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samstree · 3 years

Note

For the reverse trope ask: the soft character comforting the tough character after a trauma

Piece Him Back Together

Part of the reverse trope series.

When Geralt gets kidnapped, it's up to Jaskier to rescue him. Some truths about a witcher's worst weakness come to light.

(geraskier, 2.1k, hurt/comfort, geralt whump, mutual pining, competent jaskier, love confession, mild blood)

read on AO3

"Shit, shit, shit..."

Jaskier lets out a string of curses all the while balancing the weight of two fully grown men with stumbling footwork. He desperately tries to keep Geralt up with a hand on the small of his back but fails to stop the injured witcher from drooping with each step, until, at last, both of them wind up in a heap of limbs by the road.

Geralt lets out a pained grunt and Jaskier scrambles with apologies.

“Fuck, sorry.” The bard shifts Geralt’s bulk with all he can muster and finally settles him on a patch of soft moss under the tree. The witcher hisses as his back hits the bark rather heavily. “Shit, I’m so sorr—”

“You already said,” Geralt interrupts him but there’s no anger in his tone.

“Still. I am.”

Jaskier retrieves a handkerchief from his pocket and begins to dab at the mess of blood at Geralt’s temple, wincing when he finally sees how bad the blow is. Blood oozes from the gash, slower than a moment before. The fabric is soaked through and the skin there is still tender.

It’s all witchers’ weakness.

The temple. A blow to the head.

It messes up all their senses and coordination, leaving them in the most vulnerable state. If Jaskier had reached him any later, this might have done Geralt in.

Jaskier lets out a distressed sound at the thought.

“Stop fussing. We need to go.” The witcher, against all odds, remains level-headed.

“No, it’s all right. I knocked out all the guards and servants, along with the duke and his mage.” Jaskier tilts Geralt’s head for a better angle to press the handkerchief down on the wound. “I may have given the two of them a little more than the recommended dose. The lady at the apothecary warned me about the risk of choking with much sleeping potion, urgh, like I give an ounce of fuck if they die a gruesome death or not. It’d be a favor to the town.”

The venom surprises even Jaskier himself, and Geralt lets out a meaningful hum.

“Rest assured, my dear. No one will be looking for us today.”

Up close, Jaskier can feel Geralt scrutinize him intently as if to burn a hole into his face. He meets the amber gaze, the dark pupils still a little blown wide from the shock, but there’s also something akin to relief flowing in those beautiful eyes.

He revels in the silence, observing Geralt in return for further signs of hurt, but finds none.

The witcher relents first, the tiniest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So you drugged an entire castle?”

“Didn’t think I had it in me, huh?” Jaskier teases. “The White Wolf, saved by a humble bard and forever impressed by his wit.”

“Hmm.”

“Well, don’t beat yourself up, oh mighty witcher. I’m sure you only needed the rescue because those villains took advantage of your only weakness.” The bard adds his usual dramatic flair into the last two words.

Geralt blinks. Something shifts in his expression, his breathing picking up and his eyes darting everywhere. If the bard didn’t know better, he’d say the witcher is flustered, which makes it all the more confusing.

“Mocking me, are you?” Geralt drops his gaze and tries to shy away, but the bard holds him in place with the other hand. Under Jaskier’s palm, the frame of the witcher’s ear is heating up.

“How am I mocking you? Geralt, even you must admit witchers aren’t all-powerful beings.” Jaskier frowns. “They messed up your head. I know all your senses get muddled when you’re like this. Seriously, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“What are you talking about?” the witcher snaps his gaze back to Jaskier, a puzzled crease deep between his brows, which only makes the bard scoff with amusement.

“The head wound, of course. How did they get you? An ambush and a blow to the head, I’m assuming.” Jaskier explains. “How else did you get yourself into a dungeon and dimeritium cuffs? What, are you telling me you walk into their trap voluntarily?”

He rolls his eyes at the offhanded joke but the silence from the witcher leaves the mood heavier. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like a denial of what he just said. Geralt is staring at him with an inexplicable look on his face, and these looks are hard to come by these days. Jaskier prides himself in being the best on the continent at reading his witcher, and he has no inclination to break the streak.

“What happened then? Talk to me, Geralt.”

Jaskier removes the handkerchief a little. The gash has stopped bleeding, so he ties it around Geralt’s head carefully to keep the wound shielded, at least until they can wash it properly. His hands stay with Geralt afterwards, waiting for him to open up.

“I—” Geralt purses his lips before continuing, golden eyes meeting the bard in earnest. “They didn’t ambush me, Jask. I walked into that castle unarmed by choice.”

“What?” Jaskier’s jaw drops.

“It’s because—” the witcher scowls. “Because I thought…that they had you.”

It’s like a lightning strike, where their skin connects tingling all the way from the tips of Jaskier’s fingers to a warm pool of fuzziness in his stomach. The air is suddenly too hot so Jaskier decides to put more space between them.

“Oh.”

Geralt chases him ever so slightly before settling back with resignation, his eyes still bare and vulnerable, as if he just revealed the darkest secret when it is only the sweetest thing in a horrible, horrible way.

“A whisper of you being held hostage and suddenly I couldn’t think. Couldn’t remember to check the truth. Couldn’t waste another second.” Geralt hovers a hand near the bard’s face before retreating to his side. “You were right that they got me because of my one weakness, Jaskier. Just not the one you assumed.”

The pounding in Jaskier’s chest is jumping out of his throat. He’s sure he will die within the next minute if he doesn’t speak to ease this ache in his heart.

“Oh.”

He ends up saying dumbly.

“It was too late when I noticed the absence of you. Your voice, your heartbeat, your scent. Nothing. You weren’t in that castle or the cells. All I could hear was silence and all I could smell was blood.” Geralt draws a shuddering breath. “I hoped, when they kept me in the dark, that they were lying about ever having you. That you were nowhere near that damn place instead of—”

The witcher swallows, unable to finish the sentence.

“Instead of,” Jaskier adds for him, “they’d already killed me.”

The tension hangs between them. The bard sits back on the heels of his feet and finds himself at a loss for words for the very first time in his life.

Geralt might be the only person who can force Jaskier through so many firsts in his life. His first time writing a hit song, first time smashing into someone’s face with a lute, first time saving a witcher’s life, and perhaps, first time murdering two evil overlords obsessed with collecting witchers for experiments.

Hmm, it’s not like Jaskier regrets any of these.

Geralt reaches out again, tentative and patient like he’s approaching a spooked horse. This time, Jaskier takes pity and meets him halfway, his thumb rubbing small circles at the sword callouses that he adores so much.

“Say something,” Geralt pleads.

Jaskier swallows a lump in his throat and sniffles to ease the congestion in his nose, his vision blurring in desperation.

“It’s the most words you’ve said in one sitting, Geralt. You’ll have to allow me a moment to figure out what you are saying and, most importantly, not saying.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “It’s you, you know? There’s always something you are holding back and that is often the crux of it. I thought I got good at reading between the lines, but this is…overwhelming.”

With the enhanced healing kicking in, Geralt is looking much better by the minute. The blood dries and crusts over and his eyes almost shining in the daylight, or is it just the emotions within them? Jaskier can’t tell.

“Maybe I can help you. With the hidden words.” Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s fingers reassuringly. He tilts his head in the most endearing way. It happens to be that particular head tilt that Jaskier treasures with his life, the one that manages to always take his breath away.

“I love you, Jask.”

The warm pool of fuzziness in Jaskier’s stomach turns into a bottomless pit, and he’s falling.

And soaring.

“I love you.” Geralt smiles sadly. “In the dark of that cell, it became…ever so clear and so loud that I couldn’t deny it anymore. I love you, in spite of myself. Gods, I’ve loved you for so long.”

Geralt picks up Jaskier’s hand and places the barest touch of a kiss there, his lips chapped but oh so gentle. Jaskier lets out a soft gasp and the tears roll down uncontrollably. The next thing he knows, he’s buried deep in Geralt’s embrace. The sobs choke in his lungs like a dam has been broken.

“I—” Jaskier is amazed to find that their roles have reversed. The witcher has expressed everything but the bard becomes mute. So he takes up Geralt’s role gladly and replies with actions.

Jaskier’s lips are pressed everywhere he can reach: the soft, warm skin of Geralt’s neck, the sharp of his jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose. He disregards the grime and dirt and kisses Geralt’s uninjured temple, the single most fragile part of a witcher’s body—barring their heart, so it seems. He tucks away a strand of white hair and kisses Geralt’s temple one more time, tasting the salty tang of tears.

When he pulls back, Geralt’s smile is blinding.

He hears Jaskier, even though—

“I still don’t know what to say,” Jaskier croaks, sniffling hard.

The bard rests his hands at the nape of Geralt’s neck and loses himself in the sunlit golden honey, his favorite color in the world and the most beautiful dream that’s ever come true.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Geralt wipes away the wetness on Jaskier’s face with the pad of his thumb. “Master Jaskier, poet, minstrel, professor… Stumped for words and forever impressed by a witcher’s love confession.”

He mimics Jaskier’s phrasing and the bard can’t help but chuckle despite the tears and snout, his hand swatting at Geralt’s shoulder. Jaskier knows he must look so absurd, laughing and crying all at once, but it’s the last thing in the world that matters.

Geralt loves him, and—

“You got hurt because of me.”

The remorse licks up, along with the urge to protect and to care. The sight of Geralt limp and bloody, bound by the wrists in a dark cell is something Jaskier never wants to relive again.

“I don’t care, Jask.”

“I care.”

“Then make it better.”

So he does. Geralt never wavers as Jaskier captures his lips and pours everything he cannot voice into the kiss, drawing a contented moan out of the witcher.

“Does it still hurt?” the bard whispers between one breath and the next.

“A little.”

Jaskier resumes his work and cards deft fingers through silver hair, careful not to nudge the handkerchief. His nails ghost over Geralt’s scalp and scratches gently until a purring sound rumbles deep in the witcher’s chest. The bard giggles proudly.

“Now?”

“Keep going.”

Geralt traps Jaskier between his strong arms devours him with passion, the heat of his body solid and calming.

Jaskier has never thought of himself as a protector, except at this moment with his witcher arching into his every touch and producing those heavenly sounds. The world is too bent on hurting Geralt, too eager to take and take and take from him.

A bard is not a fighter. Jaskier cannot stop monsters from tearing through armors or crossbows fired with ill intent.

But a bard is a lover. What Jaskier can do is heal, is piece Geralt back together with gentle words in the dark and soft lips on the thin skin at his temple.

“How about now?”

They are panting in tandem, the gold of Geralt’s eyes dreamy and out of this world.

“Still dizzy.”

“That’s from all the kissing, you oaf.”

But Geralt begs wordlessly with those wide, puppy-like eyes so openly, and Jaskier’s already non-existent resolve breaks into a million pieces. He kisses Geralt until the witcher melts into a puddle of purring mess, sun-warmed and pliant.

And he kisses Geralt more.

Again and again.

---

Thanks for the prompt. I kind of just rolled with the concept. The twist looks a bit obvious from the beginning, but feel free to tell me what you think. <3

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @dapandapod @artisanbaguette @birdsflyhome

Please tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #reverse trope #trope subversion #soft geraskier #geralt x jaskier #cw: blood #soft jaskier #hurt geralt #geralt whump #mutual pining #love confession #first kiss #italicized oh #hurt/comfort

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leo-interactive-fiction · 3 years

Note

okay so i got this random idea rn but how would the ros react to the mc getting into a physical fight with someone?

E presses a wet cloth to your brow, a disapproving look on their face as they dab away the blood. "You have to think things through a little more. What am I going to do if you get really hurt? You're lucky this was the worst of it..." they chide before pressing a hand to your cheek, "...At least you're safe. Just don't forget what I said! You need to be more careful!"

----------------

R flops down on the couch next to you with an exhausted sigh as you press a wet cloth to your split brow.

"I suppose it could have been worse," R mutters, crossing their legs as they lean back against the cushions. "If I wasn't there to bail you out, how do you think it would have gone? You're not always going to have an attractive mediator to vouch you out of jail, you know."

"Attractive?" you mock incredulously.

R puts their hands up, defeated, "See? Now I'm regretting it. I'm too kind to you."

The two of you share a small moment of laughter.

-----------------

L stares at you with a mixture of worry and disapproval, a stilling silence hanging in the room as they await your response.

You take the wet cloth off, glancing down at the speck of blood-stained on its surface. "Does it matter why I did it?"

"I suppose it doesn't. My answer may still be the same," L's hands tighten, "I don't understand why you would resort to violence above all things. I'm certain there were better options -- different methods to diffuse the situation. Do you truly find this to be an acceptable resolution? When the animosity has only been elevated? That seems a hollow victory to me."

----------------

V slaps your hand away, "Don't touch."

"Right, right," you sigh, laying your head down on the couch arm and staring up at the rotating ceiling fan. V hovers over you, shaking a powder onto your wound.

"Why didn't you call me?" they murmur accusatorily, "I could have handled it."

"It was just a little fistfight. I can handle it."

"As the Commander, it's your duty to avoid unnecessary risk. It's my duty to fight."

"Why're you so serious about-- Ah! Hey!" you wince as V puts pressure on your wound, causing it to sting. You see their brow furrow minutely.

"Part of the healing process. No complaining," they respond strictly, slapping your hand away once more.

---------------

P brushes away a streak of blood from the corner of their mouth, glancing behind them towards you. "Dumbass."

"I heard that, you dipshit," you growl back at them, dabbing the wound with a wet cloth.

"You were supposed to."

"Trying to pick another fight already?"

P makes a humming noise, brushing a knuckle against their cheek, "At least you can land a hit. Once in a while."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Shut up. I'm just pointing it out. Don't try to inflate it."

You chuckle to yourself, stretching an arm, "I guess you're not too shabby either. There are worse people to make a rival out of."

"A rival huh...?" P stares past the red strands of hair that dip past their forehead, resting their eyes on the dark silhouette of your shadow on the wall. They close their eyes, a small smile working against their lips, "You're such a dumbass."

--------------

M pats their lap with a calming smile, "You need...to rest..."

You attempt to hide the rising blush behind your hand as you press a wet cloth to your wound, "I-It's alright, I think I'm alright--"

Before you can move to escape, M presses their hands on your cheeks and pulls you down. You accept your fate as you stare up at M's pleased look.

"You don't...need to be...so shy...I'm good...at these...kinds of things...too...Just leave it...to me..."

You feel a tender hand rest against your cheek as M presses the cloth against your brow, humming a small tune.

"What is that?" you ask.

"Hmm...?"

"The tune you always hum."

"It was...a song...my mom...used to sing...But I...forgot the lyrics..." M's eyes glance away from you for a moment, "Do you...like it...?"

"It sounds really nice," you say earnestly, attempting to ignore the intense blush spreading across your face.

"It sounded better...with words...If I learn them...I'll sing it to you..."

"O-Oh, you don't have to-"

"Ah-Ah," M taps a finger against your lips and wags it, "I've...already decided...So look forward...to it...Okay...?"

--------------

"You don't have anything to worry about..."

Slender fingers caress your cheeks, lifting your head and coaxing your eyes to open. Dark eyes stare into yours, their lids lifting in delight.

Your voice is slow to escape past your lips, "Raven? What...are you doing here...?"

"I've always been with you," they brush your cheek while inspecting the freshly opened wound on your brow, collecting a trickle of blood with their fingers, "We'll have to get something for this. You made me worried, you know."

The wound finally becomes apparent to you, along with the stinging memory of an assaulter's fist. Your eyes open wider.

"Where is-"

Raven moves your head back to face them, pulling you into a gentle embrace as they stroke the back of your head. "It's alright. You don't have anything to worry about..."

Their dark eyes look onwards, reflecting a world of spattered crimson centered around a indistinguishable mass of flesh and stained bones.

"You don't have to worry. I'll take care of everything for you."

-------------------

"Eh, you're already lookin' a little scuffed up, friend," S gives you a bright smile as he strolls in the middle of your fight, "I heard there was some troublin' rousin', but I ain't expect you'd cause somethin'!"

"U-Uh, that's..." you glance sheepishly at your assaulter past the trickle of blood beginning to flow down your sightline.

They glare at the newcomer, "Who're you?"

"Oh me? I ain't no one ya know. But ya know," S justs a thumb towards you, "They've gone an' helped me out a bit. So...I'll be returnin' the favor!"

S grabs at your opponent's tie, pulling them down as they wind up to smash their forehead into theirs. As they fall, S scrapes loose dirt onto their shoe and kicks it into their face, a smug smirk on their face.

"Hey, ya ain't lookin' half bad like that. How'd'ya feel about comin' back to do it again later?"

S waves the aggressor off as they retreat before turning to you, their expression turning intensely serious as they look at your wound. "Are you okay?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, yes. You're..." the words drop off as S's face hovers mere inches before yours. Unable to hide the heat creeping up your face, S folds their arms.

"What's up? Ya gettin' sick? That stupid idiot must'a done a number on ya."

"I-I'm just a little...dehydrated...?"

"Ohh, I getcha! Well that's good, we can fix that!" S ruffles your head with a smirk, forgetting all about the welting wound.

"Ow!"

"Oh right! Whoops," they laugh, not seeming very apologetic.

-----------------

F stares at your wound, a finger tapping under your chin as they hold your jaw steady.

"A fight was it?"

You nod.

"With whom?"

Your move your eyes away, "I don't know."

"Is that so?"

"Are you going to let go now?"

F's finger halts its drumming, "And why should I do that?"

You slide your eyes back, taking in F's jade irises as they stare intensely into yours. You clench your jaw in annoyance.

"I'm not a pet you keep."

F smiles pleasantly, "Yet it seems you're in need of a keeper. Why else would you bring such trivalties to me?"

"That's..." your mind runs blank, only circling back to their gentle smile. You look away once more, "It's nothing."

"Yes, I am certain it is," F whispers, pulling out a piece of cloth and pressing it against your wound, "It is still my place to wonder."

"Why would it be? You're no keeper."

"Yet you come to me in times of strife and suffering? You are quite an indecisive pet."

"Get one that does what you want then," you bite.

"Oh, no, you misunderstand," F's lips part in a serpentine smile, "I'm not seeking obediance. Heeling is half the reward."

--------------------

Enjoy haha

#romance options #triaina academy #snippets

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hrina · 4 years

Text

1923, Pt. II - The Week

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 8.4k REQUESTED: perhaps? idek anymore

hey yall, here’s PART 2 of the historical/groundskeeper!AU :) i really hope u guys like it, i spent the past two weeks trying to make it the best that i could. anywayyyy im sure everyone knows the drill by now: support content creators by reblogging their work and/or offering feedback! happy reading 💚💚💚

warning: parts of this fic will contain mature language and nsfw content. if it makes you uncomfortable, you absolutely do not have to read! take care of urselves <3

PART I: The Day

~*~

July 7th, 1923

It’s hot.

You set your glass of water back onto the little table to your left. Excess condensation coats your fingertips; you wipe them against your forehead, hoping that it will be enough to cool you down. No such luck—the droplets provide a momentarily chill before sinking into your skin, leaving you feeling just as scorched as before.

You recline against the cushy yellow lounger, closing your eyes and tilting your face up to the sky. The sun beats down against your cheeks. The thin, cottony material of your dress is pasted to your thighs; you flex your legs slightly, hoping that the fabric will unstick.

In the distance, Apollo and Artemis—no longer confined to their pens—roam around the small, girded pasture adjacent to the stables. The fountain in the middle of the back lawn is about one hundred feet away. Skinny streams of water shoot out from the stone hands of a carved angel, spilling picturesquely into the upwelling below.

You crack one eye open slowly, letting your focus drift over to where Harry is crouched on the cobbled staircase of the porch. Sweat glistens on the nape of his neck as he furiously scrubs the steps clean.

Your thoughts retreat to the night before, when he’d kissed the back of your hand whilst standing in that very same spot. As though triggered by the memory, your knuckles begin to tingle.

Harry sits back on his haunches and drags his forearm across his face, wiping away the excess perspiration on his skin. His white shirt is soaked through with moisture. When he lifts his attention from the ground, your gazes lock for a brief moment. Immediately, your open eye snaps shut.

And you can’t be entirely sure, but you think that he may have smiled.

You lay in silence for another five minutes or so, indulging in the occasional sip of water as the heat of the summer envelopes your body. You only sit up when someone clears their throat from behind you, pulling you from your tranquil daze.

“Good afternoon,” Martin says. He’s standing a bit too close for comfort, casting a looming shadow over your torso.

“Hello,” you reply. You try to mask the disappointment that threatens to seep into your tone. A small part of you—a tiny, microscopic part—had been hoping that he was someone else.

“Thought you could use something to drink,” he says, plopping onto the recliner to your right. Your attention falls lower—two glasses are nestled comfortably in his hands. The caramel-coloured liquid inside each cup glints alluringly, sloshing over a trio of ice cubes that have already begun to melt.

“Is that…scotch?” you say, narrowing your eyes slightly.

“Yes,” he says. He extends an arm, offering you one of the glasses. “Fancy a taste?”

“I’ve had it before,” you say smoothly, shaking your head. “Truthfully, it’s not my favourite. Besides—” You gesture to the little table on your left. There’s still a bit of water residing in your cup. “—I already have a drink.”

Martin’s face falls.

“Thank you, though,” you add, not wanting to sound rude. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

That seems to bolster him a bit, you think, because his shoulders straighten as he shoots you a satisfied smile.

You clear your throat, gazing pointedly up at the sky. “Where’s Andrew?”

“Hmm? Oh.” Martin taps one foot against the floor. He’s wearing a pair of shiny black loafers—they’re new, you guess, and extremely expensive. “He’s in the middle of a call. Private business pertaining to Markham Motors, I believe. It doesn’t concern me—not yet, anyway.”

“Not yet,” you echo.

He chuckles, nodding proudly. “Your brother is remarkably ambitious. Once our two companies merge, I reckon that we’ll be unstoppable.”

“How exciting,” you murmur, reaching over for your water. You raise the cup to your mouth, expelling a soft sigh. “You must be thrilled, I’d imagine.”

