his knees; emotions pooled through Sirius, attacking his frail heart.

Sirius laughs; it was dry, sad, pathetic, defeated. It was hard enough to hide with smiles, pranks, the random girls, sex, but those happy hormones that he craved, it was never, ever enough.

He couldn't go on like this, he had to fix something because something else was bound to break.

His laughing became strained as the walls of his throat began to close, eyes filling with tears. But now, finally alone, he let them cascade freely as his quiet sobs echoed in the dusty closest.

Love isn’t a magic potion.

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

【I hope it was clear in this chapter that in no way am I trying to romanticize Sirius's trauma】

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jaskiersvalley · 3 years

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CW: Character death (Geralt and Jaskier live)

Brown eyes going blank as life drained from them haunted Geralt's dreams. It was why he loved Jaskier so much, his blue eyes looked nothing like Renfri's and he could get lost in them for as long as he wanted without memories of another set of young eyes staring up at him sightlessly. As Jaskier got older it was a relief, the youthful edge fading as laughter lines took up their rightful places at the corners of his eyes.

Life happened, Jaskier continued to accompany Geralt, they fell in love, found Ciri, even managed to find a family of sorts in the form of the Hansa, as they liked to call themselves. It was the happiest Geralt had ever really been. Renfri still haunted his waking moments, the golden brown of Milva's eyes, the youthful arrogance of Angoulême, Cahir's proficiency at fighting. She was there in all of them but it was okay. Each night Geralt could curl up with Jaskier and his dreams were filled with blue eyes, laughter and love. It was good.

Until Dijkstra surfaced, scattering the Hansa, Regis spirited Ciri away with the others while Geralt and Jaskier tried to head in the opposite direction, hoping to create a distraction. Their plan worked a little too well. Despite their best efforts Dijkstra's men caught them, tied them up and carted them to who knew where.

"What have we here?" Dijkstra gave them a look, cold mirth in his eyes. "You gave my men quite the run around and then had the gall to not even have their target with you. Most rude."

"Just let us go," Geralt growled.

Humming, Dijkstra looked like he was actually considering it before he smiled. "No."

When it looked like Jaskier was going to argue Geralt shoved him with his shoulder in warning. This wasn't something they could simply argue their way out of and Jaskier should have known that.

"I'll let you go. If you emerge victorious from my fighting ring. You just have to win one fight, that's all. Give us some entertainment in exchange for the trouble you caused us."

It didn't sound too bad. One fight was okay. Even Jaskier could win a fight, he was wily enough. They nodded and Dijjkstra laughed, gesturing for the two to be separated and shown to rooms (holding cells) away from each other. They wrote given food and a place to rest so the fights weren't even going to be unfair.

Morning came. Geralt pulled his armour on and was ready. He could hear the crowd gathering already, chattering and excited for the fights. Fanfare sounded and Geralt was prodded out into the arena and the crowd went wild.

"Just remember," Dijkstra boomed, "One fight is all you need to win to go free."

Opposite Geralt the door for his opponent opened and his heart stopped cold. Jaskier marched out, looking determined until he spotted Geralt.

"No." Geralt dropped his sword. "I refuse."

"Then you will both die," Dijkstra purred gleefully. "Unless someone is willing to take either of your places."

Silence fell on the crowd, delighting in the emotional tension. In the quiet a new voice called out.

"I will take the place of the bard Jaskier."

Geralt's throat tightened. He knew that voice, that accent. From the crowd Cahir emerged, clad in armour. He should have been on the other side of the Continent, safe with the others.

"What a surprising turn of events! A Nilfgaardian fighting in the bard's place. This changes the odds!"

Jaskier was whisked away and Cahir squared off against Geralt, sword raised. He was so young, determined and fierce. Geralt couldn't bring himself to pick up his sword, Renfri's ghost flaring to life in his conscience. There was no way he could take another young life like that.

Somewhere a gong sounded and Cahir rushed in. He gave Geralt’s chest a hard shove when no sword met his.

"Fight, damn you!" Cahir hissed in his face. "They want a show. Give it to them."

Reluctant, Geralt picked up his sword and blocked the next attack. Locked together, he heard Cahir’s soft, "It's okay. Just make it quick."

Reality dawned on Geralt. There was no grand plan, no escape. Only sacrifice. Rage bubbled through Geralt at the unfairness of it all, he fought in an attempt to delay the end, to draw it out in the hopes of a rescue or a change of plan. But Cahir was tiring, his blocks grew weak and attacks sloppy, youth and inexperience showing all too soon despite his cocksure attitude at the start. His sword went clattering and Geralt’s blade rested against his throat. The crowd bayed.