“All in a day’s work,” he grunts, setting one glass of scotch down onto the ground. He lifts the other to his lips, taking a delicate sip.

You sit there awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. Martin’s eyes roam the wide expanse of your backyard, jumping from the stables to the fountain and back again. He pauses, then, humming pensively when he spots Harry polishing the stairs less than fifteen feet away.

“It’s a bit…unconventional to be dining with the help, is it not?” he asks, cocking one eyebrow nonchalantly.

You stiffen and glance over your shoulder—Harry is on all fours, scowling as he scrubs a particularly stubborn stain from the bottom step. His chestnut hair tumbles onto his forehead, twisted into pretty ringlets. A spark of heat blazes up your spine.

You turn your attention back to Martin, only to find that he’s also watching the other man work. It’s different, however—his look is judgmental, austere. His thin upper lip curls in disdain and his eyebrows cinch together, radiating condescension.

“We are…” You choose your words carefully. “…a rather unconventional family. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose so,” he acquiesces, tilting his head to the side. “But does it not distress you, somewhat? Inviting them into your home, making yourself and your possessions vulnerable?”

Something gross festers in the pit of your stomach. You bite back the sound of disgust that threatens to spill from your mouth.

“No,” you state curtly. “Not at all.”

Silence falls over the two of you, thick and poignant and tremendously uncomfortable. After a long, tense moment, you sit up, dusting off the skirt of your dress and releasing a faint groan. “I think I’ll be heading in, now.”

“As will I,” Martin replies, jumping to pursue you.

You stand, clutching your glass of water in one hand. He quickly reaches out with extended fingers, trying to take it from you. Though chivalrous, the action is weak, and you both know it.

“Here, let me—”

“No, it’s quite alright—,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“I insist—”

“Mister Russell, really, it’s fine—”

The cup, slick with condensation, slips from your grasp and shatters loudly against the floor. You gasp when a jagged shard slices against your ankle. Pain flares up your shin; abruptly, you fall back onto the lounger. You angle your leg to the side, surveying the damage with wide eyes. The cut is about an inch long; blood drips from the injury, seeping down toward the sole of your bare foot. Bile gathers on your tongue.

“Good God!” Martin exclaims unhelpfully. “You’re bleeding!”

“I can see that,” you snap, bending down and pressing your fingertips against the laceration.

Heavy footsteps approach. When you cast a glance over your shoulder, you find Harry stalking toward you, his eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment.

“What happened?” he asks, but when you hold up one hand, he freezes in his tracks.

“Be careful!” you warn, your voice strained. “There’s glass everywhere.”

“What happened?” he repeats. His gaze lands on Martin, and his nostrils flare unnervingly. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” the other man protests, retreating a few steps away. “It just fell!”

“Go back inside,” Harry commands. “Check all the lavatories—there may be spare bandages in one of the cupboards.”

Martin frowns—you get the feeling that he’s not exactly used to being ordered around. “Now, you listen here—”

“Mister Russell!” you interrupt shrilly, fixing him with a stern glare. “Do as he says. Please.”

Martin closes his mouth and purses his lips, nodding tersely. He nearly trips over himself as he stumbles back into the house.

“He’s useless,” you mutter, bloody fingers slipping against your skin.

Harry doesn’t reply; instead, he situates himself on the opposite edge of the recliner, beckoning you closer with a quick flick of his hand.

“Face this way,” he instructs. “There’s no glass on this side.”

You obey him wordlessly. He gets you settled back into the chair, guiding your right leg over his thigh so that your foot lays comfortably in his lap. With no hesitation whatsoever, he grasps the white fabric covering the jut of his shoulder and gives a mighty tug. The sleeve rips cleanly at the seam. Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head.

“We’ll use this,” Harry says, pulling the material down to his wrist. “Just until he returns with proper bindings.”

“Alright,” you whisper. It takes every ounce of willpower in your body to avoid staring at his naked arm—golden, sweat-slicked skin stretched over smooth, corded muscle. A frighteningly large part of you wants to lean forward and sink your teeth into his bicep. You swiftly curb the urge, swallowing heavily and trying to focus your attention on something—anything—else.

“How did this happen?” Harry asks.

He balls the fabric up and dabs cautiously at the blood dripping from your wound.

“He was—well, I don’t even know, really,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “He was trying to be gallant, I suppose.”

“‘Gallant’?” he parrots, gazing down at your leg. “He fancies you, then?”

“Yes.” You pause, rethinking your answer. “No.” You sigh. “Perhaps; I’m not sure.”

He smirks. Despite the pain pulsating up your leg, you wiggle your toes and nudge him with your knee.

“What’s so amusing?” you ask, puzzled.

He simply chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s just that…you’re a bit oblivious, that’s all.”

And for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, you balk and say, “I beg your pardon?”

Harry laughs. Gingerly, he wraps his torn sleeve around your ankle, applying a gentle pressure to your skin. You wince, curling your fingers into fists. His hands—though rough and calloused—are surprisingly tender with their movements. He’s slow and practiced, treating you as though you’re made of porcelain. Your heartbeat quickens; you hope that he can’t hear the way it thunders beneath your ribs.

“You’re rather clueless when it comes to gauging a man’s affections for you,” he explains. He makes it sound as though it’s a phenomenon of which you should already be aware.

You narrow your eyes and purse your lips.

“Tread carefully,” you tell him, though you can’t hide the sardonic undertone in your voice. “You’re wading through dangerous waters, here.”

“What I mean to say is—” Harry clears his throat, shrugging coolly. “—since yesterday’s arrival, that fool’s chattering hasn’t ceased. Building oneself up with words…that’s the sign of a boy aiming to impress a girl.”

“You don’t sound too keen on that method,” you note.

He rakes his fingers through his hair. “Excellent observation. I am not.”

“And why is that?” you ask, cocking one eyebrow challengingly. “How exactly would you attempt to make your affections known?”

Harry places one of his palms on the skin just below your knee. You jump at the contact, shocked by his brazen move. Having his hands on your ankle is one thing—but your knee? It’s risky, bold, nearly scandalous…and with the way he’s looking at you, it’s clear that he knows it, too.

“Building oneself up with words is a boy’s game,” he tells you. “But building oneself up with actions…that’s the sign of a man aiming to impress a woman. It may be a bit unconventional, but—” He pins you with a deliberate stare. “I work for a rather unconventional family. Wouldn’t you agree?”

You say nothing. Harry’s green eyes pierce your face, peeling you open layer by layer. You’ve stopped breathing, your chest completely still. Goosebumps erupt across your arms. Instinctively, your concentration falls to his lips: twin pink petals, sinful and alluring and so incredibly—

“I’ve got the bandages!”

And just like that, the spell is broken. You drag your gaze away from the man in front of you, turning to the side and watching as Martin jogs back over with a thick spool of gauze clutched tightly to his chest.

“Here,” he pants. He passes the roll to Harry, who clears his throat loudly and begins to unwind the bindings with swift, proficient fingers.

Martin then fixes his attention on you, raising his eyebrows quizzically.

“Are you alright?” he asks, shooting you an expectant look.

“Fine,” you croak out, though the blood roaring in your ears sincerely begs to differ.

You blink yourself out of your stupor, running your tongue over the roof of your mouth and exhaling shakily. Harry has turned back to your ankle, replacing the makeshift bandages with proper ones. You glance up at Martin and nod your head, praying that he can’t see the flustered agitation brewing in your eyes.

“Yes, Mister Russell, I’m fine. Thank you.”

July 9th, 1923

The library is your favourite room in the house.

It’s quiet, peaceful, and is accompanied only by the rarest of disturbances. Lydia’s never really enjoyed reading—she can’t sit still long enough to do so. Andrew hasn’t stepped past the threshold in years—he’s been too busy running Markham Motors. So, that just leaves you, along with the freedom to choose from the hundreds of books lining the shelves. You’ve dabbled in fiction and non-fiction alike, soaking up the words from the page just as the ground soaks up rain from a storm.

The library has become your safe haven. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You trod over to your favourite spot to read: a small alcove in the wall, decked out with fluffy cushions and tucked right up against a wide window. It gives you a perfect view of the driveway and the front lawn down below. You’ve spent hours in this little nook, absorbed in novels and poems and biographies. You’ve passed entire nights curled up next to the windowpane, having dozed off in the middle of a story. It’s become a tradition of sorts, despite the dull ache in your neck that always ensues when you stir the next morning.

The book in your hands is heavy as you sink into the mess of pillows. Bright, natural light streams in from the window to your left. You release a soft sigh as your fingers flip to where you’d last left off during your previous visit.

She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me—

You scoff and roll your eyes. You’ve read this story a dozen times; you already know how it ends.

For the next twenty minutes, nothing matters save for the adventures of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. You allow yourself to get lost in the world of Pride and Prejudice, eyes hungrily raking over every printed detail. You’re only pulled out of your reverie when a shrill, jubilant cry pierces through the silence.

Instinctively, your head snaps toward the direction of the noise. Through the spotless windowpane, you spy Harry and Lydia standing on the lawn. Harry is holding a brown hose, angling it downward and watering the grass beneath his feet. Your sister is next to him, babbling and gesturing animatedly with her hands. You smile at the sight.

You slip your thumb between the pages of the book to mark your place. The novel is forgotten as you study the scene playing out below.

Harry is wearing an ashen blue button-up and a pair of black trousers. A thin white undershirt peeks out from beneath his collar. He smirks at something that Lydia says, ducking his head and trying to conceal the fond expression on his face. She throws her hands up in the air and twirls around—when she staggers slightly, Harry holds out his arm. Her fingers dig into his elbow to regain balance, and the two of them dissolve into giggles. Warmth unfurls in your chest.

Harry tilts his head back, surveying the cloudless sky with squinted eyes and a wrinkled nose. His attention turns to the house, then, sweeping absentmindedly over the fair bricks and stone accents.

Suddenly, his gaze darts forward. You freeze when his green irises lock squarely on you.

Hot humiliation creeps up your neck, because of course. Staring at him and remaining undetected is a luxury that few can afford.

Your lips part with a soft gasp, and your shoulders stiffen. The corners of Harry’s mouth curl up slightly—so faint, you think it may just be a figment of your imagination. The gilded copy of Pride and Prejudice rests in your lap, abandoned. It mocks you and your preoccupation—your fascination—with the man on the ground.

Harry shoots you a small, mysterious smile, and lifts his chin. You sit up straight, processing his request.

“I shouldn’t—,” you start to say before remembering that he can’t actually hear you. You clench your jaw and shake your head, hoping that he’ll be able to register the movement through the glass.

But his teasing expression only deepens as he beckons you again. A ragged exhale falls from your lips, and a tepid swell of adrenaline floods your veins. You snap your book shut, tucking it against your chest and pushing yourself away from the window. You swear that your heart skips a beat when your feet hit the floor.

Don’t rush, don’t rush, don’t rush.

It’s hard to maintain a measured pace, especially when such a big part of you just wants to take off and sprint down the spiral staircase. You force yourself to dawdle, to smooth your fingers over the bannister and descend slowly. Your palms are clammy as you make your way across the foyer, eyes glued to the large double doors on the opposite wall.

And then you’re outside, the sun beating down against your face and the breeze blowing gently through your hair. You saunter toward the edge of the large portico, leaning against the stone railing with your novel still clutched tightly to your sternum.

“Dee!”

Lydia whips around, taken aback by the call of her name. Upon recognising you, her features morph into a mask of quizzical mockery.

“Where have you been?” she asks, jogging over.

“I was reading,” you say, shrugging indifferently. After a short moment, you add, “Beth’s looking for you.”

“Me? What for?”

In the periphery of your vision, you spy Harry approaching. Water leaks from the nozzle of the hose; he gathers a few droplets onto his knuckles before smearing them across his sweaty forehead. You bite your tongue to suppress a snort.

“Dinner, I believe,” you lie, turning back to your sister. “It’s your turn to choose, is it not?”

Lydia’s eyes light up. “You’re right! It’s Monday, isn’t it?”

Her feet smack loudly against the cobbled steps as she races toward the door. Before disappearing inside, however, she skids to a stop, spinning around and raising one arm high above her head. “Goodbye, Harry!”

Harry smiles, lifting two fingers to his temple in a lazy salute. “Goodbye, little bug.”

A moment later, she’s gone.

And a moment after that, you find yourself sincerely regretting your decision to send her away. Harry observes you with raised brows and a knowing smirk on his face. You gnaw anxiously on your bottom lip, avoiding his eyes. A long beat of silence ensues.

“Hello,” he finally says.

You exhale quietly, relieved. “Hello.”

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“It is,” you agree.

You lean against the stone bannister, peering down at him. The breeze picks up, gusting through your thin skirt and blouse. A small part of you notes the theatrical romanticism of it all: his being on the ground, the butterflies flapping around in your stomach—

“Do you always spend the majority of a nice day locked away in the library?” Harry asks. His pretty irises twinkle alluringly when your gazes meet.

“I—no,” you stammer. “I was just…reading.”

“As one does in a room full of books, I’d expect.”

Embarrassment blooms in your chest.

“Yes,” you say softly. “Precisely.”

He grins.

“How is your ankle?” he asks, motioning toward the bottom of your leg.

“Oh.” You look down, flexing your foot. “It’s healing. I should be fully rehabilitated in a few days.”

Harry chuckles, nodding. You purse your lips and try for a smile, but you’re afraid that it resembles more of a grimace.

“What’ve you got, there?” He lifts his chin, gesturing to the novel tucked between your forearm and your chest. You’re grasping it so tightly that you’re surprised the skin of your knuckles hasn’t split.

You clear your throat, revealing the embroidered inscription on the front cover. “Er—Pride and Prejudice. It’s my favourite.”

Harry hums. “Mine, too.”

And though it is extremely impolite, you can’t stop the look of shock that makes its way onto your face.

“You’ve read it?”

He chuckles sheepishly, dropping his chin. “You have bewitched me, body and soul,” he suddenly says, lifting his eyes from the ground and fixing his unwavering gaze on you, “and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you—”

“—from this day on,” you finish, breathless.

He smiles. Zaps of electricity surge down your spine. The two of you are silent, tripping over unspoken murmurs of indulgence. You scrape your tongue over your teeth, clueless.

Harry is the first one to break.

“I should get back to work,” he announces gently. He gestures to the hose hanging limply from his hand and gives a perfunctory shrug.

“Of course.” You nod, inhaling deeply. “I should get back to…”

He smirks when you trail off. “Reading?” he supplies.

“Yes,” you blurt. “Yes. Exactly.” You hesitate, drumming your fingers against the auburn cover of your book. “Good day, Harry.”

“Good day, miss!” he calls as you begin to walk away. You pause and cast a glance over your shoulder, an admonishment dancing on the tip of your tongue.

For the hundredth time, Harry, you mustn’t feel obligated to address me in such a formal—

But then you register the mischief on his face, and the realisation sinks in.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” you ask.

Crinkles dig into the corners of his eyes.

“I’m afraid that I don’t understand,” he says, tilting his head to the side in faux-confusion. You wipe a clammy palm against the waistband of your skirt and bite back a small smile. Harry’s playful expression deepens, poking a cavernous dimple into his left cheek.

“Have a little compassion on my nerves,” you say, pulling another quote from the novel clasped against your body. “You tear them to pieces.”

His lips twitch, impressed and amused.

“What a shame,” he counters, snickering quietly, “for I dearly love to laugh.”

July 13th, 1923

The past hour of your life has been spent rolling around in bed and resenting your glaring inability to fall asleep. You’re not really sure why you’re still awake after midnight, but you’ve long since given up on trying to solve the mystery that is your body’s biological clock. Smooth satin sheets tickle your bare legs. You groan into your pillow and push yourself up from the mattress, tossing your feet over the edge and shivering softly when they land on the cold hardwood floor.

You wrap yourself up in a thin silk robe; the hem falls only an inch or two above your knees. The rest of the house is silent as you quietly exit your room and pad across the hall. You tiptoe down the spiral staircase; a brief moment later (during which you slip on some comfortable footwear), you’re stepping out into the backyard, greeted by gentle zephyrs and temperate summer air.

As you hop down the porch steps and begin the familiar trek toward the stables, you note the blanket of stars dotting the clear night sky. They twinkle happily, winking at you as though they know something that you don’t.

You shake your head at the thought. They’re stars. Big, flaming balls of gas floating in space, stationed millions of miles away. They know nothing.

Your ears perk up as you approach your destination, struck by the low stream of words carried by the breeze.

“…lilies, and dahlias, too. They tend to bloom during the summer…”

You freeze, feet stalling in the dirt. Leaning in closer, you catch deep murmurs of a faceless voice. The stranger continues to list off different types of flowers; when a soft chuckle laces through the air, your eyes widen in disbelief.

Is that…?

Sure enough, when you creep into the stables, you find Harry standing in front of Artemis’ pen, running his fingers through her shiny mane. His back is to you, shoulder blades flexing beneath the dark button-up adorning his torso. The sleeves reach his biceps, stretching slightly whenever he lifts his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he’s saying as you inch closer, hopelessly engrossed in the pseudo-conversation. “Sugar cubes are a bit of a rarity in my home. I haven’t any others.”

A twig snaps beneath your foot. You wince.

Harry whips around, startled. Upon recognising you, he blows out a heavy breath. Tension leaks from his body, and twin pink spots form on his cheeks. You stare at the blush colouring his face, mesmerized—you’ve never seen him look so dumbfounded.

“Er—,” you say. You raise your hand in an awkward, half-hearted wave. “Hello.”

“Hello,” he replies.

A beat of silence ensues.

“What are you…?” you trail off, trying to keep your voice level. “Were you just—?”

“Yes,” he says quickly. A sheepish chuckle tumbles off his tongue. “I....I understand it, now. Talking to one’s horse is rather soothing.”

“She’s not yours, though.” Your response is blunt, unfeeling.

Harry’s nostrils flare, and his feet scuff against the ground. Now that he’s facing you, you’re able to get a better look at him. A white undershirt peeks out from beneath his button-up, leaving his collarbones exposed. A gold chain glints around his neck, illuminated under the dim light. He’s wearing brown trousers and those same black boots, but you think that he may have polished them, finally, because they’re considerably tidier than before.

“She’s not,” Harry agrees, swallowing nervously. “My sincerest apologies. I can see that I’ve crossed a line—”

You can’t stifle the giggle that bubbles up in your throat. Harry hesitates, fixing you with a bewildered expression. At last, you shoot him a small smile, shaking your head and waving away his regrets.

“I’m only teasing,” you say, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Breathe, Harry.”

He exhales raggedly, ruffling the curls at the back of his head. “Jesus. You frightened me.”

“Good. Perhaps you’ve finally learned your lesson, then.”

“My lesson?” he echoes, cocking his head to the side. “And what exactly would that be?”

“To avoid sneaking up on others at night,” you say. “Especially if they’re in the midst of conversing with their horse. It’s a very private exchange, you know—endless confessions have been made under this roof.”

Harry laughs.

“I think I’ve supplied my fair share of confessions, tonight,” he says, shrugging nonchalantly. “I can leave you to do the same.”

“No,” you blurt out. “Wait.”

He pauses, shocked by your immediate refutation. You purse your lips as hot shame unfurls in your chest.

“I just meant,” you start, hastening to make amends, “you can stay, if you’d like. Besides—” You shrug. “It’s far more pleasant talking to someone who can actually talk back.”

~*~

“Harry. No.”

“Yes.”

“No. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. And I’ll be right next to you. I won’t leave your side.”

You gnaw apprehensively on your bottom lip as he frees Artemis from her pen. She trots out and whinnies softly, tossing her head to the side. He shushes her, dragging a comforting palm over her back. You step closer, mirroring his movements and glaring at him with terse, squinted eyes.

“We’ll go slowly,” he says, fixing you with an earnest look. “A few steps at a time. That doesn’t sound too daunting, does it?”

After a long, overwrought moment, you surrender.

“Very well,” you say. You point at him accusatorily, extending your arm over Artemis’ body. “But as soon as I want to stop, we stop. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

Harry leans forward, bumping the pad of your finger with the tip of his nose. The contact makes you gasp. He pauses as well, having realised the implications of the thoughtless action. You swallow heavily; he clears his throat and averts his gaze.

“I’ll get the saddle,” he says.

His heel scrapes loudly against the dry dirt when he turns; you watch as he marches toward the pair of brown saddles hanging on the wooden wall. With a mighty groan, he heaves one from its rusted, metal hook, gathering the leather in his arms before making his way back over to you.

“Thank you,” you murmur shyly.

“You’re very welcome.”

You migrate to the side, petting Artemis’ mane as Harry slips the saddle onto her back. She huffs; you coo at her, holding her face in your hands to keep her calm. Harry spends the next several seconds strapping everything in place. After he’s finished, he gives a gentle tug, ensuring that you won’t slide and fall to the ground once you’re ready to mount.

“All set,” he says, squaring his shoulders.

You glance over at him with wide, frightened eyes. When he meets your gaze, his stoic expression melts into a pool of concern.

“Don’t be afraid,” he says, stepping closer to you.

“I—” Your throat burns. “I haven’t ridden in three years, Harry.”

“I know,” he says solemnly. He offers you his left hand. “Do you trust me?”

Your response is immediate. “I do.”

“Good.” The corners of his lips curl upward. His tone is unreservedly honest when he speaks again. “I won’t let anything happen to you, miss; I swear it.”

You slide your palm against his. A sharp tingle races up your arm, sending your heartbeat into a frenzy. You fight to keep your breathing even as Harry pulls you closer, positioning you in front of him and placing his fingers on your waist.

“Ready?” he murmurs. His breath is hot against the shell of your ear.

You nod.

He grunts as he lifts you. You kick out one leg, slinging it over Artemis’ back and pulling yourself up. Once you’ve settled into a comfortable position, you peer down at him, shoulders taut and ankles locked.

“Breathe,” Harry reminds you. He leads by example, inhaling deeply; you imitate him, trying to ignore the thin sheen of sweat gathered at the nape of your neck.

“What do I do, now?” you ask after a thin stretch of silence.

He chuckles good-naturedly, cocking one eyebrow. “You’ve forgotten?”

“No,” you say indignantly, frowning. “I just—”

You break off when he takes your hands and guides them forward. Your fingers wrap around the reins dangling from Artemis’ neck. You fist the leather firmly, swallowing down the hard lump in your throat. Harry’s nostrils flare as he retracts his arms. You’re fascinated by the way his tongue darts out of his mouth, swiping over his sunburnt lips.

“A few steps at a time,” he says, repeating his former words.

You nod, blowing out a shaky exhale. Gently, you dig your heels into Artemis’ belly and click your teeth. She snorts and takes a step forward; the air is swiftly knocked from your lungs.

“I’m right here,” Harry pipes up. He lays one palm against the back of the saddle, keeping pace. “I won’t let you fall.”

Gradually, you make it out of the stables. The distance can’t be more than fifteen or twenty feet, but it’s a start. You tug softly on the reins, and Artemis stops abruptly. The sudden pause has you lurching forward in your seat. You squeak; quicker than a lightning strike, Harry is there. His hand settles on the small of your back, keeping you steady.

You look down at him, and your gazes lock. Jade eyes gleam beneath the lustrous night sky. His attention falls lower, and only then do you realise that the hem of your robe has ridden up your leg. Most of your thigh is exposed—smooth skin on total display, mere inches from his face. You release an inaudible gasp, shifting your hips to the side so that the silk slips back down.

A muscle in Harry’s jaw twitches enticingly. He removes his touch from your back and turns away.

“Beautiful evening,” he says stiffly, peering up at the stars. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes,” you whisper. You clear your throat. “I’d like to dismount, now. Would you mind?”

He shakes his head and hums. “Not at all. Hold onto me.”

You place your hands on his shoulders, and he curls his fingertips into your waist. Wordlessly, he lifts you from Artemis’ back. You yelp when your ankle snags on one of the saddle’s leather straps. He stumbles backward, wrapping his arms tightly around your midsection and grunting in surprise. When you eventually regain your footing, your eyes widen at the compromising nature of your position.

Harry is clutching you against his torso, his face buried in your neck. Warm puffs of air leave his lips and coat the column of your throat; the sensation sends shivers down your spine. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades, chest heaving with difficult, onerous breaths.

It’s a stance that should only be shared between lovers, you think. Between a husband and his wife.

Harry is not your husband.

And you are not his wife.

The two of you break apart almost immediately, choking on hasty, half-formed sentences.

“My apologies, miss—”

“No, you needn’t—I should have been more cautious—”

“It’s late; you must be spent—”

“I’m not ready to leave.”

Harry freezes, his jaw agape. Several seconds elapse before he can find it in himself to muster a reply.

“I beg your pardon?” He’s breathless, swept away by your confession.

You shift awkwardly.

“I’m not ready to leave,” you repeat. You clasp your hands behind your back and fix him with an even stare. You hope that he can’t hear the slight quiver at the base of your declaration. “I—I wish to spend more time with you.”

He blinks. “With me?”

You nod. “With you.”

“What…?” He hesitates. “What would you like to do?”

You shrug. “Anything.”

Harry puckers his lips, lost in thought. After a prolonged moment of deliberation, his features light up. “I know a place.”

“‘A place’?” you parrot, brows knitting together.

“A place,” he confirms. “You trust me, do you not?”

“You already know the answer to that question,” you say, scoffing quietly. “I believe I’ve made myself abundantly clear.”

He chuckles. You tug on the sleeves of your robe and grate your slippers into the dirt. Harry watches you with careful eyes.

“Do it now, then,” he says, nodding encouragingly. He holds out his hand once more, beckoning you closer. “Trust me, now.”

You chew on your bottom lip, gracing him with a curt bob of your head. Artemis huffs as you wrap her reins around your wrist and slide your fingers against Harry’s palm. He pats your knuckles gently, guiding them to the crook of his elbow.

“Shall we?” he asks. It’s impossible to read the emotion in his voice.

Your response of endorsement is meek. Gone is the confident woman from a minute ago: the one who stated what she wanted without a second thought. She slips through your grasp easily, disintegrating into a pile of dust and leaving nothing behind.

“We shall,” you choke out.

Harry’s lips twitch with the ghost of a smile, and Artemis’ hooves clunk against the ground as he leads you off into the night.

~*~

“This is so…”

“Nice, isn’t it?”

“‘Nice’?” You spin on your heel slowly, taking in your surroundings. “It’s incredible.”

The water trickling through the creek is crystal clear. A few shiny rocks peek out from the shallow stream, gleaming in the moonlight. You peer up at the stars—hundreds of diamonds, perfectly visible thanks to the large gap of the clearing. Crickets chirp along the edges of the bushes, and yellow-green fireflies ride the breeze.

“How did you find this place?” you breathe.

“It may sound foolish—,” Harry begins. He holds one hand out; you transfer Artemis’ reins into his palm. “—but I can’t remember.”

“Really?” you ask, stunned. You trail after him as he leads your horse to a nearby tree. He loops her leather harnesses around a thick branch, tying a proficient knot and giving it a few experimental tugs. Your gaze remains glued to his hands: the way his fingers work deftly, the way his knuckles flex with each pull—

“Really,” he says. A soft sigh tumbles from his mouth as he steps back. “Come with me.”

You follow him to the middle of the clearing, trying to anticipate his next move. What you don’t expect, however, is for him to drop to his knees. He falls backward, spine meeting the grass with a faint thump. You gasp, staring down at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

“Don’t be afraid,” Harry hums, shooting you a playful smirk. He crosses his arms behind his head—you try to avoid staring at the prominent bulge of his biceps. “The weeds won’t bite.”

“O—Oh,” you stammer, nodding quickly. “Alright, then.”

Daintily, you lower yourself to the ground. He watches you with an amused expression on his face.

“What?” you say, pouting.

“Nothing.” He snickers quietly. You tuck your ankles beneath your thighs as he turns to the side, propping his head up with one hand. “Correct me if I’m wrong, miss, but…I presume that you don’t often make it a point to lay in the grass.”

“That would be an accurate presumption,” you say, laughing softly. Harry smiles.

“You should spend more time outside,” he says absentmindedly. “You’re always cooped up in the house.”

You cock one eyebrow teasingly. “Do you wish to see more of me, Harry?”

“Absolutely not,” he replies, humour evident in his tone. “I am simply trying to instill some sense of adventure into your life.”

The corners of your lips kink upward. In a matter of seconds, however, your delight melts away, replaced by a somberness that you can’t seem to shake.

“I was far more adventurous before the accident,” you murmur, dropping your gaze. You reach out, fiddling with a few blades of grass in an attempt to avoid Harry’s doleful eyes. “Now, I…I’m afraid of everything, it seems.”

Silence hangs in the air between you, filled only by the steady symphony of chirping crickets.

“If I may ask—,” Harry starts, shifting closer. “—what happened?”

You swallow down the lump in your throat. “Artemis shoved me off.”

“She did?”

“It wasn’t her fault!” you say quickly, holding up one hand. “She got spooked, I suppose. And I wasn’t expecting it, so…I fell.”

“What frightened her?” he asks, anxious creases digging into his forehead.

You shrug. “I don’t know. But since then, I’ve been uneasy about riding. If I’m oblivious to what alarmed her the first time, who’s to say that it won’t happen again?”

He nods. “I understand.”

You sigh, plucking a piece of grass from the dirt and twirling it between your fingers. “I wish I could be more like Drew,” you hum distantly. “Someone who throws themselves into their trauma instead of shying away from it.”

Harry’s brows knit together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

You frown. “He—he never told you?”

He shakes his head. “I haven’t a clue. What is it exactly that you’re referring—?”

“Our parents,” you say softly.

Harry’s mouth clamps shut. He inhales deeply, gracing you with a curt nod. You take his silence as an invitation to elaborate.

“They perished in a car accident,” you murmur, looking away. “My father was head of Markham Motors, at the time. He had overlooked a flaw in the latest model, and when they finally took the vehicle out for a drive, it—”

You break off, unable to continue.

Harry reaches forward, covering one of your hands with his. A puff of stale air catches in your throat. You glance down at him timidly, hoping that he can’t identify the flustered distress on your face.

“I’m so sorry,” he tells you, squeezing your fingers tenderly. “That must’ve been awful.”

You exhale shakily. “It was.”

For the next few minutes, the two of you say nothing else. Instead, you melt into your surroundings—the grass brushing your legs, the slow trickle of water in the creek, the dim buzz of fireflies drifting in the wind. At the edge of the clearing, Artemis snorts, lowers her head, and begins to graze.

At last, you decide to break through the stillness.

“Enough about my family,” you say. You recoil, subtly pulling your hand away. Harry is far too distracting. You’re afraid that if he touches you one more time, tonight, your poor heart will give out. “What about you?”

“What about me?” he replies. He settles back into his previous position: spine pressed flush against the ground, arms tucked coolly beneath his head.

“How are you?” you say. “How is your sister, in Paris?”

He peers up at you with raised eyebrows, impressed. “You remembered?”

“Is there a particular reason as to why I shouldn’t?”

Harry chuckles. “No, I suppose not.”

“Well, go on, then.” You rest your chin on your palm. “What is she like?”

“You’re a bossy little thing, aren’t you?”

You scowl. “Harry.”

“Right, right.” He sighs, smiling fondly up at the sky. “She’s…she’s lovely, really. She just got engaged, as a matter of fact. I haven’t met her fiancé, but he’s stellar, based on how she describes him in her letters.”

“That’s wonderful,” you say. Your gaze drifts longingly over the bridge of his nose. “Send her my blessings, will you?”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, mouth twisting in a roguish smirk. “I reckon she’d find that a bit odd—the two of you have never met.”

“Oh.” You purse your lips, bashful. “Perhaps you’re right.”

Harry laughs; you’re captivated by the dimples embossed into his cheeks.

“I’m only joking,” he tells you, waving away your concerns. “She’ll appreciate that very much. I’m sure of it.”

You don’t reply. Silence hangs in the air, thick and heavy, until his next words slice through the tension like a knife.

“She and I used to do this almost every night,” he murmurs.

“Do what?”

“Come outside,” he says, shrugging. “Lay on the ground. Stare up at the stars.” His irises glaze over with a forlorn look. “We always raced to see who could find the greatest number of constellations.”

“Really?” You don’t know why you’re so taken aback by his confession.

He nods. “Really.”

“Have you found any, tonight?”

He smiles. “Why don’t you come down here and see for yourself?”

The soil is surprisingly comfortable. You join him, resting your back against the grass and gazing up at the night sky. It’s an endless tapestry of diamonds—sparkling, infinite, beautiful. Your chest swells with a deep, relaxed breath as it all sinks in.

“Anything?” Harry asks expectantly.

You squint. After a long moment, a dejected sigh falls from your lips. “No. I’m not very good at this.”

He laughs. You watch, enthralled, as he lifts one hand and points to your left, singling out a curved cluster of stars.

“See these ones, over here? Shaped a bit like a hook? That’s Scorpius.”

“‘Scorpius’?”

“It means ‘scorpion’ in Latin,” Harry explains. “Scorpius was sent by the gods to kill Orion. He was then placed in the sky to advise mortals against the perils of vanity and pride.”

Vanity and pride.

You bite your lip and turn to the side, tucking a palm under your cheek. The action draws Harry’s attention; he does a double take, stunned by the sudden, close proximity of your bodies. His mouth quirks up into a coy smile as he mimics your position, brows furrowed in diluted mystification.

“What is it?” he asks.

You shift, swallowing heavily.

“I’m afraid that I’ve been unfair to you,” you say softly, gazing straight into his eyes. “I—I’ve misjudged you terribly, and for that, I must apologise. I was a fool.”

“You needn’t—,” he starts, but you press on.

“You are kind,” you say, voice thick with emotion. “You are intelligent, and clever, and you have more class in a single finger than most men have in their entire bodies.”

“Miss—”

“I was wrong about you, and I regret allowing my biases to blind me in such an atrocious manner. Can you ever forgive—oomph!”

Harry’s kiss is passionate, bruising. You stiffen, muscles locking in astonishment. One of his hands rests on the ground, providing balance; the other is on your arm, calloused thumb stroking your skin through the thin silk of your robe. You’re frozen, unable to react, because his lips are on yours, and he’s touching your body, and you’re nearly certain that you’ve died and entered the afterlife.

When Harry pulls away after a few short seconds, he’s stupidly sheepish. His eyelashes flutter open, and his stare immediately floods with remorse.

“I—forgive me,” he stammers, tripping over the words. “That was deplorable. I should have asked—”

Roughly, you grab his face between your palms. His cheeks are soft and smooth, jawline dotted with the faintest hint of stubble. The two of you exchange a look—electric, charged, thrilling. A single, critical moment ensues, during which a distinct quote emerges from the deep recesses of your mind.

A girl likes to be crossed a little in love now and then. It is something to think of.

The words echo in your head as you abandon all semblance of common sense, yanking Harry in by the collar of his shirt and kissing him again.

July 14th, 1923

“Quickly! We haven’t got all day!”

“Patience!” you call from the top of the stairs. You guide one last strand of hair into place before hurrying down the flight.

Lydia is waiting for you on the main floor. You set your hands on your hips and fix her with a stern glare, huffing at her eagerness. She sticks her tongue out at you. When you open your mouth to admonish her, she whips around and scurries through the large double doors, disappearing into the backyard.

Upon stepping outside, you find Martin and Andrew already sat on the patio. Lydia settles into one of the chairs around the table, smiling brightly and beckoning you over.

“There you are,” Drew says as you approach. “Beth should be out with dinner any minute now.”

“Do you know what she’s prepared?” you ask, tucking yourself into your seat.

Andrew shrugs and emits a noncommittal sound, clueless.

“Very well,” you sigh, casting a shallow glance across the table. “Good evening, Mister Russell,” you say, tipping your chin in Martin’s direction.

“Good evening.” He beams, tugging on the lapels of his yellow blazer. “Haven’t seen you all day—where have you been hiding?”

You cluck your tongue, tugging nervously at the hem of your dress. “I hardly think it fair for a woman to disclose her spaces of refuge.”

“Stop being so cryptic!” Lydia laughs. She turns to Martin, declaring matter-of-factly, “She was locked up in the library. It’s her favourite room in the entire house.”

Martin hums, diverting his gaze back to you. The expression on his face is indecipherable. “You read?”

You nod. “I do.”

A subtle movement in the periphery of your vision catches your attention. You turn your head to the side, and your heart nearly stops when you spot Harry making his way across the lawn. It appears as though he’s done for the evening, hands caked in grime and shirt speckled with dirt. He steps onto the dusty trail leading into the woods, beginning his journey home.

You haven’t spoken to him since last night—since he kissed you, and then you kissed him, and then the two of you kissed each other until you ran out of air to breathe. He led Artemis to the stables and walked you back to the house just as dawn broke, lighting up the sky with faint hues of pink and blue. You remember sharing a final embrace at the base of the steps before bidding him goodbye, flashing a smile and disappearing inside without another word.

“Would you excuse me?” you say, pushing away from the table and scrambling up out of your seat. “I just—I need to ask Harry about the lilies that he planted yesterday—I’ll only be a moment.”

You scamper off without waiting for a response.

“Harry? Harry!”

He pauses at the call of his name, turning around gingerly. When he spies you hurrying over, his eyes immediately drop to the ground.

You stop in front of him, tilting your head to the side. “Hello.”

“Hello, miss.” He doesn’t lift his gaze. The realisation makes you frown.

“How—how are you?” you ask, licking your lips and clasping your hands behind your back.

“I’m well, thank you. And yourself?”

“I—” Your nostrils flare. “I’m alright. I saw you walking home, and I just wanted to—”

“Forgive me.” Harry cuts you off swiftly. He refuses to look at you, still. “I’m weary. It’s been a long day.”

You recoil slightly, stunned by his candour.

“Of course,” you splutter, nodding. “We were both up quite late last night; time evaded us, I suppose—”

“So, you understand,” he says, stepping back. “I appreciate it. Thank you.”

You open your mouth to stop him, but your voice betrays you. Your chest grows tight when he lifts two fingers to his temple, offering up a half-hearted salute.

“Harry—”

He finally meets your gaze, and something inside of you breaks. His eyes are dull and gloomy, revealing nothing. You want to rush forward, to take his face in your hands and hold him close. To run your nails through his hair and smother him in a flurry of hard, worried kisses. To ask him why he’s acting this way. He had been so happy last night—what changed?

But the others are watching from the patio, and you’re a goddamned coward, and you can’t, you can’t, you can’t.

“Enjoy your dinner, miss,” Harry says. His tone is emotionless—it makes you want to cry. “Take care.”

~*~

PART III: The Month

if you’re enjoying this series so far, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

#harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #ok idk what else to tag it as lol #gentle reminder to rb the fics you like :) hope yall enjoy #harry writing #farmhandrry

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peterrparrkerr · 3 years

Text

Pornstar au - read on ao3

*-*

Peter's nervously fiddling with his fingers as he walks onto set. Camera-men and directors and other crew members are hustling around, making last minute changes and adding to the low murmur of conversation.

His feet feel glued to the floor, the sudden raise in his blood pressure making his hands sweating.

"You Peter Parker?" A woman demands, standing in front of Peter and making him jump.

He looks up and gives a small nod, mouth dry and tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"Get in the dressing room, you've got 15 minutes."

And then she was gone. Peter stares after her with wide eyes. He looks around, trying to find a dressing room.

This was a bad idea, this was such a bad idea. Peter should've just stuck to amature porn shot on his phone.

He's about to ask someone for directions when someone sets a hand on either of his shoulders and starts rushing him. Peter tries hard not to stumble, and he's nearly running ahead of the person.

"Fifteen minutes, be ready when there's a knock on the door."

Peter's thrown into a room. Hd straightens himself, and before he can even look around there are people rushing him to a seat.

Questions and comments are flying around him, and Peter can't focus. Someone is dabbing on concealer and someone else is demanding Peter change.

After a whirlwind of fifteen minutes, Peter's rushed back to the set. There seems to be even more people around.

Peter takes a small step back, ready to dip and just run out, but someone shouts, and someone's taking Peter's robe -leaving him in yellow swim trunks- and shoving him forward.

Peter's bare feet pad against the linoleum floor, and its like he's been shoved onto a stage fully naked in front of his high school.

"Two minutes!"

Peter is about to yell wait, when -oh, fuck, its Tony Stark. He's walking over, and he's looking at Peter.

"You look nervous," Tony smirks, looking relaxed in a pair of dark swim trunks and an open Hawaiian patterned shirt.

"Uh," Peter says dumbly. He glances around at the people in the room, then at the set they're in.

"It can be overwhelming," Tony said, all confident yet lax posturing as he stands in front of Peter, intimately close. "This is your first time filming?"

Peter swallows thickly, unsticking his tongue from his teeth.

"Ye-yeah, I mostly just, uh, usually there's not a film crew," he stammered.

Tony smirked, glancing over at the crowd, then steps a little closer. "Just pretend they're not there."

"Uh, that's gonna be hard," Peter confessed, wringing his fingers.

"Thirty seconds!"

Peter feels his heart rate spike. His eyes widen a little.

"Hey," Tony hums, smirk falling away. He grips Peter by the chin and tilts his head so Peter has nowhere to look but him. He swallows thickly, staring into Tony's dark eyes.

"Its just us, okay?" Tony said, their noses almost touching. "Its just like any other time you've filmed. Just you and your partner, right?"

"Ye-yeah," Peter nods, chin still held in Tony's grip. the older man smiles and squeezes.

"I've seen your work, Pete," he says, and Peter's eyes widen. Tony Stark -the Tony Stark- saw Peter's amature porn? What-

"You've got a lot of potential. Don't let your nerves get the best of you."

And with that, Peter's left alone at the end of the set while Tony walks to the door he's supposed to walk through at the beginning of the scene.

There's a countdown, and someone rushes over and sprays water over Peter's chest and hair, getting his curls damp and then shoving him into the middle of the set.

Peter doesn't stumble -thankfully. The countdown ends and the cameras -yeah, there's three- start rolling.

Peter picks up the towel on the wood chair in what was set up to be a mud room. He brings it to his chest and wipes himself dry.

The door opens, and Peter doesn't look up. He's read the script, he knows what happens.

Thankfully, this isn't a speaking porno. Theres no dialogue Peter needs to memorize -he doesn't think he'd be able to speak anyway without stuttering.

He feels a hand on his side and jolts -its not an act either. The hand snakes around to Peter's stomach and pulls him back.

Peter lets the towel fall to his bare feet. He can see the camera in front of him, just out of the corner of his eye.

He doesn't know where every camera is, so he tries to keep his eyes on things around the set, or closed.

Tony hums lowly against Peter's ear, mouthing at his jaw as his hand slides down, fingertips dipping below Peter's trunks.

Peter lets his head fall back a little, feeling himself growing hard. Its quiet except for Peter's slightly heavy breath, and Tony's gentle cooing.

Tony's other hand reaches over and turns Peter's head, forcing Peter to turn at his hips in order for the older man to kiss him.

Peter's seen Tony Stark's porn. Hes seen the way Tony kisses, but seeing it and actually kissing him, are completely different.

Tony's lips are pillow soft, surprisingly plump. Even with his goatee, he's soft. Peter can't help the small whimper that falls from his mouth, and Tony eats it right up, licking into his mouth.

Peter's breath hitches when Tony's hand finally brushes against his cock, tenting the yellow trunks.

"Hmm," Tony groaned, wrapping his fingers around Peter and squeezing. Peter can't help but raise onto his toes, hands grabbing onto Tony as the man sucks the breath from his mouth.

And then Peter is being pressed into the set wall, back to the cheap wood, and Tony's hand is stroking Peter under the trunks.

"O-oh," Peter gasps, head thunking against the wall. Tony ducks down, mouth latching onto Peter's throat as he continues stroking him.