Blue eyes stared up at Geralt, a wobbly smile trying to reassure him.

"It's okay," Cahir whispered.

It wasn't okay though. It was as far from okay as Geralt’s imagination could fathom. Despite their rocky start, he had grown fond of Cajir and his odd, quiet ways. The crowd screamed, frenzied by the promise of blood.

"I was never going to have a haply end," Cahir murmured. "Let me at least give you a chance at yours."

Brave words which were undermined by the soft tremble of fear. There were barely unshed tears in Cahir’s eyes and his breath had a soft shake of terror. However, he still tipped his head back, acknowledging his defeat and accepting his fate as gracefully as he could.

"I trust you. Make it quick."

Blue eyes continued to stare up at Geralt, so young and scared, much like the brown ones that had followed Geralt for so long. There was no magic portal opening up, no stunning rescue, no sudden change if heart. Nobody was coming to change their fate. In one swift move Geralt brought his sword up and plunged it down, other arm coming to catch Cahir. He could feel the sudden jerk as pain hit, the hitch of suddenly wet breath, muscles twitching and shivering as Cahir’s body tried to make sense of what just happened. All through it wide blue eyes stared up at Geralt and he watched as life rapidly faded from them. He held Cahir for a moment longer, despite only having a lump body to cradle before gently laying him down on the now blood soaked ground.

Around him there were cheers and screams or delight but Geralt didn't hear them. He stood, looked to Dijkstra who grinned. But a deal was a deal and Geralt wiped his sword clean before marching to the exit where Jaskier was waiting for him with a harrowed look. Geralt could only glance at him briefly before his eyes skittered away, unable to meet the gaze he once loved so much. All he saw now was another pair of blue eyes staring up at him with trust as life faded from them.

#geraskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #sigismund dijkstra #the witcher #cw: character death #tldr: geralt has to fight and kill for his freedom

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dameronology · 3 years

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tea and whiskey {jack daniels x reader} - 6

summary: despite his best efforts, it appears as though you're completely slipping through jack's fingers. it appears as though he has no choice but to put everything out on the table in a last ditch attempt to keep you by his side. {series masterlist}

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, mentions of death

this one's a bit of a rollercoaster, but i promise it's fun <3

- jazz xx

You'd told Jack that things between you were fine.

They didn't feel as much.

You had meant it when you'd said it - it was just that the more you thought about it and the more you pondered on your concerns, the more worried you became. Did you even know Jack Daniels at all? His mysteriousness had been attractive at first but the closer you got to him, the more you found yourself wanting to hold him at an arm's length until you had your answers. When the situation between you had been a co-workers-with-benefits affair, it hadn't mattered so much. But now, you'd agreed it was something more intense, something more meaningful. Was it unfair to think that you deserved to know a little more? To get a more substance than just it's fine, trust me?

Whilst you hadn't wanted it to get in the ways of things, you couldn't help it. It hadn't changed anything the first few days after your conversation about where you stood, or about his seeming vendetta against Ginger, but the more you thought about it, the more it got to you. It had been almost 2 weeks since then, and you'd spent most of the second one lying to him. Telling him you had to call Eggsy, or your mum, or that you had to work late to get some paperwork done for Merlin.

Tonight had been no different - it was a Friday, the last six of which you had spent at Jack's. You'd given him some ridiculous waffle about timezones and reporting to the Kingsman. He had seemed to believe it; if he didn't, he'd chosen not to comment on it.

You were sat in your shared office, heels kicked to one side and feet propped up on the table. There was a glass of wine in one hand and your phone in the other (you were exchanging memes with Eggsy), and an episode of the The Crown playing on your computer. It was a nice way of getting your mind off of the situation with Jack, and the fact that you had a mountain of Calahan-related paperwork.

"So, this is the important meeting that you ditched me for?"

You froze at the sound of Jack's voice. He was leant against the doorway, arms folded over his chest and a look on his face that didn't seem too far off of pissed. Your first instinct was to lie, but the urge quickly faded. What was the point? He'd already caught you in one. Might as well just rip it off like a band-aid.

"I lied."

"That's clear as fucking day." Jack shot back. "Am I boring you all of a sudden?"

"Jack." You sighed. "I just needed some space to think."

"I thought we were good?" His brown eyes fell to the floor. "What's with all the lying? I admire your brutal honesty."

"I was only brutally honest with people I didn't mind hurting." You paused your laptop, pulling your feet down from the desk. "I care about you and I don't want to hurt you-"

"- I have pretty thick skin." He cut you off. "Be honest - you have my blessing."

"I thought I was okay with how intense things were getting," you began. "But the more, I think about it, the more I'm not sure."