"So responsive," Tony hummed against Peter's skin. He can feel the older smirking as he nips at Peter's collarbone.

"You're gonna be so fun to play with."

Peter moans up at the ceiling, rocking his hips up into Tony's grasp. He doesn't know what he's doing, but Peter's never felt a handjob quite like this one.

Tony's flicking his wrist at the top, brushing against his tip, squeezing -its incredible, and Peter is close to bursting.

"Cut!"

Peter's quickly brought back to the set and he blinks his eyes in surprise.

Tony pulls his head back and smirks down at Peter, pulling his hand back. Peter can't help but frowning a bit.

"Lets set up the next scene," the director calls.

"Dont worry, you get used to it," Tony smirks at Peter's frown. It makes his frown deepen.

Tony nods for Peter to follow him, and Peter's quick to fall into step with him.

Peter's usually not this quiet, but he doesn't know what to say. He feels like a newbie -which, technically, he is, to the professional side of porn.

"You've watched my videos?" Peter finds himself asking, and nearly slaps himself. Way to go, Parker.

Tony glances down at Peter and smiles, the two heading across the open warehouse to a bedroom set.

"Of course," he said. "Who do you think got you an interview?"

Peter's steps falter in shock. Tony's hand on his lower back, urging him forward.

"I had to see for myself just how cute you were in bed," Tony murmured against Peter's ear. All Peter could do was gape at him.

"You- I."

"Dont strain yourself, kid, we haven't even gotten to the good stuff," Tony grinned.

Peter doesn't really follow what happens next. He's still freaking out that Tony Stark had requested to work with him. That Tony Stark had seen Peter's amature porn filmed on his smart phone and wanted to meet him and work with him.

And its Peter's wet dream to work with Tony. And here he is, naked and rutting up against Tony's bare cock on the bed, whimpering and moaning.

He already prepped himself before he drove to the set, but Tony still works a couple fingers inside him -for the sake of the cameras.

Peter moans, rolling his hips, silently urging Tony to go deeper. The man obliges, sucking bruises into Peter's throat as he presses brutally into Peter's prostate.

The noises that fall from Peter's mouth are authentic. Theres no faking how good Tony makes him feel, stimulating him everywhere with experienced touches.

"You ready, kid?" Tony murmurs, so low in Peter's ears he knows the cameras and mics won't pick it up.

Peter answers by lifting his legs, hooking his ankles around Tony's back and urging him close.

Tony hums and pulls his fingers free, moving closer and lowering himself. Peter nods, hand moving down to grab at Tony's cock. He wants it in now.

He helps to guide Tony to where Peter wants him most, and groans long and loud as Tony slides in.

"Oh, God, you feel so good," Peter moans. "Please, fuck me."

Tony smirks above him and snaps his head forward. Peter gasps, lifting his legs higher, allowing Tony to drive in deeper.

It feels amazing. Peter's completely forgotten about the camera crew. He's lost in Tony and the roll of his hips that have Peter's toes curling and his back arching.

"Harder, please, harder," Peter begs, feeling the low building pleasure in his gut.

Tony's hips snap forward, pace quickening as the man holds himself over Peter.

It feels so good. Peter groans, letting out little punched-out sounds with every thrust forward.

"You like that?" Tony asked, grinding his hips down. "You like it rough?"

"Yes," Peter gasped, hands running over Tony's chest, gripping at his shoulders.

"Change positions," someone says lowly. Peter blinks, about to turn to see who, when Tony dives down and kisses him.

Peter kisses him back, and then the older is pulling out and lifting Peter into a sitting position by the back of his neck.

He allows Tony to move him hoe he sees fit, and whimpers when the man sinks back into him.

Peter's on his knees, back to Tony's chest. The older man has both arms around Peter, biting into his shoulder as he thrusts up into him.

"Oh, fuck -ah!‐ just like that," he groans, head dropping back onto Tony's shoulder, one arm reaching back to grip at the hairs at the back of Tony's head.

He presses back into the older, turning his head into Tony's. Tony easily connects their lips, bruising teeth and sloppy tongues.

Peter's eyebrows screw up, his breath hitching, and he pulls away from Tony. "Wait-"

But its too late. Peter's orgasm hits him hard, surprising him. Tony stills deep inside of him, holding Peter in place as he cums against the white sheets, grip on Tony tight.

"Hmm," Tony hums once Peter's finished, holding him up, still buried inside. "That was gorgeous, kid."

Peter blushes, taking a deep breath.

"Alright, clean up, we've got the rest of the shot," the director calls. Peter frowned.

"Huh?"

Behind him, Tony chuckles, kissing at Peter's tender neck.

"You gotta try and hold off for as long as you can," he said as a few crew members add another white sheet in front of them, covering the spot of cum. "Give them enough footage to edit through."

"Oh, uh, sorry," Peter blushed.

"Dont be sorry, it was hot as fuck," Tony chuckled, still holding Peter to him.

"Someone get a fluffer in here," the director calls. Peter's blush deepens.

"Thats not needed," Tony calls, lifting his head from Peter's shoulder. "I've got it under control."

"What?" Peter glances over at the crew -which is terrifying. They're all looking at him.

Feeling slightly mortified, Peter turns his head forward, so he's got part of the set wall to stare at.

"Oh my God."

"Shh, kid, just relax. You're doing great," Tony said, moving one of his hands down to tickle at Peter's pubic hair.

"I don't know if I can get it up with everyone watching," Peter whispered, his hand still holding the back of Tony's head -almost like a lifeline.

"You did it before," Tony pointed out, wrapping slender fingers around Peter and beginning to tug on him gently.

"I-I was distracted before," Peter confessed. Tony gently rolls his hips forward, pressing into Peter before pulling out and repeating.

"Its just us," Tony reminded. "No one else." Peter feels himself getting hard again at Tony's words and his actions. He lets out a breath.

"There, you're doing great," Tony praised. "Just relax, let me take care of you."

Peter nods, dropping his head down on Tony's shoulder.

"I'm gonna give you a signal, when its time to cum," Tony continues, stroking Peter back to full hardness. "Dont cum until then, alright?"

"Okay," Peter nods. Tony kisses his shoulder and wraps his arm back around Peter's middle. He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in.

Peter keens, body overstimulizated. And thats it, they're off again, and Peter's struggling to keep his noises to a minimum.

He doesn't want to be too loud and ruin the shots, but damn does Tony know what he's doing.

"Tony-" Peter gasped, cutting himself off a little too late. Could they use their names? "Oh- Oh! Ri-right there!"

Tony pulls back and slams into the same spot, making Peter wail. His grip on Tony tightens.

"On your elbows for me," Tony whispered, mouthing at the shell of Peter's ear. Peter barely hears him over his own panting, but the moment Tony's arms unwind from him, Peter leans forward, dropping to his hands, and then his elbows.

The new position has Tony railing right into his prostate. He grips the sheets in his hands and drops even further into the mattress, pushing his ass out further and allowing Tony to go even deeper.

What Peter doesn't expect is for Tony to slap him. He rocks forward at the sting in his left cheek and mewls, burying his face in the bedding.

He's been hit before during sex, but usually its bruising slaps -ones meant to paint Peter's skin a dark red.

This, this is different. It stings, but not in a painful way. It amplifies the already there pleasure in a way that has Peter begging him for more.

And Tony gives it to him. Its not a brutal pace, and he doesn't do it often, but every few thrusts, his hand swats down on Peter's ass. It feels good, so, so good.

Peter feels himself getting close to cumming, and he reaches a hand down, squeezing himself just under the mushroom head to stave it off.

Tony's thrusts get a little sharper, and he leans over Peter, kissing at Peter's shoulder blade, hands on either side of him.

"You wanna cum for me?" Tony asked lowly, thrusting unforgivingly. All Peter can do is nod and whimper.

He begins stroking himself in time with Tony's thrusts until he's cumming with a shout, body trembling.

Tony has to wrap an arm around Peter to keep him from collapsing on the bed as he climaxes.

Tony groaned low, allowing Peter back down onto the bed once he's emptied himself.

Peter keeps his ass somewhat elevated as Tony thrusts into him, balls slapping against Peter's perineum.

Peter moans at how sensitive he becomes, but he stays somewhat still so Tony can finish.

He does seconds later, burying himself deep inside and painting Peter's inner walls with cum. Peter mewls at the feeling.

He thrusts a few more times, rough and biting before his grip on Peter's hips ease up, and he takes a breath.

Then he pulls out and Peter drops into the puddle of cum on the sheets. Tony follows soon after, dropping to the bed beside him and glancing over.

Peter can't help but smile, his mout hidden behind his arm. Tony grins.

"Damn, kid, you're so much better in person," he sighs. Peter blushes and hides a little more of his face in his arm.

"You are too," Peter managed. Tony's grin widens.

Around them, crew members are taking down the sets, messing with their tech and talking with the director about the final cuts.

Peter doesn't pay them any attention. At least not yet. He can't believe he's just filmed a porno with Tony Stark.

"Before you leave, I want your number," Tony then says, climbing out of the bed.

It takes Peter a second for his brain to process that, and then he's scrambling off after him, snatching the robe held out for him and quickly wrapping it around himself.

Tony's already walking towards the dressing rooms, pace casual as he ties the robe shut in front of him.

"Wait, you want my number?" Peter asked, finally catching up with him. Tony smirks down at him.

"Definitely," he says. "You're way too good to work with just once."

Peter blushes at that, then gives a small nod. "I, I just have to shower."

Tony's eyes lower, a knowing look settling in his features before he nods. "I'll be waiting."

Peter's got cum drooling down the inside of his thigh as he rushes into the dressing room.

This could be a thing. Peter could do this. Make professional porn. Especially if his partners were anything like Tony Stark.

#marvel #peter parker #tony stark #starker #my writing #ao3 #nff #sfsummerbingo21

66 notes · View notes

apiratewhopines · 3 years

Text

Thanks to @teamhook for the artwork and for helping me pick a movie that wasn’t already done!

Midnight

Chapter 6 — The Mice

Summary: In which our heroine wins the battle but loses the war

Chapter 6 of 7 on AO3

“The way you changed my life

No, no, they can’t take that away from me”

-They Can’t Take That Away from Me, Fred Astaire

After the excitement of the morning passed, Sidney grumbled until they returned to the table. Still shaken by whatever Arthur said on their brief phone call, Killian declined to join them and returned to their room. No doubt to dream up a make-believe pregnancy for her. Most probably twins this time.

“I thought you told me we would have smoked salmon for our bagels,” the man complained to Guin, face upset as if the plentiful choices offered on their breakfast buffet were insufficient.

“I’m sorry, dear. I know it’s your favorite, so I made sure it was on the menu I gave to our chef,” she murmured coaxingly. Looking at the butler who was filling Arthur’s coffee cup, she asked, “What happened to the salmon?”

“There was a mistake, ma’am. It was left out of the last delivery, and since the phones have been out all morning, we couldn’t contact the market. I’ve sent one of the girls into town to buy some, so we will have it tomorrow morning. If the gentleman prefers, we can prepare a plate for him this afternoon.”

“Nonsense,” she replied. “The phones are in perfect working order. We just made a call to Europe to check on the Baron’s daughter.”

“No, ma’am, only the internal phone system is working. An accident took out the lines last night.”

Emma reached over and grabbed Arthur’s hand under the table as they shared an uneasy look when the other three people at the table all glanced at her with questions in their eyes. Lance broke the silence. “I don’t understand…”

“I’m afraid he’s right. I wasn’t on the phone with my mother-in-law. In fact, I don’t— No, I don’t want to burden you with my problems,” she said haltingly, her mind racing with ways to get out of this mess. The words tumbled from her mouth so quickly she didn’t have a chance to think through the consequences, which seemed to be the way she operated these days.

“Oh, please, you can’t stop now. This little mystery is the only thing distracting me from my lack of fish,” Sidney countered. He was studying the wide variety of fruit compotes and toppings for his pancakes and sounded desolate. “Please.”

“Well, let’s just say the Baron’s family has a touch of eccentricity,” she continued with a grimace. She had their rapt attention; even Sidney abandoned his food and gawked at her. “My first hint was at the wedding. I was opening the gifts, and his grandfather gave us a broken compass covered in Thousand Island dressing.”

“Yes,” Arthur broke in, determined to help. “Now I remember hearing there was a streak of madness in the family. His father was known as the Mad Baron of Cambridge. He liked to give people roller skates with missing laces instead of flowers.”

“The truth is…we don’t have a daughter.”

“Oh, this is much more delicious than breakfast,” Sidney gushed, pushing his plate away and moving to the seat across from her. “Tell us more.”

“I don’t want you to think bad of him. Most of the time, he’s lucid and the sweetest man in the world. That’s the man I fell in love with. But when he’s having one of his episodes, like this morning, he can get quite aggressive if confronted. It’s best to go along with whatever he’s saying. It always starts when he first wakes as if he can’t shake some odd dream in his mind,” she grabbed her napkin and dabbed at fake tears. “There was one time about six months ago he woke up convinced he was Captain Hook. He wore eyeliner for weeks and refused to use his left hand. When I tried to make him see reason, he insisted I call him Captain and tried to have me arrested as a mutineer.”

“You poor thing,” Guin said, genuine sympathy in her expression. “I wondered why you called him that. I thought perhaps he served in the Navy.”

“And you’ve stayed with him all these years?” Lance’s gaze, which was always admiring, held a new respect for her now. It didn’t make her feel any better. “You’re wonderful.”

“Hmm, yes, absolutely amazing,” Arthur murmured under his breath. The smirk was back, and she could tell he was enjoying her web of lies. At least someone was. “Is there some medication he can take? Perhaps you should have him committed.”

“No, I would never. I promised to stay with Killian in good times and bad. It will pass eventually. It always does,” she bit out, kicking him under the table. Before anything else could be said, she heard the Captain whistling as he practically skipped out of the house toward them dressed in the sky blue scrubs of a surgeon. The color made his eyes even more beautiful, and the tiniest smattering of hair visible above the v-neck of the shirt did things to her heart.

“Arthur, Guinevere, thank you for the hospitality, but we really must be going. I have to get back for my shift at the hospital.” Everyone jumped at the pronouncement, exchanging loaded glances and trying to figure out what to say or do next.

Guin smiled at him shakily and in a calm voice asked, “The hospital, Baron?”

“Not a baron, I’m afraid. And this woman isn’t a baroness. You notice I didn’t say my wife because she isn’t that either,” Killian informed them as he stopped by her chair and reached down to place a hand on her shoulder.

“Killian, you don’t mean that,” Emma responded. She would have laughed at his look of confusion at the lack of reaction to his revelation if she wasn’t so sure it would come back to bite her in the ass.

With an admonishing look, Lance said, “See here, Baron, there’s no need to insult the woman who has stayed by you through thick and thin.”

“Thick and thin? We met five nights ago, and she couldn’t wait to be rid of me. She’s an imposter. And I’m a doctor who has real things to do in the real world. Come on, Swan, let’s leave these lovely people to their breakfast.”

“Oh, I get it. You think she’s Elizabeth Swan from Pirates of the Caribbean.” Sidney snapped his fingers as if all the pieces had fallen into place.

“What? No, I think she’s a bounty hunter and the most impossible woman I’ve ever met,” Killian argued, determined to make them see the truth. The more he spoke, the more their faces cleared of all emotion like they were afraid a smile or frown would push him further into his delusions. He pulled her from the chair gently, and since she felt like pond scum for the lies she told, she let his arms circle her waist. As an added benefit she didn’t deserve, the position allowed her nose to be tickled by the chest hair so temptingly on display.

“Maybe she’s a mutineer,” Arthur offered.

Looking at the group, Killian shook his head in disbelief. “I think you’re all crazy.”

“Yes, that must be it,” Guin said soothingly. “Why don’t you have some breakfast, Baron?”

“I’m not sure how I can be more clear. I’m not a baron. We’re not married. We met in the middle of the road a few nights ago, and I pretended to be her Uber driver so I could give her a ride to a strip club. It turned into the best night of my life.”

Undeterred, Guin patted his arm, which was still wrapped tightly around her. “What a lovely courtship you’ve had. Now, let’s get you something to eat. Do you prefer coffee or tea to drink?”

“Are you not listening to a word I’m saying? We’re fakes! We haven’t known each other for more than a week. She twisted me around her little finger in two minutes. As infuriating as she is, I fell in love with her smile. The sound of her laugh makes my blood pump faster, and when she talks about not believing in love, it makes me want to prove to her that it exists every day for the rest of our lives.”

She was fading, her will to stick it out with Arthur and give him a happy ending melting in the heat of Killian’s honeyed words. His genuine concern at how nonchalantly they were accepting his confession should have been funny, but all she could think about was how he said ‘the rest of our lives.’

Like he meant it.

“Well, fakes or not, I’m still hungry,” Sidney answered, trying his best in the face of impossible odds. “Maybe your patients could wait a few hours until the salmon arrives. It’s quite good.”

“Bloody hell, this is a madhouse. Come on, Emma, enough is enough. Let’s go,” he urged her again. Taking the napkin from her hand, he threw it on the table and switched his grip to gently hold her upper arm and guide her away from the group.

They were immediately halted by Lance, thunder in his expression and lightning in his eyes. “She’s not going anywhere with you, Baron. We know all about your illness. She won’t be safe.”

“My illness?” Understanding dawned on his face and his head tilted back like he was searching the morning sky for answers. With a wry chuckle, he sighed. “Bravo, Swan. You told them I’m crazy. And I played right into it, didn’t I? Because I’ve been acting crazy, a man driven out of his mind at the sight of his most cherished dream waltzing away from him like he was nothing. Like everything he felt was nothing as far as she was concerned.”

She choked up at the bitter twist of his mouth. He was so brave, declaring his feelings in front of everyone, even convinced she would reject him again. Was it any wonder she had fallen head over heels for him?

And what did she do? She lied. She tricked. She ran. Then she rinsed and repeated.

“Captain,” she whispered, her hand moving to cradle his face when a sickening crack was heard and he crumpled at her feet.

Behind him, looking proud of himself, Sidney was still holding a pan aloft like he thought Killian might jump to his feet and demand a second round. Fear flooded her and she dropped to her knees to cradle his head in her lap. Helplessness, her hands fluttered over his body, her mind trying to sort out the impossible situation that was entirely her fault. “Why the hell did you do that?”

“He looked homicidal.”

Shaking him gently, she begged, “Killian…Killian, come back to me. Don’t leave me here alone.”

“You aren’t alone, sweetheart,” Lance promised, trying to move her away.

She swatted at his hands and refused to leave. The movement caused Killian’s head to lull to the side, and she saw a smear of red dripping from his hairline. “Someone call 911. He’s bleeding!”

Sidney glanced down at them with a mildly alarmed look and then at the weapon he still held. He ran his finger across the bottom and, with some relief, announced, “That’s not blood. It’s raspberry compote.”

—

Arthur’s personal physician made a house call to attend to the victim. Of course, the woman knew Killian Jones, MD, who was apparently the Director of Pediatric Oncology at Storybrooke General and one of the foremost experts in his field.

He was a saint in addition to being her Captain.

He deserved so much more than a lost girl who was too scared to know a good thing when it stopped on the side of the road to save her.

“This couldn’t have worked out better, my dear,” Arthur commented with an eyebrow wiggle. “Lance is beside himself. He just announced he plans to hire a divorce attorney this very afternoon. Run along. I’ll make sure the good doctor makes it back to town safely. I’ll even throw a couple thousand his way for his performance.”

“Shut up, Arthur. This is terrible. An innocent man got hurt, and it’s all our fault. My fault,” she corrected with a whisper, running her hand softly through Killian’s hair. He regained consciousness as the doctor checked him out but fell asleep while she assured them no permanent damage was done. Replacing the ice pack against the goose egg forming on the side of his head, she silently pleaded with him to wake up so she could grovel properly and beg for forgiveness.

“He seems quite taken with you.”

“Maybe he’s crazy after all,” she joked, but her heart wasn’t really in it. She doubted she would find anything funny until she saw his electric blue eyes again. “Can you leave us alone? I want to be able to explain when he comes to.”

“Of course, just call if you need anything.” He gave her a probing stare as if trying to decide whether to say something else before he left.

When she heard the door click shut, she leaned over and brushed a soft kiss across his lips. “I’m sorry. For running. For lying. For putting you in a situation where you got knocked out. I know that’s not nearly enough, but I am.”

“It’s a start,” he groaned as her hushed tone drew him from sleep, one hand moving to cover hers where it held the ice to his head and the other reaching out to play with the ends of her hair. “What happened?”

“I happened. This is why we don’t work, Captain. I’ve brought you nothing but pain and suffering since the moment we met.”

“I didn’t figure you for the melodramatic type, Swan. We had some good times before this farce began,” he reminded her as he shifted into more of a sitting position. “Are you ready to admit there’s something between us, or do I need to jump back into the fray and take a punch bowl to the face?”

“I never denied there was something between us, just that it was a good idea. I believe a raspberry-flavored concussion proves my point perfectly.”

His hand drifted to her cheek, calloused fingers glancing over soft skin. She wanted to look away from his intense gaze, but he tenderly grabbed her chin and held her in place. “Love, come away with me. It doesn’t have to be forever; we can sort that part out later. I’m simply asking for your company now, to give us a chance before you decide against it.”

“I want to, Captain. I want the carrot and everything else behind Door Number One,” she murmured with a watery chuckle. His gentle caresses grew hotter and more insistent. Finally he pulled her to him, her body half-covering his, as he claimed her mouth in the kind of scorching kiss that would burn through her memory forever.

She had nothing to offer him, and she had a long way to go before she would be worthy of this kind of love. Unconditional. All-encompassing. The kind she didn’t even know existed until he rescued her.

“I sense a but coming…”

“But—“

With a sad smile, he interrupted her. “On second thought, don’t. Please. I can’t bear to hear you say the words. To watch you run one more time. Let’s call it a day now so we can remember it fondly in the years to come.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” He tapped her nose lightly with his fingertip, observing the tears in her eyes as she fought to keep them from falling. Giving her a bittersweet grimace, he added, “Just promise you’ll take care of yourself, Swan. No more skipping meals. No more pretending to be anyone other than the amazing woman you are.”