Jack's face fell. "That's why you've suddenly been distant these past two weeks, huh?"

"Yeah." You nodded.

"What brought this on?"

You were silent.

"I know." Jack sighed. "It's the thing with Ginger, isn't it?"

"Not just that." You said. "You asked me to trust you and I agreed to, but I'm not sure I do."

"What have I ever done to make you not trust me?"

"Nothing, but that's my problem." You replied. "This is all on me."

"It sure as hell is." He sniffed. "If you want space, I'll give you space. Just don't count on me to be here when you get back."

The tension in Champ's office the following morning was almost fucking suffocating.

The poor man had no idea what had gone down between the two of you. Heck, even you were struggling to understand it. You'd got yourself into situations before with your tendency to overthink, but this one might have taken the cake. Relationships - or whatever the hell you and Jack had going on - had never been your area of expertise, and you had no idea how to navigate your situation. It had seemed like a good idea to act on your doubt and be honest with him, but now you were just worried that you'd ruined it.

"You two are making excellent progress with your mission to get Calahan." Champ said.

"Thank you, sir." Jack nodded.

"We need to discuss the matter of when you catch him."

"I appreciate your faith in us, but if we catch him, rather than when we catch him might be a little more realistic." You replied.

"I'm not certain of many things, but I am absolutely sure that you and Jack have this in the bag." Champ shot back. "And when you do, I'm afraid there is only room for one name on the arrest forms."

You sat up in your seat. "What do you mean?"

"I know that you two have made a completely join effort in this matter." He began. "But as far as Interpol, and every international agency has seen it, only one person's name can be on the paperwork."

"But we can both take credit, right?" You urged. "Surely, they can recognise us both for our work."

"I'm afraid not, Percy." Champ sighed. "The paperwork can only be processed under one name-"

"- why?" Jack cut him off. "I mean, why, sir?"

"Traditionally, only one agent would go into the field, to keep the casualties as low as possible." He explained. "Things have changed in practice but on paper, things still stand."

"So what are we meant to do?" You asked.

"You'll have to decide between yourselves who gets that recognition." He replied.

"Right." You murmured and stood up. "Thank you, sir."

Champ gave you a nod. "And you, agent. I'm sorry it has to be this way."

Me too, you thought.

You stalked out of Champ's office, Jack hot on your heels. If things had been a little tense before, they were going to be strangling now. The cowboy was already hurt by your revelation from the night before, and now, that was only going to get worst, because there was no way in hell that you were about to give the reins over to him. You'd make it clear from day one that your job came first, so that shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone.

Heels clicking loudly against the floor, you sped up slightly in an attempt to lose him. It had been foolish, though, because before you could sprint into the ladies' room, Jack grabbed you by the arm and pulled you to the side.

"Lying to me and running away from me?" He asked. "You're breaking my fucking heart, baby."

You swatted his hand away and puffed out your chest. "I'm taking credit for Calahan."

Jack thinned his eyes at you. "We should talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about." You said. "I chased his ass all the across the Atlanic and I've been working on this project longer than you. Personal feelings aside, it makes sense."

"It sounds like you're saying you've done most the work."

"That is what I'm saying."

"I've done most the physical work." He shot back. "The chasing, the jumping over walls, the field work."

"None of which you could have done without me."

"Is this because of what I said last night? Are you mad?" He asked.

"No, I'm mad because you know how much this means to me!" You shoved him. "A win like this is all I've ever wanted. You know that!"

"It means a lot to me too!"

"I am putting my name on those papers." You snapped. "I've spent my whole life living in the fucking shadows at Kingsman and I'm tired of it. This is my win."

"With an attitude like that, I don't blame the damn redcoats for wanting to keep you in the shadows."

Your mouth fell open. If that had come from anyone else, you could have dealt with it. But Jack? The man who had always encouraged and loved your fire? The man you'd opened up to about how suffocated you felt at Kingsman? It was though he'd thrown your trust right back in your face.

"Wait, I didn't mean that-"

"- fuck you, Jack."

Drinking was, essentially, the thing that had gotten you into this whole situation in the first place. It was this very bar, in fact.

It was beyond you why you'd gone to Jack's favourite cowboy bar to simmer; probably because it was the closest thing you could get to actually being in his presence right now. Which was quite funny, because if you were in his presence, you no doubt would have decked him right there and then. His stupid fucking words were playing on a loop in your head, and it felt like a punch to your gut every time they circled back around your pre-fontal cortex.

You could have called Eggsy and vented to him, but that would involve recounting the whole story to him. He'd want to whoop Jack's ass for going near you in the first place, and eject him into outer space entirely for his petty jab. God, you missed your best friend.