The tears that were a threat until then slipped past her defenses, leaving trails down her face. He swiped at them and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Then he was gone.

Arthur found her later in the exact same place, not having the energy to move. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. “This is the last time you’ll ever have to live this day, my dear.”

She knew he was trying to make her feel better, but the knowledge he was wrong caused her to feel light-headed as she turned into his embrace. She would never have to say goodbye to Killian again, but she knew she would relive it over and over until the day she died.

—

He approached her on the shoreline as she watched the blue waters of the Atlantic crash against the rocky beach forming one side of Arthur’s estate. Heat lightning flashed in the distance; the far-off storm robbed of its noise and violence when viewed from the calm of land. Emma knew it was only a matter of time until he sought her out. He was a smart man, a gambler and a rogue, so why not press his advantage?

“You disappeared on me after the baron left.” Lance never referred to him as her husband, always ‘the baron.’ She wasn’t sure if it was his way of skirting the immorality of his pursuit or simply to rob the other man of any claim on her, but it was starting to piss her off. Which was silly considering he wasn’t really her husband. Or a baron.

“He told me he was filing for divorce on his way out. That he hoped you found happiness but had come to realize it wasn’t going to be with him.”

She had yet to look at Lance, but she felt her heart break a little at the scene he painted. It was just like the Captain to try to help her all the way to the bitter end. She supposed he simply couldn’t stop himself. Breathing in the warm salty air, she wanted to let it fill her lungs and sweep out the misery that had taken hold in the core of her.

She was an idiot. She had let someone who had never loved her, never really even cared about her, twist her into someone who would do the same thing to a man who was perfect in every way. If she hadn’t already sworn to get even with Neal Cassidy, this would have driven her to it.

She was damaged now, unfit for human company, clinging to a sham because it was easier than facing the fact she made the biggest mistake of her life. Only this time, there was no boogeyman in the form of a cheating, lying ex to blame. She did this to herself.

But she didn’t have to double down on it.

With a deep sigh, Lance dropped on the sand next to her. He was more casual than she had ever seen him, and somehow it made him more approachable. Barefoot and with his pants legs were rolled up to mid-calf in a nod to the tide, he observed, “He was wrong, wasn’t he? You still love him.”

“Yes,” she admitted, staring at the horizon.

“And you aren’t a baroness…”

“No,” she confirmed, this time chancing a sidelong glance at him. “Everything he said was true. I’ve been here under false pretenses.”

“To come between Guin and me. It has the smell of an Arthur scheme all over it,” he explained with a wry grin. “Well, I can’t say I didn’t deserve it. I never intended for it to go this far, but once it started, we kept getting deeper and deeper until I couldn’t see a way out. And then I didn’t want to. I love her, I probably always will, but she’s not mine. You helped me realize that. A gorgeous wake-up call designed to turn my head and steal my heart. Losing you is my penance. One I can’t regret because I have a feeling you saved several lives by playing along.”

“You’ll be back in the saddle again soon, I’m sure, and the women of the world will be better for it. Do yourself a favor next time, though. Choose an available woman, and once you find her, don’t let her go. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Pick up where I left off, I suppose. I have some debts that still need to be paid and a fugitive to bring to justice. Maybe if I keep busy enough, keep moving, this will all fade and seem like some fever-induced dream.”

“I meant, what are you going to do about Jones?”

“I think I’ve done enough already. The best thing I can do for Killian now is to stay away.”

“For someone so smart about other people, you have a rather glaring blind spot when it comes to your own life. A mistake is only a mistake if you keep making it. You know where to find him, you know he wants you to, the only thing stopping you is fear.”

“Fear is enough, Lance.”

“You know what fear has gotten me: Absolutely nothing. I was afraid to put myself out there, so I only got involved with women who I knew would leave me before the whole thing even started. It’s hard to mourn the loss of a relationship that never stood a chance to begin with. It cost me my best friend and two women I care about. You’re better than that, Emma, and doesn’t he deserve the best version of you? But more importantly, don’t you?”

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

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anyoneseenadam · 3 years

Text

Home: Chapter Seven

azriel x reader (acotar)

summary: (y/n) is a daughter of Persephone, still recovering from the trauma of her fall into Tartarus and doesn’t have time for a stupid, handsome, annoying, stunning, injured man. But now they’re stuck together in the middle of nowhere and there only chance of getting home is if she can heal him, and fast.

warnings: big spoilers for mark of Athena and house of Hades, also for the acotar series, eventual smut, blood, PTSD, graphic descriptions of violence, injuries and torture, enemies to lovers so az is a bit of a dick to start, swearing,

word count: 3.9k

a/n: I’m entirely writing this to distract myself from the real world but honesty I’m having a great time, I think there will be one more chapter after this one and maybe an epilogue but asides from that, also feel free to message or ask if you want to be tagged :)) anyway enjoy and pls comment and shiz :)

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Azriel had once joked that you were like an actual flower, needing water and sunlight to use your powers. At the time you had laughed but now as you stood in front of the mirror, wiping the tears from under your eyes, and preparing to walk into the world of all things dead, you understood. The dress you wore was one of the few fancy ones you reserved for the dinners you were often dragged to before your fall. It was lavender, with tulle cascading down your legs from the waist, paired with a tight corset top and tulle off-the-shoulder sleeves. As you sat with a ‘humph’ and started applying your makeup, your stepbrother walked in.

“Well you look cheery,” Nico said, sitting on your bed.

“I look like an evil power puff girl,”

“You look like you are a princess, which you are so my dad is going to be pleased.”

“I really don’t care what he thinks,” you snapped, and Nico help up his hands. He was wearing all black as usual, simple dress pants and a loose black shirt tucked in, his belt matched his rings, and his dark hair and even darker eye bags made him look every bit the Underworld prince. “Sorry, I’m not mad at you,” you said turning back around to carry on with your makeup.

“I know, it’s stressful for you,” he moved to sit next to you, resting his head on your shoulder and you applied eyeliner.

“I don’t wanna get sick again, I have things to do. Plus I’ve got to convince your dad to let me ask for this favour. I just feel like it’s all going to go to shit.”

“I get it, you’ll be fine though. Also I’m pretty sure your mum is going to do anything for you if it means you’ll speak to her again, so she’ll be on your side at least. That’s three vs one.” He nudged you as you put down the eyeliner.

“That’s true.” You bit the inside of your lip and Nico, sensing your worry, changed topic.

“Tell me about Azriel,” He said, and you caught his eye in the mirror.

“Huh?”

“Well I gotta make sure that when you become his problem it will be permanent, I don’t want you coming back,” he joked.

“Fuck you,” you laughed shoving his shoulder and he giggled, rolling onto his back.

“I don’t want to do thisssss,” Nico said in a sing-song voice lying flat on the floor.

“Me neither but I’m not going in alone bitch,” you laughed, starting to feel slightly better. It was moments like this that made you regret pushing your friends away, the thought of seeing them was always scary but when you were with your brother again you remembered why you loved them so much. You assessed your outfit in the mirror and sighed.

“What?” Nico asked, sitting back up.

“This would look really nice with a dark red lip,” you said, biting your lip.

“Do you have one?” he asked, and you nodded. He was quiet for a second before reaching out and ruffling through your makeup, finding your favourite red lipstick. “Do you wanna try?”

“Yeah, but if I cry it’ll mess up my eyeliner.” You said with a shaky laugh. He laughed quietly handing you the lipstick and you looked at him in the mirror, taking in a shuddering breath. You were stronger than this and you could handle it. You closed your eyes for a minute, counting your breaths, before opening the lipstick.

Once it was applied you lifted your chin, staring down the girl in the mirror. Nico grabbed your hand softly and you tore your eyes away, standing and pulling on your shoes.

“Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Azriel was in a shit mood. He was 90% sure that you had cast some sort of spell on him when he was with you, something that made him happy and relaxed, because now that you weren’t here he pretty much wanted to throttle everyone.

Amren had been helping him look for a way to get back to you. The first thing they had tried was winnowing, he pictured your face; your smile, the way your hands felt in his, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t reach you. So they had been scanning books since then, reading up on every theory and myth. Nesta had brought him to speak to Gwyn who had told him about the theory that there could be up to at least 20 other worlds. Amren had also made him talk through every detail about this world he could remember, writing diligent notes as Cassian gave him weird looks when he spoke about Bucky Barnes.

“He’s a character, it’s a simple concept.”

“Yeah but how do you get an emotional connection to a character?”

“Shut up both of you.”

The pain in his chest was only growing as well, and he came to the daunting realisation that if he failed this; if he couldn’t get back to you, or get you back to him, he would probably have to deal with it for the rest of his long, long life.

He felt bad for taking his frustrations out on his family who were just worried about him, but he had never felt this way before. All he could think of was the way your eyes cleared when the realisation dawned on you. The way you had gone from sobs to a different, all-consuming kind of pain, just for a second, your eyes clearing as you realised you might never see him again. He hated himself for not being strong enough to put up a fight, he knew he wasn’t a match for a god, but he should’ve tried, he was too shocked at the time, too heartbroken, but now he was terrified that you might think he gave up on you. He had to get back to you, he was afraid what you might do if you were alone again. If you were alone after having the bond dangled in front of you, only to have it ripped away moments later.

It was almost 3am and everyone else in the house had gone to bed, but Azriel didn’t sleep well normally, and he especially wouldn’t while he was apart from you. He looked up from his book when he heard someone clear their throat, his head whipped up an incredulous smile gracing his features when he saw you sitting there.

“Baby,” he started moving forward but you held your hand up, stopping him.

“Oh that’s just too sweet, you kids are giving me so much content,” you dabbed at your eyes, and Azriel frowned.

“(y/n)? what’s going on?”

“Oh I’m not (y/n) sweetie, but that’s just adorable. My name is Aphrodite, Goddess of love and beauty, I often appear as whoever you find most beautiful.” Azriel’s heart dropped, the brief happiness he felt seeing your face gone as the lady spoke.

“Aphrodite? Hermes mentioned you.” He said, tensing as he realised he was dealing with another god. “In fact he said it was your fault this all happened.”

“Oh Hermes, always blaming someone else. You should be thanking me.”

“And why would I do that.” Azriel knew the look on his face was deadly, but something about seeing a god cower under his gaze was feeding his ego.

“Haven’t you worked out why you can’t travel back to her.” She raised her eyebrows at him, her expressions may be on your face, but as he paid more attention she seemed like a completely different person. “I have the power to move through world’s, you do not. I just thought that poor, sweet girl had been through enough that she should get to meet her soulmate. I waited for you after your mission and then just made you forget and let the two of you fall in love naturally, I mean I get teary eyed thinking about it, you’re just too cute!”

Azriel’s shoulders relaxed slightly, “So why are you here? Are you going to bring her to me?”

“Hmm I could, but I’d get in so much trouble, plus she’s very smart and I want to see if her plan works. You people are so very entertaining.” Her face rippled for a second as she turned, and she briefly looked like Mor, then Elain, then back to you. “But you, poor boy,” He chose to ignore the condescending tone, “You were dealt a very bad hand love wise, so maybe if she doesn’t succeed I could pull a few strings, but I do have a holiday planned so it may be a few decades.”

Her laugh made him feel sick and he glared at her, “What did you say about her plan?”

“Oh yes! She’s going down to the underworld to try find a solution,” Aphrodite was moving around the room gracefully as Azriel sat back down, the weight of Aphrodite’s easy words hitting him. She picked up one of the books laying on the desk and made an unimpressed noise, throwing it back down carelessly.

“That’s where the dead go right?” he asked, silently praying he was wrong,

“Yup! Don’t worry though, her mother lives there too,” she said ‘mother’ with a slight snarl, but Azriel ignored her. “You know I get why she likes you, you’re very pretty aren’t you?” She walked over to him, swaying your hips and he had to remind himself it wasn’t you as she sat down in his lap, forcing his hands to stay clenched at his side. She ran your hand along his jaw, tilting her head with a smile as she stroked his face. Her thumb rested on his bottom lip as he glared at her with murderous rage, trying to reel it in as he remembered she was possibly the only one that could help him.

“Well I guess I better go,” She sighed dramatically then pressed a perfectly polished gold coin into his hand, “Flip this if you need me, emergencies and sex only.” She winked at him, before kissing his cheek and standing, waving seductively before vanishing. Azriel sat for a few minutes, reeling from the interaction he just had. Is this the world I’ve entered now? Gods who can do whatever they want? He wondered if that’s why you avoided talking about the Gods, if maybe growing up with this had made you bitter to them. He wanted to ask you and talk to you about it, or anything for that matter but instead he just pocketed the coin and stood, winnowing to his room, and collapsing on his bed.

“Sweetie, you look beautiful,” Your mother cried out as you and Nico arrived, you were leaning heavily on his arm, while surrounded by death, the coldness of a lifeless place seeped into your bones and weakened you, you had learnt as much the first time you visited. You gave your mother a tight-lipped smile and hugged her awkwardly.

“Oh I missed you so much dear,” she stroked your hair, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

“You could’ve visited.” It was hard to keep the bitterness out of your voice, after all you had gone through and she hadn’t visited once. A look of shock passed over her face but before she could reply Hades thundered in, his usual outfit, ‘the robes of death and despair’ as you fondly called them, were replaced by a dark suit, his hair slicked back from his face. He came to Persephone’s side and rested a hand around her waist pulling her in slightly, and despite yourself you felt a little jealous of their closeness as your mother looked up at him with doe eyes.

“Nico, my son, how are you?” Hades deep voice silenced the room, the very air seeming to stand still, and Nico flushed red as he was put on the spot. The four of you exchanged pleasantries as you made your way to the ridiculously long table, Hades sat at the head on one side, Persephone on the other, with Nico and you facing each other in the centre. The wood was dark, but the table was covered in all sorts of colourful food and you all helped yourselves while making small talk, only managing to hear your parents due to the eery silence of the room, dead guards not needing to make any noise.

After the first few courses and once you had consumed enough white wine to gain some courage you turned to face your mother.

“Mum, I think I need a favour if that’s okay?” you asked with great caution, extremely aware of the powerful forces surrounding you.

“Well that depends dear. What is it?”

“After the battle and the… fall, I never got my reward remember, I instead asked to be able to come get it when I needed it.”

“Yes of course, I thought that was very smart!” your mother spoke cheerfully but you could feel Hades’ gaze on your back, burning through your skin and bones to the very essence of your soul. “Let me guess, you need it now?”

“If that’s okay, some things have changed recently and I now know what I need,” you smiled at her, “I met a man, well actually he’s a faerie. Aphrodite wanted us to meet because we’re soulmates and after my fall she thought I deserved to see him, but since he’s from another world he had to go back, and we can’t be together.” You wiped away a few stray tears you forced out; this was your game. Your mother didn’t visit you often so she had never seen this side of you, the side that could manipulate even a god into giving you what you wanted. “So I thought, maybe for my reward I could become Fae and be permitted to live with Azriel in his world, and maybe come and visit my friends occasionally?”

“Oh that sounds lovely dear! That’s so alike me, I had to beg my mother and even then she didn’t let me stay here,” your mother rattled on and you smiled at her, but your shoulders were still tense as you knew you hadn’t won yet. You turned to where Hades sat, rubbing his temples.

“I get it. I do. But I really don’t think my brother would allow that, it’s too much.”

“Too much?” you asked, a bitter laugh escaping.

“I understand you went through a lot,”

“Do you?” you couldn’t stop the biting words, “Because the last I checked you both sat and did nothing while I was tortured down there. You could’ve done something, but you didn’t, you made a choice not to, and now I ask for ONE thing, and it’s too much?” Hades’ glare was murderous, but you weren’t going to back down.

“I mean if you really think about it, I’ll be out of your hair if you agree. One less demi-god always seems to be a win for you guys.” Nico said your name in warning, but you slowly stood. “I am not asking for much, I am asking to be allowed to live a life with the man I love and after all I have been through, fighting YOUR battles, I think it’s the least I deserve.”

You held Hades’ gaze for a few more seconds until he spoke. “Are you sure your not a child of Nyx?” he asked, and you grinned, cocking your head to the side.

“Why would that be?”

“You have a pure evil streak in you girl and uncharted power. You better learn to control it, before someone catches on.”

“We won’t have a problem I’m presuming?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said gruffly, going back to his meal and you relaxed, moving to hug your mother goodbye, whispering thanks to her, before linking arms with Nico and leaving.

The next day you awoke to a golden invitation to Olympus, and you smiled, soon. You’d be with him soon.

Olympus looked much nicer since Annabeth had gotten involved. You may have been biased but it seemed to hold a sense of home it never had before, the clinical cleanliness now feeling purer and more loving. The throne room however had remained much the same.

You stood alone in the middle surrounded by the arc of thrones, but you refused to take your eyes of Zeus. You had received a wink from Apollo and a smile from Aphrodite as you walked in but beside that it had been eye contact for at least five minutes. You knew better to speak before you were spoken to but the way they surrounded you and stared down on you was bringing up bad memories and you were really fighting a panic attack.

Seemingly sensing this Apollo cleared his throat, “Perhaps we should start father?” While you were grateful a part of you hated how well the flirtatious god knew you, he was the first to tend to your wounds when you first escaped, healing them enough so you wouldn’t die from blood loss but not enough for anyone to suggest he was picking favourites. His warm hands had provided a sense of comfort you thought you had lost entirely.

Zeus nodded slowly, a letter appearing in his hand, “So these are your terms? Transformation into high Fae, permission to live in a new world with visits back to this one twice a year?” you presumed Hades, or your mother had written the letter, neither of them present currently. You nodded clearly, not entirely trusting your voice.

“I guess it’s only fair, but a full transformation will hurt,”

“I’m sure I can take it.” you lifted your chin, holding your shaking hands tightly in an attempt to conceal them.

Zeus laughed, not taking his eyes of you, “I’m sure you can. Does anyone have any major oppositions?”

Aphrodite raised her hand, “I’d like to add that during her transformation, her womb changes shape so she may birth Illyrian children.” You shot her a grateful look, still not entirely sure why she was suddenly so invested in ensuring your happiness, but you wouldn’t complain.

Hera was the next to speak and you fought the urge to roll your eyes, “Why is she getting special treatment again? What did she do that was so different?”

“She was tortured for days!” Athena exclaimed,

“So?” Ares now.

“She was a child, it was brutal.” Apollo jumped to your aid and soon the chamber was filled with shouting voices as they argued over your fate.

“SILENCE.” Zeus quieted the room instantly and every eye turned to him, but he remained focused on you, “Well then? Answer the question girl, what makes you so special?”

You thought for a second before answering, “I don’t consider it special treatment. After the battles I’ve fought and the pain I’ve endured to help your causes, I’d consider it a form of retirement.” You kept Zeus’ gaze and let a streak of the evil Hades had warned you off show, smiling when his smug smile disappeared. He waved his hand, “Very well then, High Fae with altered womb and permission to live in their world and visit our occasionally, that is all?”

You nodded and he assessed you before holding out his hand, his gaze darkening. You furrowed your eyebrows as your limbs started to tingle before pain took over your entire body.

You had felt pain so many times before, pain that left more than just physical trauma, but this was different. You felt as if your blood had become fire and every bone was breaking as new ones reformed. You didn’t have any sense of time or place, all you could feel was pain. At one point you thought it was over only to open your eyes, feeling impossibly soft sheets beneath you, and see Apollo hovering over you, sweat dripping from his brow as he took some of the pain away, even for just a moment.

When you finally awoke you were on the ground. You stood up quickly, almost knocking yourself over as your movement were much faster than usual. You were outside a glowing city, it didn’t have skyscrapers like New York, but it was so comforting to look at you felt yourself being drawn in. As you crossed the border however, a beautiful man with dark hair appeared, his eyes narrowing.

“Who are you and why are you trying to get in here?” A shot of fear went through you as you felt his magic, it was thick in the air and powerful.

“I’m not going to hurt anyone, I’m just looking for someone,” you explained, swallowing down the lump in your throat. The handsome man’s gaze turned vacant before softening after a moment.

“I apologise, I’m Rhysand. Let me help you find whoever it is, what’s their name?”

“That’s okay, really. His name is Azriel, but I don’t think he’s expecting me.” Rhysand stopped, his head turning towards you, “what is it?” you asked.

“(y/n)?”

“How do you know my name?” you stepped back but he held out his hands,

“No, no I’m Az’s brother, let me take you to him.” he grabbed your arm softly and suddenly you were standing in a warm room facing Azriel. You felt tears fill your eyes as you stared at him, he uttered your name in question and you nodded running into his arms, completely engulfed by his scent, tears of joy running down your face when you suddenly realised something, pulling away.

“Did you say brother?” you turned to Rhysand, feeling all the plants in the air respond to your calls, when Azriel tugged you back to him.

“Not biological don’t worry.” He whispered and Rhysand laughed.

“I like her.”

“Hmm I was two seconds away from castrating you,” His eyes widened slightly and you laughed, turning back to Azriel as he looked over you.

“How- you, you’re Fae?” His eyes were filled with worry again, afraid he was being tricked.

“I never got my reward remember, I knew I would need it in the future,” you smiled at him as he cupped your face and leaned down to kiss you. You pulled apart, Azriel growling when you heard catcalls, turning, and seeing the room had practically filled. A shot of fear went through you as your eyes landed on another man who had red siphons, and Azriel followed your gaze, a hand stroking your face in reassurance.

“So this must be (y/n), welcome to our home, I’m Feyre,” A beautiful woman stepped forward and clasped your hand in hers, which you noted were stained from paint. Everyone else soon made introductions and they urged you to sit as you found out about this makeshift family Azriel was in.

“Oh! That’ll be Nyx, I’ll go,” Feyre said when a baby started crying in the distance,

“Wait what did she say the babies name was?” You asked, holding in a laugh.

“Nyx?” Rhys said,

“Oh, course, cool cool cool,”

“What?” Azriel asked, looking at you strangely.

“I’ve kind of met her,”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, she’s like the evilest deity there is, and she did not like me,” Rhysand stared at you with a look of shock on his face, but before anyone said anything else, Amren was laughing loudly.

“You must tell me all about these Gods girl.”

--------------------------------------------------

tags: @tastedlikedamnation

#acotar #acowar #acofs #acomaf #acofas #Azriel #azriel x reader #percyjackson #Heroes of Olympus

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alyss-spazz-penedo · 3 years

Text

So this is not actually the next part of the unedited v!Wind fic but I got the sweetest anon ask in my inbox and like, suddenly *m o t i v a t i o n,* y’know?

So have this sort-of one-shot, set in some nebulous hypothetical future of that fic. Idr if I’d brought up the possibility of Phantom traveling with the boys before (I really need to find time to reread what I’ve written), but this would be set after they'd been past that point for a while.

Nonny, I hope you enjoy <3 This one’s for you! (And the amazing @w1lmutt, of course.)

TW: cursing, bleeding and self-inflicted harm. Nothing graphic, I promise. (Also, the hero boys being stupid martyrs, but that’s practically par for the course.)

They manage to make it to camp before Phantom explodes.

"What the fuck, old man!" the boy snarls. He grabs Time by the collar and drags the taller man down to his level. Time lets him, which only serves to incite the boy further. "What the hell do you think I am? Some kind of charity case?" He spits.

Time says nothing. He doesn’t even have the decency to wince when Phantom jostles his broken arm.

"Look. At. Me!" the boy demands, punctuating each word with a small, ineffectual shake. "I am more than just another one of your failures! I make my own damn choices! I can deal with their consequences! You are not responsible for me, who the fuck do you think you are?"

Time shakes his head, still too calm to be doing their youngest’s temper any favors. He doesn’t look at Phantom like the boy’s a perfectly capable hero in his own right, and Phantom cannot stand that. "I understand that you-" the man begins.

Phantom decks him.

"That’s enough!" The others step in then, pulling them away from each other. Time, however, won’t stop looking at him like that.

Phantom rips himself away, snarling. He needs to get out of here.

He stalks off before he can do something really rash, like go for his sword.

~o0o~

"You here to lecture me?"

Phantom kicks his feet in the air from the branch he’s perched on, eerily reminiscent of the first time the heroes had met him. His eyes are dark.

"Not gonna lie, I was expecting the captain or the puppy," the boy drawls.

Four sighs. With a quick burst from his Roc’s cape, he climbs his way up to a branch nearby, settling so they’re vaguely facing each other. "You did go too far."

"Fuck off," Phantom growls, jabbing his blade at Four threateningly. “He was asking for it.”

Four eyes the blade, then its wielder. "You shouldn’t point that at someone you don’t intend to use it on. It’s a weapon, not a toy."

"If you think I’m merely playing around, then man have I got unpleasant news for you."

Four sighs. "I know being babied sucks, but watch what lines you cross," he tells the younger boy bluntly.

"Oh, shut up. What would you know?"

"Who do you think got the brunt of the group’s mother-cucco tendencies before you came along?" Four points out, dry. In the ensuing silence, he ticks off, "I'm the shortest of the lot, and sometimes that means they like to pretend I’m not mature enough to handle ‘adult things’," he makes air quotes with his fingers. "Meanwhile Hyrule regularly overextends himself, but he’s got one of the best senses of when to cut and run, so he’s better about tolerating the fretting and gets hurt less frequently than, say, the Champion. And Legend gets out of most of it by being an asshole." A pause. "Though even he has the good manners to thank someone who saved him, however roundabout the Vet might be about it."

The boy looks nearly contemplative, under the stubborn mulishness. Four lets the silence sit for a minute. Then, lightly, he tacks on, “Though if you’re trying to pull a Legend to get out of being fussed over, I should warn you: that ship has long sailed for you.”

Phantom stares at him with that fantastic pissy face he makes sometimes. “Was that a boat joke,” he deadpans. Four grins at him, quick and impish, and the boy rewards him with a groan. "The sailor puns are getting really old."

"You're not the one who gets to decide that," Four giggles. Then, "Feeling better? Ready to face the music?"

"Absolutely not." But the kid climbs out of the tree anyway, no threats or violence necessary. Four will count it as a win.

~o0o~

Back at camp, Phantom marches up to Time. With everyone else not-so-discretely looking on, he makes a show of leaving his sword out of easy reach and points at the ground.

“Sit,” he orders, as though the armored hero were a very large dog.

Time stares down at him. “If you mean to hit me again, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” he says wryly. Phantom scowls.

“Sit, you big lug. I know a spell for that arm of yours, and I’m not doing it with you standing over me. You’re too tall.”

Time lowers himself to the ground obligingly, even as he prods, “A spell, hmm? What exactly does it do?”

Phantom, somewhat alarmingly, snaps his fangs over his fingertips hard enough to draw blood. “It’s not quite a healing spell, but it’ll get rid of that shiner I gave you, and probably patch up your arm too. Gonna use your magic to do it, though.” He lifts bloody fingers to his own face, dabbing marks on his skin with a hesitance that speaks of relying on borrowed memories, before pausing. “Close your eyes, old man. I’m not teaching you this spell, you’re an idiot who’ll misuse it.”

“So pushy today.” Time closes his one eye, reluctant but confident that the others will stop the boy from attacking him if it comes down to it. “I don’t see what the problem is. It sounds useful; it’d be good to take some of the burden of healing off Hyrule.”

“You would think that,” the boy huffs, right before wet fingers brush at his cheek. Time twitches away with a faint grimace.

“Are you bleeding on me now,” he asks, plaintive. Phantom huffs.

“Don’t be a baby; it’ll flake right off. Quit moving.”

The man exhales slowly, obviously uncomfortable. But despite his suspicions and reservations, Time doesn’t move and he doesn’t ask. He merely lets the boy do as likes, lets him keep his secrets. This, Phantom knows, is Time’s own kind of apology.

He’s not above taking advantage of that.

The former villain dots a final smear under the hero’s eye, then immediately presses his wide sleeve over his work, obscuring the design from the curious eyes of their audience.

“I’m starting it now,” he warns.

Time feels a tug on his magic—much smaller than he was expecting. A song on his Ocarina might cost him the same amount. The pain in his eye and then his arm ebbs away, pulled somewhere by the spell, and the dampness on his face ashes off right off, as promised. Time raises a hand to scratch at the lingering itch even as he opens his eyes.

“I still don’t see why-” he begins. Stops.

Phantom turns away swiftly, but the boy is standing too close to hope to hide the bruising on his face. Bruising he did not have before.

Time seizes the boy by the arm before he can flee. He drops that arm just as quickly when Phantom yelps in pain, registering too late that it’s the same arm Time himself had just had broken—had just had healed.

“What have you done,” he hears himself ask, even though he already knows.

Phantom rocks back on his heels, trying for nonchalance and failing badly at it. “This isn’t something I plan to do often,” he huffs, refusing to look Time—or anyone—in the eye. Time clenches his jaw hard enough for his teeth to creak. “You can suffer from your own mistakes. But if you’re gonna take a blow meant for me, again-”

“This isn’t happening again,” Time cuts in, cold down to his bones. He needs to nip this in the bud, right now, or it'll only get worse as their battles grow harsher. “I forbid it.”

Phantom gets a mulish look on his face. Time feels his horror mount as the younger hero growls, “Just try and stop me.”

Time grabs the kid by the shoulder—the uninjured one this time. What does he need to do to make the boy see sense? “Do not use that spell again, Phantom.”

“Let go of me,” Phantom snarls, futilely trying to claw his way out of the older man’s grip. Unfortunately, Time doesn’t think he could make his own fingers loosen if he tried. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite. Don't pretend you wouldn't do the exact same thing if literally anyone got so much as a scratch on them."

"That's-" different, he almost says, but he recognizes that it would be exactly the wrong thing to say right now. He deflates ever so slightly, just enough for Phantom to rip himself free and start rubbing at his arm, shaking faintly. A distant part of himself remembers the boy's issues with touch guiltily. "What made you think that was remotely acceptable? Why do you even know a spell like that?" He demands, side-stepping the accusation with what little grace he can scrounge up in his rattled state.

In his own display of blatantly dodging around a topic, Phantom looks away and snaps, "Gee, I wonder why Ganondorf would possibly know a spell that let him pass off wounds to hapless victims. Such a mystery for the ages."

The silence is deafening. Too late, Phantom snaps his mouth shut, realizing he's said too much.

"Are you saying you used a fucking torture spell on yourself-" someone begins.

"Why in the world would you even-?"

"Are you actually out of your mind-!?"

"When I said 'thank him' this is not what I meant-!"

"We're not all this bad, are we? It's just the two of them?" Warriors groans loudly, looking pained. At his words, Twilight whips around just in time to catch sight of the terrifyingly thoughtful look on Wild's face.

"Cub, don't you even think about it-!"

"ENOUGH!"

The bellow comes from, surprisingly, Hyrule. The boy scowls at them all disapprovingly.

"Wild, dinner's burning," he starts, very evenly. The aforementioned hero takes the chance to duck his mentor's fretful clutches, scampering over to the fire.

"Phantom, congratulations, your arm's broken," the wandering hero continues, voice more than dry enough to make up for his homeland's lack of a Gerudo desert. "That means I'll be working on you instead of our leader. Do not-" he interrupts preemptively, jabbing a finger forward and speaking over the boy's attempts to protest. "Just. Don't. We're out of potions, and that means I look over everyone that gets hurt. I'd be looking at that arm if you'd gotten your injury naturally. I'd be looking over Time right now if you'd been a bit less hasty with your ritual. And I think we'd all prefer it if you didn't use that spell again, or teach anyone how to do it."

A glance around the clearing reveals a show of nods, no one disputing Hyrule's words.

Phantom tries to cross his arms before dropping them with a wince. "You can't actually stop me," he sulks at them all. The pout really brings out the bruising on his face.

"It would be hard to, yeah," Sky agrees, soothing. "But it should be fine if there's no need for you to use it, right? Because Time," he shoots a Look at their stoic leader, "isn't going to do something reckless like throw himself in front of a monster with no shield again, right?"

Time grimaces faintly. "I'll try," he promises, which—from the looks on his companions' faces—isn't nearly good enough. But they all recognize that it's entirely honest, and the best they're going to get out of him tonight.

So ends the incident; they let the matter lie there, awkward and ignorable, and move onward with their evening.

OMAKE:

Phantom corners Twilight during his watch shift.

"Tell me you have blackmail on that idiot," he hisses. His request comes out like an order.

There's no need for their youngest to clarify who he means. The rancher pats the kid on the head, just once, like he thinks Phantom's cute but also knows he bites. "I'm not giving you blackmail on Time," he replies cheerfully. The younger hero has far too much influence on the man already. "You'll use it for evil, which I'm afraid goes against my personal code of honor. So sorry."

Phantom narrows his eyes, letting the needling slide entirely. "So you do have dirt on him," he divines.

Twilight rolls his eyes. "Leave him alone, brat. Do we need to have this talk again? Quit tormenting him."

"I'm not. Blackmailing him into self-care will only be good for him, promise."

"You can't honestly think that'll work." A pause. "Or that we haven't tried it already. It doesn't work."

"Bet you I could do it." Phantom's eyes have that disturbingly obsessive gleam in them again. "Bet you I've thought of something you haven't."

"Uh huh. And what would that be."

"All have to do is threaten to snitch on him." The boy's grin widens mischievously. "To you."

"..."

"Come on, think of it," the sailor wheedles. "He hates you fusing over him. It's why you never give me those don't-touch-my-almost-dad talks while he's still in earshot, yeah?"

Twilight's face does a funny little twitch.

"I know it, you know it, and I'd bet good money the others know it too," Phantom presses on. "How much more self-preservation do you think we could squeeze out of him if we pretend that the alternative is me giving you more reasons to shoot him worried looks all day and do that hovering thing you like to do?"

The older hero appears to consider this seriously for a long, long moment. Phantom leans in, eyes wide and imploring.

"...Nope. Still not telling you anything." Twilight tries to keep his face stern, even as a traitorous twitch pulls at the corner of his mouth. "You're not going to trick free blackmail out of me that easily."

The boy deflates. "Screw you," he grumbles. "It would've worked. I know it would've worked."

Twilight ruffles the grumpy kid's hair. "It was a nice try," he offers, and accepts the kick to the knee he gets in return as his due.

(In his bedroll across the clearing, pretending to be asleep, Time feels something tight and anxious in his chest finally begin to relax. He's nearly giddy with the sheer relief of his epiphany.

That's how he'll keep Phantom from pulling stunts this stupid again. Tell Tetra.)

#Vinked Universe #my writing #linked universe #fanfic #Phantom: 'your opinion means nothing to me'#Phantom internally: shit he saw me fumble mid-battle what if he thinks I'm incompetent? damn it Link get it together #the unedited v!wind fic #anon

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its-not-a-phase-mom-i-d8-demons · 4 years

Text

The Undateables Reaction to MC having a Nightmare

Pairings: Diavolo x MC, Barbatos x MC, Simeon x MC

Warnings: FEM!READER!!!, swearing?, kissing, a miniscule mention of blood and zombies lol, luke being a sweetie pie (as per usual), just comfort in general bc i’m needy, mention of a panic attack, big daddy diavolo can fucking rail me ok?

A/N: people make fun of me for liking diavolo :(( so I had to get this out of my system

Diavolo

Confused

I mean, he’s had nightmares before of course, but he’s never seen a human have one

He didn’t even know humans had the capacity to dream until a few nights before

So when he wakes up to you writhing around in the silken sheets, crying and begging some unknown entity to “please stop” and “don’t hurt him” with tears soaking your face, he was stumped

You seemed distressed so he did the only thing he could think of; wake you up

Now, this baby

He didn’t know, ok?

When he grips you firmly by the shoulders and gives you a good shake he only succeeds in scaring you a lot more

Your hand shoots up and you drag your nails across his pretty face in blind defense and wake up, tangled in mounds of silk, with a hulking figure hunched over next to you

Falling off the bed, you scramble as far as you can away from the monster and into a corner of the room

Barbatos, after hearing all the commotion, enters the room at that moment, allowing light from the hallway to flood the dark bedroom

“My lord, MC, what on earth is going on?!” He asks, noticing you crouching in the corner and he goes to you and rests a gentle hand on your shoulder, “My lady, are you alright? What did the young lord do to you?”

“Barbatos?” You whimper, tentatively peeking up from your hands.

“You can tell me, I’ll deal with him myself.”

“MC? Where’d you go, dove?” Came Diavolo’s disoriented voice from the bed, “Why’d you scratch me?”

A second later Barbatos was on his feet in a somewhat defensive stance, protecting you from any advance the demon lord could make.

You were still behind him crying less stormily, but crying nonetheless. Noticing how the butler was posed, you only started crying harder.

“Barbatos, please, i-it wasn’t him! It was me!” You said, emotion choking your sweet voice, “I h-had a bad dream and when I woke up, I hurt him!”

Cocking a brow, the butler strode toward the light switch (i think they have electricity??) and upon flicking it on, understood what had happened.

The demon lord was still slightly hunched over on the mattress, nursing a scratched, bloody cheek, you were crouched against the far wall, sniffling and crying out of fear, the bed was a mess…

“Correct me if I’m wrong MC, did you have a nightmare?” He asked gently, “Can you move?”

“M-hm.” You nodded shakily, tears stil streaming down your flushed cheeks.

“Let me help you stand… there. Lord Diavolo, humans are fragile creatures, especially after such an ordeal. I trust you can calm her down?”

“Of course! Ah, Barbatos, would you mind getting some tea and possibly a bandage or two?”

“My thoughts exactly. I will be back promptly.”

Then the butler left the room.

Diavolo dabbed at his face with the shirt he’d discarded before getting into bed and turned to you. “MC, love, what happened?”

With a sob, you threw yourself into his arms, buried your face in his chest, and began to cry again. It was a terrible dream, all seven brothers and the rest of the devildom, including Barbatos had turned into zombies. After running and fighting for most of the dream, you and the Demon King had finally been cornered by an endless horde of zombies and slowly you realized there was no hope. Just as the brothers were about to pounce on your royal boyfriend, he’d looked behind him and said, “I’ll always love you my darling MC-” and that’s when a zombie grabbed you and started shaking you violently, effectively and abruptly rousing you and causing a minor panic attack.

Diavolo stroked your hair oh so gently until Barbatos returned with the tea and handed you a cup of the steaming, sweet-smelling liquid to calm your nerves. After taking a few teary sips, the warmth spread down to your toes almost immediately and you were able to stop crying.

“Talk to me,” He murmured, tilting his face to Barbatos while he cleaned and wrapped his wound, his amber eyes on you all the while, “What happened?”

“Bad d-dream,” You stuttered, clutching the delicate teacup with white knuckles, “The brothers got hurt, t-turned into zombies to be specific a-and it was just us but then they got you and Mammon started screaming a-and shaking me-”

“That was me, dove. I sincerely apologize, I didn’t know what was wrong, nor a way to properly handle it.” Diavolo brushed stray tears from your flushed cheeks and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, “Forgive me?”

You nodded, sighing with a body-wracking shudder and settled back into your boyfriend’s muscled arms.

“My Lord, in case this happens a second time, why don’t you ask MC how she would prefer to be roused from such a dream. These things can be traumatic for their minds, it’s best to put her at ease.”

“Indeed.” The tanned redhead nodded, holding out your empty teacup for the butler to refill, “Dearest, how can I help?”

Barbatos

Knows this happens to humans and wasn’t surprised when you had one only a few weeks into staying at the palace

Prolly read a book or seven to learn this human bs

You claimed it was only from your new surroundings at the breakfast table, as to but the Lord and his butler at ease, but Barbatos is very intuitive

In fact, he’d seen you walk from your bedroom to the bathroom, hugging a blanket around yourself and sniffling, looking very frightened for a reason he didn’t know

Now he did

Hmm

The next evening, around two in the morning, you come running out of your room crying, hoping to find someone, and eventually, you did

Thinking it was one of the brothers, you crashed into them, wrapping your arms around their waist and burying your face in their chest, crying stormily until you felt the demon awkwardly pat your head with a gloved hand

…

Lucifer didn’t wear his gloves to bed… did he?

Did he even go to bed in the first place?

Probably not

Since when did Mammon wear a tailored waistcoat to bed?

Levi smelled different too, more like tea leaves, dishsoap, and ink than the salty ocean and fabric softener you were used to

Satans forearms were thicker than these as well; hours of holding books to his face gave him a little muscle

Where was the gentle coo and giggle you always got when you snuggled with Asmo?

Where the pecs your head usually rested on when Beel gave you one of his otherworldly hugs?

Why wasn’t Belphie’s shaggy hair tickling your face?

Wait

You look up and to your horror and embarrassment, it’s Barbatos. Not Beel, or Mammon, or Asmo (who you had been hoping to see) instead, it’s an extremely handsome butler with a very concerned look on his face

“MC? What happened?”

“B-Barbatos! I-I I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” You begin to back away, stuttering and tripping over your words while tears continue to soak the collar of your nightshirt, but before you can escape, gentle hands stop you.

One slender, gloved hand cups your cheek, brushing away tears, and another gently holds the small of your back.

“It’s alright, no need to apologize,” He spoke softly as not to scare you any further, “Come with me, I’ll make us some tea.”

The butler wraps you in a blanket and makes you comfy on the couch in the sitting area before starting the hot water and returning to the room.

He stood in the doorway awkwardly until you asked in a tiny voice, “Would you… would you mind s-sitting with me?”

“Of course.”

Not too close at first, but eventually after you cuddle up to his side, Barbatos settles an arm around your shoulders and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“What happened?”

“Um…” You kept your eyes downcast, knowing you’d told him your dreams weren’t a big deal, but he knew.

“Dreams again?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Tell me about this one.”

“You g-got crushed by a m-massive stack of papers a-and Lord Diavolo was just laughing. I couldn’t move, I-I wanted to help, I just-” You sighed, “Th-Then a big stack of paperwork started falling toward me too a-and I woke up before I got squished. I know it’s silly and ch-childish but it was terrifying. I hope I didn’t mess up your schedule.”

“That would be rather upsetting, I’m sorry MC,” He murmured, getting up for the whistling kettle, “But don’t think like that, it’s normal. One moment please.”

You nod and sink deeper into the luxurious warm cocoon the butler had made for you. He hands you a teacup and settles down next to you once again.

“Is there anything I can do to make these dreams stop?” He asks softly, dabbing your face with a handkerchief, “The Demon Lord requested for your utmost contentment during your stay, so-”

“C-Can I stay with you?” You blurted out, quickly taking a gulp of hot tea and instantly regretting it.

Even in the dim light, your convulsing form noticed a light pink tint on his cheeks as he rushed to get you water.

Simeon

He’d only ever known Luke to have nightmares (since he is baby) so you can imagine…

Deadass, when he wakes up to you writhing around and screaming at two in the morning, he almost called an exorcist

…

In the devildom

Does anyone else see the irony-

Nevermind

“LUKE, SOLOMON! WHAT’S WRONG WITH MC??? SHE’S CRYING AND SCREAMING ALL OF A SUDDEN, I THINK A DEAMON GOT HER-” *heavy scared boyfriend breathing*

Solomon was kicking Luke’s ass at Uno (yes, at two in the morning) so both of them follow the distressed angel back to his room

You’re awake, curled up in a little ball against the headboard, rocking back and forth and crying into Simeon’s pillow

“MC?” Luke asks, a little scared as he approaches the bed.

You lift your head just enough to see his pretty baby face and then reach for him, caressing his cheek to make sure the tiny angel was really there

“You ok?” He murmurs, resting one of his smaller hand on your own, “Bad dream I’m guessing?”

You nod, lip trembling with emotion and residual fear, “Don’t go-” You begged, “I don’t know where Simeon went…”

“I’m here love, right here.” The taller angel now knelt down next to where Luke was standing, took your other trembling hand, and pressed comforting kisses to your knuckles.