Despite your anger, you hadn't even drank that much. Maybe a beer, or three - way below the amount you needed to even get tipsy. Drunken rage barely did you favours at the best of times, and right now was definitely the worst of times. It was just that sitting in a bar was a much better alternative to wallowing in your pity, alone in your larger-than-life apartment.

You sighed and took another sip of your drink, glancing over at your phone. There were three texts from Jack; a please call me, a I'll explain everything and a I fucked up, I know. You couldn't help but snort - what reason did he even have for talking to you that way?

With a twenty tossed on the bar and an empty glass, you shrugged your jacket on and began the walk back to your apartment. The air was cold and everyone was rushing around you to get back to their own respective homes. You had never wanted more in your life to go back to yours - your home in London. The one filled with pictures of you and your family, with memories of dumb sleepovers with Eggsy and late nights with your favourite films.

"So you're stalking me now?"

You could't muster up any other words when you saw Jack waiting by your door. Apparently his ignored texts and calls hadn't been a big enough sign.

"I didn't know where you were." Jack murmured.

"I was out." You shoved your way past him. "You can go now."

"We need to talk."

"Not right now." You groaned. "I'm tired, no thanks to you."

"I don't like when things are like this." He continued, following you inside as you unlocked the door. "I can't stand the idea of you being mad at me."

"So why do you do shit that makes me mad?" You shot back.

Jack sighed, leaning against your kitchen earlier. "I shouldn't have said what I did earlier. I was hurt-"

"- you were hurt?!" You snorted in disbelief.

"It fucking killed me when you said that you didn't trust me, sugar." He admitted. "I get why. I've been holding a lot of stuff back from you and I...I don't think it'll excuse my behaviour, but it might at least give you a reason."

"Okay." You murmured.

"I've barely told anyone this, but I trust you." He reached out and took your hands in his. "It's a lot."

"Jack, you don't have to-"

"- I used to be married." He cut you off. You froze at his words. "Her name was Georgia, and we'd been in love since high-school."

"I..." you trailed off. "Used to be?"

"She was killed in a shoot-out during a robbery." Jack's voice wavered slightly. "She was pregnant at the time. I lost two people that day."

"Shit." You murmured. "I'm sorry, Jack."

"It's fine." He replied. "Not your fault, sweetheart."

"Who else knows?"

"Ginger." He said. "She was a friend of mine, long before we were at Statesman. Georgia's best friend, too."

"You're trying to protect her, aren't you?" You glanced up, eyes meeting. "By keeping her out the field?"

"It's a shitty excuse." He half-heartedly shrugged. "She's all I have left of Georgia. The only person who really shares my pain."

Jack was right -- it hadn't been an excuse, but it was an explanation. You couldn't even begin to get your head around the kind of pain he must have felt then, or even the kind he felt now. You'd had weeks worth of deep conversations and late-night talks but he had never, ever even remotely mentioned Georgia, or his unborn child. You couldn't blame him for that. Not in the slightest.

You were struggling to find the words, really. A thousand new layers had just been added to a man you were already struggling to understand.

"That must be a real weight on your shoulders."

"It is." Jack nodded. "But it lifts slightly when I'm with you."

"Really?" You asked quietly.

"Completely." He countered. "That's all I've wanted my entire life -- to feel again, and I do with you."

"That's deep." You tried to crack a joke, to lighten the mood.

"Even if this ends when you go back to London, I'm still grateful." He continued. "You gave me that, so I should give you what you've always wanted."

"A real-life Batmobile?"

Jack snorted, despite the emotional atmosphere. "Your name will have to go on those papers. It should never have even been a question."

"Jack, I-"

"- that's all there is to say." He shook his head. "There'll be other arrests and missions, but I'll never find someone like you."

Without anything to say, you placed your hands on either side of his face and pulled him into a kiss. That in itself said everything you needed to- thank you, I'm sorry, maybe you don't suck that much, etc. The entire conversation marked a definitive shift in your relationship, and even though it was one that neither of you could quite work out, that didn't matter. You'd thrown yourself back into the deep end, even though you'd been so hell-bent on breaking to the surface just hours earlier.

There was no doubt that it would only complicated the whole let's not fall in love promise you'd made -- but that was something to worry about later, right?

taglist: @b0nnyzz @xremember-me-notx @somenerdyuser @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol @javisjeanjacket @phoenixhalliwell @no-droids-on-sunday @paintballkid711 @waatermelon-sugaar @hepburnwritess @haileyybird @xjaywritesx @jabbajambler @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @welcometothepedroverse @wickedmuse

#jack daniels x reader #jack daniels imagine #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels x female reader #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character headcanons #agent whiskey #kingsman imagines

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