You whisper a soft ‘thank you’ to Luke and Solomon as they take their leave. As soon as the door shut behind them, Simeon slid under the blankets next to you and let you attach yourself to him like a koala while his pretty nose fell into your messy locks.

Gradually, your breathing went back to its normal, comforting tempo and you began to melt into his embrace. He seemed to radiate warmth to the very marrow of your bones and soon, everything was ok again.

“What’s troubling you so, love? What caused this?” He asks, running slender fingers through your tousled locks.

“I don’t know,” You sigh, breathing in his heavenly musk, “I guess I’ve been a lot more stressed than usual. Exams are coming up and it’s hard to study when I’m at the brother’s beck and call since they can’t get along for more than 3 seconds. Plus, these classes are a lot more difficult than the ones we have in the human world.”

The angel nods, giving you a squeeze and a reassuring kiss to the crown of your head, “I can see why. Unlike you, most humans are very simple minded and plain dumb. I’ve already learned this material because of my ranking as an angel, so if you need a tutor, I’m here to help, sweetheart.”

“I’d like that.” You smile, tender aquamarine orbs meeting your own before closing and lips meeting for a slow, sensual dance of your unbounded love for eachother. Your interlocked fingers gave a squeeze before he released you, panting.

“Anything for my seraph.”

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shoutaaizawas · 4 years

Note

For the au prompt event can I requst a fantasy!au Shinsou with the prompt "Is there a reason you're blushing like that?" please!

thank you for the request!! 💖

↳ shinsou hitoshi x reader → remember

event: au prompt event summary: shinsou hitoshi was an assassin sent to kill you but he didn’t and your trying to figure out why. word count: 2,479 tags/warnings: fantasy!au, light angst, happy ending a/n: this was a fun idea and it was kind of hard to fit it in to a one-shot

Was Shinsou an assassin sent to kill you? Yes. Were you sort of friends at the moment? Maybe. Friends was probably too strong of word to use for him but he wasn’t trying to kill you at the moment so that was good.

You were a princess, next in line to rule. You had been traveling to another kingdom to meet your betrothed when you were attacked. It had happened so quickly. The strange purple-haired man had a blade to your neck but he hesitated. You weren’t quite sure why he stopped but you weren’t complaining.

Somehow this all lead to you traveling home with this assassin. With his change of heart, he decided to escort you back to your kingdom. Unfortunately, you were a very long way from home so this would be a long journey.

Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. You weren’t looking forward to seeing your home. The pressures of being royalty were simply not for you. You would prefer to live a peaceful and simple life. But you were stuck in a world where you would be a leader and not only that but you’d be wed to a man you didn’t even know. All of it was terrible.

At first, your travels were stale with this assassin. He barely talked to you and would hardly look at you. This left you with the sound of your footsteps and whatever sounds the forest made.

Sometimes you would take in his features, his pale skin and the scars that marred it.

“So, been an assassin for a long time?” You asked trying to break the silence. You were tired of being stuck in your thoughts of what awaited you at home.

“None of your business.” He said simply.

“Just trying to make small talk.” You huffed.

“I don’t do small talk.” He replied.

“No small talk, just murder.” You retorted.

“I didn’t murder you.” He said shooting you a glare.

Okay, so small talk wasn’t going to work. You ended up counting the trees to keep yourself busy but there were too many trees so you gave up on that.

“I spy, something green.” You said after another hour of silence.

“I’m not playing a child’s game.” He said.

“Oh come on all this walking is so boring.” You said.

“I’m sorry that I don’t have a pretty carriage for you or a white pony, princess.” He said.

“It’s not the walking it’s just the silence.” You said. "I used to have a white pony, her name was Snowflake. She was such a good girl." You reminisced about your childhood horse.

Shinsou just looked at you with an odd stare.

“It was that tree, by the way.” You said answering the game you had tried to start earlier.

There was a lot of walking through forests, it all started to blend in together. Some days you sang until he told you to shut up. Others you attempted asking him questions to be shot down. Sometimes you would just start telling a story since that required no response. He would eventually get annoyed with that.

One night you sat around the campfire he created, keeping yourself warm in the harsh cold. Watching the flames dance you imagined a life where you could live in a small cabin far from others, tend to your own crops and animals, and simply enjoy life. Maybe even share it with someone else.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” You asked breaking the silence.

“It’s none of your business.” He replied not sparing a glance.

“It feels like it’s a little bit of my business. You know if you hadn’t spared me I’d be a dead body floating down a river right now.” You said.

“That’s not how you dispose of a body.” He scoffed.

“I’m not sure that’s what I wanted to hear but I’ll take it since it’s the first thing you’ve said that’s not ‘it’s none of your business’ or ‘shut up’.” You said.

Slowly but surely he slowly opened up. Maybe opening up wasn't the most accurate phrase for it but he would let you sing a song as you walked. Sometimes he would answer one of your dumb questions.

One day you were walking along the dirt path leading you to the next town when you started talking about your kingdom. You hadn’t been thinking much about what you were saying but you got on the topic of your role as princess.

“You know, I don’t even want to be queen.” You rambled on. “I don’t want to marry some random guy I’ve never met, I don’t want the responsibility of leading people. Sometimes I just want to run off and never look back.” You sighed.

“What?” You were shocked at the sudden interest that Shinsou showed.

“Hmm?” You hadn’t expected that he was listening. “I was just saying I don’t want to be queen.”

“But you have to.” He said seriously. You hadn’t expected that either.

“I mean who’s gonna stop me if I don’t go back?” You shrugged. “What’s the difference between that and me being dead?”

Shinsou was silent but despite the fact, he was hard to read, you could tell he was deep in thought.

It was yet another day traveling home, you were close maybe a few days out now. You felt nauseous. You didn’t want to go home to a life you hated. You wanted choices, you wanted freedom.

You weren’t expecting the sudden attack. You were tackled to the ground and fear seized you as you looked at your attacker. He wasn’t on you for long, Shinsou ripping him off you. You watched helplessly as he fought off the attacker along with three others that had been apart of the group.

You hated that you couldn’t help, you hated being so helpless. You let out a gasp of horror as a blade sliced against Shinsou’s side. Even with the wound, he fought them off with a lot less trouble than you expected someone to fight four people by themself.

“You’re hurt.” You said going to his side.

“I’m fine, let’s get out of here.” He said, waving away your concern before grabbing you by the shoulder as he gripped at his side.

After insisting he finally gave in and stopped at a local tavern that doubled as an inn. You wanted to help bandage him up and let him get rest. Once you were in the room you sat him down, you reached for the pack you had with first aid. Worry filled you at the sight of the blood that had soaked through his clothes.

“You don’t have to, I can do it myself.” He said.

“You got hurt defending me, I’m not going to sit here.” You huffed. “I already didn’t help in the first place.”

The last thing you were expecting was for him you grab your chin tilting your gaze from his wound to his eyes.

“I’ll always protect you.” He said in a soft tone that had your heart skipping a beat.

Not a moment after Shinsou’s eyes fluttered shut and he fell back onto the bed unconscious. Okay, maybe that was the last thing you expected in retrospect.

You panicked for a moment before you reached for his side pulling aside cloth to look at his wound. It didn’t look right, it was foaming. It hit you, you had read it in a book once, the blade had poison on it.

You recalled a night a few weeks ago where you had been poking through his bag, he had vials of poison himself as well as antidotes. Thanking yourself for your curiosity you dug into his bag looking for the vile.

Shinsou was now shaking and convulsing on the bed and fear gripped you even stronger now. You couldn't lose him.

Pressing it to his lips you tilted his head so he could drink the antidote. Once it was all gone you pulled him onto the bed fully before starting to tend to his wound.

The antidote was working, his body stilled and his breathing evened out. His body was burning up but you assumed that that was part of the poison leaving his body. You hoped that you had done everything right.

After you cleaned and dressed the wound you pulled off the outer layers of his clothing so he would be more comfortable. He was sweating, touching his forehead you could feel he had a fever. You went down to the tavern to retrieve water.

You sat at his bedside, dabbing his forehead with water and doing whatever you could to help him be more comfortable. Watching his unconscious form you appreciated how handsome he was even looking sickly as he did right now. You had stared at him before but he would usually catch you and it almost felt like he didn’t sleep considering you only ever saw him awake and on guard when you set up camp. But now you could take in his peaceful features.

His long purple hair that rested against his shoulders, his sharp cheekbones, and the darkness under his eyes that was oddly attractive.

It was a hard thing to admit to yourself but you had slowly grown close to this man along your travels. It may have taken a while to get him to talk but once you did you weren’t expecting his dry sense of humor or the soft tone he took with you when you did something that could get you hurt.

Shinsou stirred in his sleep, tossing and turning. You cleaned the cloth off in the cool water and dabbed it on his forehead.

“Princess.” He mumbled out and you quirked an eyebrow.

“Shinsou, how are you feeling?” You asked leaning foreword to hear his quiet words.

“Princess, I can’t go I have to clean out the stables.” He said. Your eyebrows furrowed. What was he talking about?

“What are you talking about?” You questioned.

“I’m sorry princess, next time.” He said softly.

Suddenly you were pulled into a memory. You were young, maybe around ten years old. The boy in the stables with the purple hair and the soft eyes that matched. Oh, how you loved how gentle he was with horses, how he talked to you in that soft voice of his. He was so kind-hearted.

You spent so much time with him, talking to him, telling him stories, singing. You always wanted him to go with you to the forest and explore and run around. But he always had to work, even when you asked your father to let him have the day he refused and said you shouldn’t be hanging out with such a lowly servant. It didn’t stop you, you spent every day there with him for years.

Oh, how you fell in love with the sweet boy, Hitoshi. As you got older you both planned to run away far away from it all and get married. You could live a life free from your family and the things that kept you apart.

But one day he was gone, you went to your father only to find out that he had him sent away. You cried and cried for weeks, heartbroken at the loss. You looked for him but there was no trace of him anywhere. You missed him so dearly.

How had you not realized sooner? How did it take this to make you realize your lost love was in front of your eyes the whole time.

“Hitoshi?” You said, tears welling in your eyes.

This pulled him from his feverish dream. His eyes snapped opened and focused on you.

“You remember?” He asked cautiously.

“I don’t know how I could forget you, ‘Toshi.” Your tears broke and rolled down your cheeks. You moved forward, perching on the side of the bed so you could pull him into your arms as carefully as possible.

You tucked your face into his shoulder and his arms pulled you in.

“It’s okay princess, I’m here now.” He said, stroking your back.

After a few moments of resting in his arms, you pulled back looking into his purple gaze.

“Let’s run away together, I don’t want to return. Let’s run away from it all like we talked about when we were kids.” You said.

“We’re not kids anymore, we’re adults and we have responsibilities now.” He replied in a stern tone.

“Oh yeah, like murdering people?” You bit back, pulling away from him.

How could he say that after finding each other after all this time? You could finally be together.

“You don’t know what I’ve been through!”

“How am I supposed to know you just disappeared!” You shouted back. “You were gone and I was so alone, I couldn’t find you no matter where I looked!”

“Your father sent me away, he sent me to an assassin’s guild. They trained me to be some kind of monster. I realized what real life was like, not like the little fantasies we dreamed of. How am I supposed to be worthy of someone like you with all the blood on my hands? How could you ever love me?”

You stared at him in disbelief. How could he think that?

“You’ll always be that boy in the stables that I loved nothing could change that.” You said softly. It didn’t matter what he had done you could work past it. “You don’t have to kill people anymore, we can both leave our lives behind and start fresh.”

Shinsou started deep into your eyes, his own eyes filling up with tears.

“That sounds nice.” He said.

Shinsou leaned up, minding his wounds, pulling you in before pressing a kiss against your lips. You were shocked for a moment before melting into it and wrapping your arms around him.

"Is there a reason you're blushing like that?" He said as he pulled back taking in your red cheeks.

“No, no reason at all.” You teased. He gave you that smirk that you loved so much and it was easy to imagine the boy you fell in love with even with the scars he had now.

“Let’s get some rest.” He said pulling you down to the bed with him, holding you firmly in your arms.

“Tomorrow is the start of the rest of our lives.” You whispered into his ear unable to hold back the smile on your face.

As you laid there wrapped up in his arms listening to the soft music that drifted from the tavern below it was easy to imagine the rest of your life with Hitoshi.

A small house secluded away from the harsh realities of your past. A warm fireplace to sit next to in his arms with a warm drink. A life free from what you were both born into. A life made on your own terms.

#shinsou hitoshi #shinsou x reader #hitoshi x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #bnha x reader #bnha #mha #mha x reader #my writing #au prompt event #starri-night

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gumnut-logic · 4 years

Photo

“Hold still.”

“’irg’l, ‘m fine!”

“You’re not fine! Hold still!”

“’S only a bl’d nose.”

“I need to check it anyway. I hit you hard.”

“Lucky sh’t.”

“Hold still!”

Gordon let his shoulders drop and held still. Virgil was beside himself over this. It was obvious. It was only a blood nose, for crying out loud. It wasn’t like it was his first.

The scanner’s yellow light flickered over him and Gordon flinched. So damned bright.

Of course, this just set off Virgil even more. “We’re going to the infirmary.”

“’irg-“

“Now.”

Okay, that was an elder brother command. Gordon wasn’t stupid enough to disobey that. His shoulders dropped just that bit lower and Virgil’s gentle hand wrapped around his arm and led him from the gym.

“I’m sorry, Gords.” It was said with so much guilt, Gordon rolled his eyes.

Ow.

The hand on his arm tightened.

It was a lucky shot. There was no way in hell Virgil could best him in hand to hand. If Virgil pinned him, maybe. He had the mass and the strength. But Gordon was fast and his smaller stature a major advantage. His big brother couldn’t catch him on the best of days.

Except for today, apparently.

The infirmary loomed as they exited the elevator. It did that. Gordon hated any medical setting…for good reason…and the infirmary on the Island was no exception.

He was deposited on the bed with a firm but gentle nudge, told to sit upright and to tip his head forward.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, he knew the treatment for a nosebleed.

Blood tasted awful.

He closed his eyes a moment.

A soft touch to his face and blood was dabbed off his skin. A quiet rumble of query.

It repeated and a frown formed in the air.

A hand on his shoulder. “Gords?”

“Hmm?”

Ow. Virgil’s fist had definitely left a mark on his sinuses.

“You with me, Gordon?”

“Mmmmhmm.”

A rustle of instruments and a finger peeled back his right eyelid. A sharp flicker of light hit his retina and he flinched away. “’irg!”

“Hold still.” Strong hands made him do exactly that.

His reward was another finger peeling back his other eyelid and that retina being equally assaulted.

“’irg!” He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned as that caused his whole face to echo the pain in his nose.

Virgil didn’t answer, but he didn’t let go of the now firm grip he had on Gordon’s shoulder. A hum started up and Gordon let a breath out as the scanner flickered over him again. “’irg’l, ‘m fine!”

His brother still didn’t answer, but the bed under him shifted, its head rising under his right hand.

“Lie down.”

“’irg-“

“Lie down.” Okay, there was something in his brother’s voice that bore no argument. Gordon opened his eyes and found worry in his brother’s.

Those brown eyes blurred a little.

What?

He dragged his feet up onto the bed, his exercise sweat pants riding up above his bare feet. A shuffle and he had to admit it was a relief to have the back support, top half of the bed up as far as it would go. His head was throbbing. He must remember not to try and stop Virgil’s fist with his face ever again.

As to why his brother had managed to even touch him was a worry in itself. Virgil was good, but he wasn’t that good. Gordon had been dancing around him for years. As his co-pilot, Gordon saw it as part of his duties to help his brother with his hand-to-hand. Of course, between himself and Kayo, they helped all the brothers, even Scott who had his fair share of training in the Air Force. But Gordon had always had a special thought for Virgil. His brother was a wall of muscle, ‘built like a brick shithouse’ was the popular phrase. But muscle didn’t necessarily equate to good self-defence and Virgil was a softy from way back. There had been incidents with the occasional over zealous fan, but also one of Gordon’s nightmares was what would happen if someone with less kind intentions got a hold of any of his brothers.

Virgil was too damned nice for his own good.

So, Gordon took it on to look after him.

But today…why had he let Virgil hit him?

“What happened?” The deep voice of his eldest brother and Gordon realised his eyes had slipped closed again. Opening them was a mistake. The lighting in the room had apparently taken on nuclear fusion in an attempt to compete with the sun.

He groaned and shoved his eyes closed again.

“Gordon?” Virgil’s hand landed on his arm.

“You suck.”

“And you’ve got a concussion. I’m sorry, Gordon.”

What?

“Report, Virgil.” Great, the Commander was out which meant Scott was upset. It was only a bloody nose, for goodness sake.

Virgil’s sigh was a mix of worry and regret. “My fault. I hit him.”

There was silence for a moment. All Gordon could hear was his heartbeat in his sinuses.

“You hit Gordon?” Gordon should be proud at the amount of disbelief in his eldest brother’s voice. Or worried at his lack of confidence in Virgil’s skill.

One or the other.

Maybe both.

God, his head hurt.

“I shouldn’t have let him spar. But he was upset after today and I wanted to help.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because I wasn’t much better, Scott!”

Oh, shit, Virgil. “’S not your fault.”

There was a lack of an answer and that worried Gordon more than anything Virgil could have said to him. He threw out a hand and scratched at a shirt. Fingers caught his, but they weren’t Virgil’s. “Sco’, ‘s not his fault!”

“Gordon, rest you have a stage two concussion. You know that is something you don’t mess with.”

Yeah, well, Virgil has a lot of muscle behind his fist.

Gordon let a breath out between his teeth and relaxed into the bed. Virgil was obviously pissed at himself and he would have to talk him around at some point.

Gentle fingers touched his face again. Soft cloth wiped a cool liquid across his skin.

“The bleeding has stopped.” Virgil’s baritone was quiet and worried. “However, there is some swelling….and there will likely be bruising.”

Swelling? Bruis-….aww, hell, he was supposed to be going out with Penny tomorrow night. A charity gala, it was important to her.

Hell.

“I’m so sorry, Gordon.” Little more than breath.

This just sucked.

He knew the results of an impact to that part of a face. He’d had to do it enough himself.

Then something else occurred to him.

“Did you break m’ noze?”

Silence.

“’irg?”

“Not broken. Hairline crack.”

“’uck!”

“I’m sorry, Gordon.”

He flung out a hand again and this time managed a handful of cotton t-shirt. He dragged it closer. “’Snot your fault!”

Virgil didn’t answer, but his fingers were pried from that t-shirt and held for just a moment, only to be let go as Virgil moved away suddenly.

Gordon flailed, reaching. A footstep and those hands returned with something cold. Towelling, cold as ice.

Gentle hands gathered his and moved to his face. The cold pack melted into his skin and gave him some blessed relief.

“Hold that there.”

“’Snot your fault.”

Again, there was no answer.

A finger brushed hair from his forehead.

God, Virg.

“Rest, Gordon.”

He wanted to yell at his brother. It was a lucky shot after a sucky day. It wasn’t anybody’s fault.

“Rest.”

A blanket was draped over him and its warmth became something he hadn’t realised he needed.

“Grandma’s on her way back from Auckland.” Scott said it to the room at large.

Oh crap.

“Good.”

Gordon mentally went through what he had in his own fridge in his rooms and came up with very little. Maybe he could coerce Virg to grab him something otherwise he might expire from his grandmother’s ‘curative’ efforts.

“Don’t worry, Gordon. I have a stash. You’re covered.”

Actually, come to think of it, Virgil would probably go out of his way to do anything and everything for him over the next few days.

There was both glee and worry attached to that thought.

“Rest.” A hand returned to his forehead and stroked away what was likely a phantom hair. Virgil always had the urge to touch.

To heal.

Too good for his own good.

Those fingers slipped away again.

Gordon let himself sink a few more millimetres into the mattress.

Scott was still in the room. He could hear his breathing. Virgil was beside his bed.

He was safe.

His head hurt.

It had been an ass of a day.

Too tired to get out of the way of his brother’s fist.

Stupid move.

Stupid.

Virgil murmured something.

Scott whispered in return.

Gordon let himself drift.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Gordon Tracy #Virgil Tracy #FishTank #nuttyfic reblog

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nicb0723 · 4 years

Text

Find Your Worth

John Wick x Reader

Summary: You meet John in an unconventional way.

Word Count: 7,252 Total word count: 58,284

Read Chapter 1

Read Chapter 2

Read Chapter 3

Read Chapter 4

Read Chapter 5

Chapter 6

The next morning John insists on taking you back to your apartment to get some more things and to make sure no traces of Max were around.

Going back to your apartment makes you feel uneasy, but you know if more time passes it’ll just make it harder.

Francis stops to talk to John and they flip back and forth between Russian and English, and it makes your heart skip a beat hearing John fluent and speaking effortlessly to try and figure out your door situation.

“He said someone will be here on Monday.” John tells you in the elevator. “He couldn’t find anyone to fix it over the weekend.”

“I have to stay with you the whole weekend?” It doesn’t come out like you meant it to, you just don’t want to impose, but John crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head, waiting for you to explain. “I mean… I get to stay with you the whole weekend?”

There’s caution tape hanging over your door and John takes it down so you can go inside. “Let me guess, you feel like you’re being a burden, don’t you?”

“Yes.” You admit softly. “This is so hard.”

John takes your hand and goes to sit on the bed while you stand between his legs. He looks up until you meet his eyes. “You do realize that I like helping you. And that I like having you at my place. That you could move in with me right now and I’d be the happiest I’ve been in a long time. You staying with me is not a burden. You are not a burden. Do you understand?”

You take a deep breath and squeeze his hand. “Okay.”

“Okay? Or yes, you understand?”

“John, I’m trying.” You pull away and rub at your temples, that familiar pain of a headache starting to pulse. You can see an image of Max at your kitchen table and it gives you the creeps. John’s suit jacket is still on the floor so you pick up, shaking it out. You don’t give it back though and instead, drape it over the chair. The least you can do is have it dry cleaned later, but John doesn’t need to know that.

He watches as you gather some more clothes, pajamas and your makeup and hair dryer from the bathroom. You start to grab the shampoo and soap, but remember that John already has that for you. God, could he be any sweeter? Everything is tossed on the bed and you go back to him, leaning down for a hug. “If I was a burden, would you tell me? I feel like you wouldn’t tell me.”

He hugs you back hard and moves so you can sit besides him. “Do you think I’d be here right now if I felt that way? We’re best friends, remember?”

You give him a doubtful look and a shrug. “I don’t know, you’re a nice guy. Nice guys do nice things.”

“Trust me, I’m not that nice.”

With the way he’s looking at you right now, his gaze hard and his jaw clenched, you don’t dare question him. Your eyes fall to his lips and they look so soft compared to his sharp features. The need to taste him is suddenly overwhelming. Both of you are starting to lean in when his phone rings from his pocket. You get up quickly to get a bag for all of your things, pretending to be busy while he takes the call.

That didn’t just happen, so just forget about it. You seriously need to get it together and not kiss a guy only two days after being tossed around like a ragdoll. There’s something just not right about it and you don’t want John to fill a void that you need to heal yourself.

Is he speaking Italian now? God.

You dab some concealer under your eye as you wait and since you have time, put on some mascara and lip gloss. You’re able to toss your hair and it’s a relief that your head finally feels better. You strip off the work polo you had to wear this morning and walk back into your bedroom to find something else. John’s seen you practically naked so you don’t think much of it, but when you turn around after pulling on a thin sweater over a tank top, he’s staring at you.

“What?”

He puts his phone back in his pocket and leans against the wall, still looking at you but not saying anything.

“What?” You ask again. “You walk around in your boxers all the time, what’s the difference?”

“A bra and boxers are very different.”

You smirk. “Are you complaining?”

“No.”

That’s what you thought. “Can we go? I have to get my car from your place and get to the city before lunch time.”

John walks into the kitchen and looks around, satisfied that nothing seems too out of place. There’s no blood or anything by the table, John’s shirt catching most of it but your broken cell phone is still on the floor under the counter. He picks it up and tosses it in the garbage. The door frame is in a few different pieces and you thought that you heard Francis mention something about getting you new locks.

“I’ll drop you off.”

You’re in your own thoughts when John speaks. “Hmm?”

“I have to go into the city too. I’ll drop you off at Carla’s and when you’re done, text me and I’ll pick you up.”

“Are you sure?” His offer is generous. You hate driving into the city by yourself and dealing with traffic.

He nods and leads you out the door, replacing the caution tape. “Yeah, I have to take care of a few things.” His voice is low, and it sounds like it has something to do with work so you try to lighten the mood.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come dress shopping with us?” You ask, swinging your bag over your shoulder. You would kill to see John in a dress shop.

“I’ll leave that to you girls.”

“Bummer, you would’ve been very popular, I assure you.”

“Do you know the name of the store?” He asks and you check your phone. Carla just text the address of what gas station she’s working at today and told you she’ll drive from there.

“No, but Carla wants me to meet her on Fifth and Broad street.” You’re not paying attention and texting her back, so John guides you to the car and you both get in after he puts your stuff in the trunk.

The traffic isn’t too heavy and you’re done letting Carla know you’ll be there soon, so you turn towards John and get comfortable.

“No fancy suit today, even for business?”

He shifts and grips the steering wheel harder. “I have a safe deposit box where I keep a spare suit if I need it.”

“Will you need it?”

“Not sure yet.”

He’s being oddly quiet and you wonder if it has something to do with the phone call earlier. “Were you speaking Italian?”

“Si.” He nods, eyes still on the road.

Anxiety is starting to build and you know that a ramble is about to start any minute. Or you’re going to start asking more questions and that’s just annoying. Usually by now he would have tried to hold your hand or rest his palm on your knee, but he’s focused and you’re not sure what to do. You don’t want to pull out your phone and ignore him either, but something tells you to be mindful and silence is okay.

At a red light John shifts again and lets a hand fall to his lap. You stare at it, wondering if you’re allowed to reach for him. You can’t decide and the whole time you’re debating in your head, John continues to drive totally oblivious.

Before you know it, he’s turning into the gas station and pulling up next to Carla’s car. He turns off the engine and gets out before you can say anything, walking around to open your door. You get your purse and lean against the car, looking up at him.

“We should just be a few hours. I can find something to do if you need more time.”

“Okay.” The way he’s looking at you is intense and you’re still not sure what to do.

“I’ll see you later? Thanks for driving me.” You grab his hand and squeeze it, reassuringly if not for him, but for yourself.

“I’ll walk you in.”

“You’ll… huh?”

“Carla, I want to meet her.”

“Oh?” All you can do is blink and process how you’re going to get out of this when you hear Carla yell out your name and start to jog over, the sound of her heels echoing under the high roof of the gas station.

John smiles widely and presses a hand to your back, sliding it slowly around your waist.

“Hey, Carla! How are you?”

“I’m good, sweetie! Ready to take you out on the town!” She gets a little flustered when she comes closer to John. “And who is this handsome fella? Is this the guy Sam was telling me about who always brings you coffee?”

Coughing, you try to clear your throat. Dammit Sam and his big fat mouth.

“Uh yeah, this is John. John, this is Carla.”

They shake hands and you know Carla is swooning on the inside.

“Nice to meet you.” John says, his voice deeper than usual, his arm pulling you closer to his body. “I understand you’re going shopping?”

“Yes!” Carla finally takes back her hand and holds it to her heart, like a princess in a disney movie. She snaps with it and fusses with her purse, trying to get her keys out. “I’m taking her to this real sweet shop called Marty’s… it’s on second? Anyway, there’s this great little coffee place I know she’ll love right around the block from there.” She winks at you, knowing your passion for coffee. “Are you ready to go, hon?”

You feel John let go of your waist only to grab hold of your hand.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.”

She nods and runs towards her car, pulling out her phone to check for messages.

John is staring at you again and now you can’t stand it. “What’s with you?”

“Nothing.” He pulls out his wallet and hands you a credit card. “I want you to use this.”

You’re so confused. “For what?”

“For the dress. You shouldn’t have to pay for that.”

“Oh please. Are you serious right now?”

“See, I knew you’d do this.”

You glare at him. “I have my own money.”

He takes a step closer to you. “If you don’t take this credit card I will call the store and give them my information over the phone, and I know that’ll embarrass you.”

This is actually starting to piss you off. “John Wick, are you threatening me right now?”

“No…”

He is no match for a woman scorned and if looks could kill, he’d be dead. “Fine. I’ll take it.” You snatch it out of his hand and put it in your purse. You have no intention of using it and he realizes his mistake when you start to walk away.

“I’m calling the store.” He says loudly and you rush back to him.

“I swear John, we are going to have a talk about this when I get back.”

He smiles, knowing he won. “I look forward to it.”

Carla asks you a million questions when you get in the car.

Is he your boyfriend? He’s so handsome!

Do you live together?

Why isn’t he your boyfriend? He obviously likes you.

Does he have a single brother?

What does he do for work?

You avoid and deflect but your skills that usually work on John reflect off of Carla like bullets on Superman’s chest. You answer her questions the best you can and hope she doesn’t get too nosy. The dress shop is finally coming into view and you sigh some relief when she gets distracted by all the pretty clothes.

Carla’s style is definitely different than yours, but that’s one of the reasons you wanted her advice. Everything she picks out you would have never considered, but she seems to know fashion because almost all the pieces look really good on you. She makes you twirl in a silver blue dress, with the skirt going down to your knees and a cute neckline that she says accentuates your collarbone. There are also shoes (flat) and a purse and a new bra and it’s all a little overwhelming, and once you go to the checkout counter, you’re a little sweaty.

You wander over to the men’s section when Carla decides to try on a blouse for herself and a pair of cufflinks catches your eye. There is a pair of small, square ones that are black with a silver edge that you really like and add the little box to your pile.

Between both you and Carla, there’re a ton of shopping bags and walking down the street to the coffee house is a funny sight. It’s worth it when you step inside and smell the rich flavors, your mouth watering at the freshly baked bread, cookies and sweets.

Carla insists on treating you, a thank you for all of your hard work, and you both settle down into a booth. You ask about her daughter, Erin, and she tells you that her first year of college has been difficult and she hopes the second year will be better.

“Why was it difficult?” You ask. “Did she have hard classes?”

“No, she’s deaf and it’s been a hard transition for her. Plus she’s working part time at the gas station in the city, so she has to juggle both. She’s there today for the closing shift, you’ll have to meet her when we get back.”

You tell Carla that you’d love to and that you hope she has a better year. “That must be really hard, I had no idea she was deaf.”

“Yes, it caused quite the strain on my marriage but my ex was a deadbeat anyway. Erin is amazing. She can read lips and she’s studying to be a teacher.”

“Good for her!” You ask more questions about college and let Carla know you’re thinking about taking classes too, but it won’t interfere with work.

“You’ll be a lot busier, that’s for sure.” She says. “But it’s very rewarding. I’m glad to hear it.”

After some gossip about Sam and the girl from the Thai place, who he finally asked out, Carla needs to head back and you thank her again for such a lovely time. You text John to let him know you’re leaving the restaurant and stop to buy some cookies on the way out for after dinner tonight.

“Does John have a sweet tooth?” Carla asks and you nod. “He would never admit it though.”

He’s leaning on the car when Carla pulls in and you swear she whispers damn under her breath. You’re pleased to see that John didn’t have to change clothes and is wearing the same jeans and black shirt you left him in. His smile is wide when he greets you and he helps with all of your bags. Carla runs to get Erin so you can meet her while you’re still packing the car.

“Looks like you made out well.” He closes the now full trunk and turns to you, grabbing at your hand.

“I did. Carla wants me to meet her daughter, it should take only a minute. How’d you make out?” You scan John’s body for any sign that he’s hurt and you spot bruised, cut up knuckles. “What’s this?”

“Nothing, just a scratch.”

You give John one of your looks and hand him back his credit card before you forget.

“I saw you made a purchase, thank you for using it.” He must’ve been checking his account on his phone all this time.

“Checking up on me now, too?”

“Not checking.” He says slowly. “Just... hoping.”

You smile and reach to stroke his hair back. “Well, I split the bill, genius. Compromise?”

He catches your arm and kisses the inside of your wrist. “I missed you.”

“We were away from each other for like, three hours. Don’t get attached.”

“I can’t help it.”

You hear Carla coming closer and dragging her daughter behind her, who looks shy. You wave and smile, tucking yourself next to John’s body. You missed him too.

“Erin, this is John.” Carla introduces him as she signs and your eyes light up when John starts signing as well.

“Nice to meet you.” He speaks and his hands move at the same time. Carla gapes at you and all you can do is blankly look at her. You had no idea.

The three of them have a conversation in sign language and try to include you, but they’re all excited and you’re still too stunned to pay attention anyway. From what you can tell, they’re talking about Erin’s school and John points to you.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said that you’re starting to take classes in the fall too.” John explains. “You guys can be study buddies.”

You laugh and Erin does too. She’s at least ten years younger than you but you think that she had to grow up fast, not unlike yourself. A man drives up and she has to get back inside to help a customer so she waves goodbye. Carla gives you a quick hug and she tells you that she’ll stop by next week on her usual day. John nods and smiles at her, and she runs off inside too.

“Ready to go?”

You sigh as he opens the door for you. “Really, John? Sign language too?”

He rounds the car and shrugs his shoulders. “I must’ve picked it up somewhere.” He gets behind the wheel and makes sure your seatbelt is on before he starts the car. “Did you have fun?”

“Yes, it was really nice to have some girl time.”

“Girl time, huh?”

“Yep.”

John frowns, keeping his eyes on the road. It’s busier now with rush hour traffic. “What’s a guy gotta do to get in on some of that time?”

You laugh and reach over to twirl a strand of his hair around your finger. “I could put barrettes in your hair and give you a mud mask when we get to your house.”

“Sounds exhilarating.” He seems less than enthused and you snicker at the thought.

His knuckles look painful and you don’t want to touch them, but at the same time you want to comfort him too.

“What happened to your hands?”

John side eyes you and stays silent.

“Okay, fine. Anything else hurt?”

“No.”

You try not to say anything, but eventually it comes out. “How is it fair that I tell you almost everything and you don’t have to tell me anything?”

“I tell you stuff.”

“Mmhm.” You cross your arms over your chest and scoot towards the door.

“Fine, I paid Max a visit in jail.”

Your mouth drops open and now you wished you hadn’t asked. You wait for him to finish, but that’s all the information he gives you.

“And?”

“And what?”

You stare at John and then rub your temples. You should have known he wasn’t finished with Max.

“Oh, I didn’t kill him.” John says, “But I don’t think he’ll be bothering you anymore.”

“Perfect.” You sit back in the seat and close your eyes. “You can’t just go around beating people up.”

“Apparently I can.” He says it so nonchalantly that you turn to stare at him again.

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“I know, that’s why I didn’t want to tell you.”

You fiddle with your purse strap. “Well, thank you for telling me. I think.”

“You’re welcome.” He stops at a red light and gives those wide, pitiful eyes. “Are you mad?”

You scoot closer to him again. “I’m mad at the situation, I’m not mad at you.”

“I care about you, you know that right?”

Smiling, you reach over and touch his hand gently, below a blottled cut. “That’s becoming very clear.”

The weekend is over before you know it. You had to work both days, but John made dinner and even cracked open a bottle of wine on Sunday night. After eating you both took Pooch out for a walk around the block, platonically holding hands because “that’s the rule.” Every night you slept by his side and he never made a move other than what he’s done before. He’s very respectful and considerate, making sure your comfort is his top priority.

On Monday morning you find a rose on your windshield when you get ready to drive to work. You have all of your bags because the door to your apartment will be fixed by this afternoon and you’ll have to go home. You throw them in the backseat, smiling to yourself. When John didn’t want to walk you out, you thought it was odd but not enough to make you question him. The rose is a deep red and there’s no note, but you keep glancing at it as you drive. No one has ever given you a flower before.

You can’t help texting John at a red light. Did you leave something on my car?

I did.

Thank you but why?

It takes a few seconds for him to respond and you read his answer at the next light.

Just a reminder that not all of us are like Max.

You would never compare John to Max and even if you did, they’re complete opposites. Sometimes you’re still in awe that John has come into your life, how different it is now. How a few months ago you were living in a hazy world where you didn’t belong. And now it’s so different. Not perfect by any means, but different. Any changes from that life is better and you just hope it stays like this. A part of you feels that any minute something could happen and you’d be right back where you started. It’s a scary thought.

After work you have therapy and you talk a lot about not living in fear. How the fear doesn’t serve you and Beth gives you some more methods to safeguard what you have now, so you’ll never go back to that dark place. You talk more about Max and that you're proud of how you handled it. You wish the situation didn’t paralyze you so deeply, but Beth reassures you that something traumatic like that has to take its course.

The wedding comes up and you tell Beth about John holding your hand, what it would mean if you were to kiss him, and all the constant flirting, but never crossing that line. She suggests that you talk to John about whatever it is you’re thinking and that you’re allowed to ask him questions, he’s not a mind reader and neither are you. She explains that communication is important and that it’s good there hasn’t been any physical contact yet. That if it does happen, it’ll mean so much more and the connection will be stronger having waited so long.

Going back home after such a long day and having no one there really sucks. Sleeping alone sucks. The red rose you put in a vase on the kitchen table helps, but all you can think about is John and that worries you. The last thing you want to happen is to become obsessed with him, always checking your phone to see if he’s called, daydreaming about the next time you’ll see each other. The wedding is this weekend and your nerves are surging uncontrollably. However, you’re not thinking about Max and you consider that a win.

The only thing that keeps you somewhat calm is work so you do your best to concentrate while you’re there throughout the week.

John texts you every morning, in the middle of the day and always at night. He asks how your day is and you don’t know what to tell him because it’s incredibly boring. By Wednesday he calls when he knows you have the night off and he wants to see you, making up any excuse to get his way.

“Pooch really misses you.”

“Is that so?” You smile and put the phone on speaker so you can clean around your bedroom. The dress you bought is hanging in your closet and you can’t wait to wear it. “How can you tell?”

“He told me.”

“Ohh, right, sure he did. And what did he say?”

You can tell John is doing the dishes because there are sounds of clanging pots and pans in the background. “He asked me why the pretty lady had to leave.”

“You’ve had another lady stay at your house? I didn’t know you were such a manwhore, John.”

“Very funny.” He tells you dryly. “You should come over tonight. I’ll make dinner and we can watch a movie or something.”

“I would love that.” You actually would like to see him and think it might be impossible to wait until this weekend. “But I’m going out.”

There’s a beat of silence and John clears his throat. “Oh.”

“Mmhm. I have a very important meeting at the laundromat tonight.”

“Ohh.” John says more easily. “Well just bring your laundry over here. We can eat and hang out while it’s in the wash.”

You’ve never considered that and look at the pile of dirty clothes on the floor, which will probably take at least a few hours to get done. You’d much rather be at John’s house than sitting in a plastic chair.

“Are you sure that’d be okay?”

“Yeah, of course. I have everything you need. I’ll see you soon?”

Well, John got his way again but you’re happy about it and gather all of your things quickly. You stuff your dirty clothes into your laundry bag, grab your purse and the bag from Target that’s been sitting by your front door for a few days now. You might’ve bought Pooch a bone while you were out shopping for new clothes.

You stop and look in the mirror before you head out. After work you had gotten comfortable in some loose grey sweatpants and a white tank top. You’re still wearing your black bra though so you grab a light sweater and flip flops. Not the classiest but good enough.

The drive over is fast and you don’t bother knocking because he left the door open. You haul in your laundry bag and you can tell John is cooking fish tonight.

“Smells good.” You tell him, dropping your bag to the floor when you see him in the kitchen.

He smiles at the sight of you, wiping his hands off on a towel before he walks over.

“Hi.”

His hugs are becoming addictive and he’s still so careful, his large hands caressing your lower back. You lean into him and savor the feeling of his arms wrapped around you, his solid chest against your cheek.

He pulls back and touches your fingers as he goes back to the sink. “Are you hungry? It’ll be a little while before it’s ready.”

“That’s fine, I had to eat Thai again today.” You tell him about Sam and his new girlfriend, who is incredibly sweet and how cute they are when she brings him lunch. “He’s allergic to peanuts so he gives his food to me all the time. I told him to just tell her but now it’s become this big thing.”

“Uh oh.” John laughs. “Sounds like drama.”

“Exactly. To be seventeen again and have a peanut allergy be my only problem.”

That’s not entirely true. Sam has his family issues too that he’s confided in you, but it’s mostly about his big brother picking on him so you can’t really relate.

John sets some carrots and celery out with a dip to snack on. “Is he still going to work when school starts?”

“Yeah,” You get yourself a glass of water before sitting down at the counter. “It works out because he’ll work after school when I have to go to my night class. It just sucks I won’t get to see him as much.”

“Are you getting nervous about going back?”

You take a carrot and nod. “For English and History I had to take online courses so I can still work my schedule. I only have to go to the campus twice a week for math class, on Wednesdays and Friday at 6pm. Room 245 in the West Wing. I have no idea where that is.”

John is checking the oven and glances over his shoulder. “Do you want to take a walk to the college and find it? That way you don’t have to worry.”

You stop chewing to look at him because you’d been planning on doing that anyway. You can’t believe he offered to do that with you. It’s like he knows exactly how to calm you down. “Yeah? That’d be great.”

“Consider it done.” He gets a package of rice from the cupboard and measures it out. “And school starts when we get back from the wedding?”

“Yep, on Tuesday.” You tell him. You think about Beth’s advice about asking John what’s on your mind and decide this is a good time to try it out. “Speaking of the wedding, are we going to stay there for one night or two?”

“I was thinkin’ two if we drive down on Friday. Then we can relax and do some stuff before Saturday evening, then drive back Sunday morning if that’s okay.”

You’re so glad you requested the whole weekend off from work, it’ll be like a mini vacation. “Is there a Continental in the Hamptons?”

John laughs, there’s no way a hotel like that would be in a small town. “No, but we’ll be staying at the bed and breakfast where the wedding will be.”

You smirk, covering your mouth so he doesn’t see it. “In one room or two?”

He turns around and looks at you nervously. “One room.”

“One bed or two?”

“One.”

Your eyebrows shoot up.

“But there’s a foldaway bed. I could even sleep on the floor.”

You break out laughing, getting up so you can get your laundry started. “It’s fine, I’m just joking with you.”

He still looks uncertain and you go to him, arms crossed over your chest. You don’t think you could handle another hug right now because the urge to kiss him is getting stronger by the minute. “Hey, after everything we’ve gone through together, you seriously think I would mind sleeping in a bed with you?”

He reaches to caress his thumb over your cheekbone, where the bruise and cut have healed. “I never want to assume anything.”

“And I would never worry about that with you.” You grab his hand and place it on your shoulder, squeezing his fingers for a hint. They begin to massage your skin and it feels amazing. “Plus, I think if I didn’t like something I’d be able to speak up about it now.”

“Really?” His hand moves to the back of your neck, behind your hair and where all of your tension lives. “I cannot wait to see that.”

“Me either. I’m usually very agreeable.” You let your eyes fall shut for a few seconds before stepping back. Turns out any physical touch makes you want to kiss him.

“Except when you’re hungry.”

You open the door to the laundry and stop. “When I’m hungry? You’re the one who gets hangry.”

He scoffs. “Me? No way. You do.”

“Uh, yes way.” You start to load up the washer and turn it on. “If you don’t eat, you get in funk.”

“You mean like when you don’t get your morning coffee?” Well, that might be true. You never realized you get grumpy without coffee. “Don’t worry.” He pops into the laundry room and presses his lips lightly to your temple. “I think it’s cute.”

Mumbling to yourself, you finish up and go back to the kitchen. “Maybe I need to go on a coffee detox?” You get the Target bag you’d left by your purse and before Pooch sees his treat you ask John if he can have it.

You’d think it was made of hearts and rainbows with the way he’s looking at you as he nods.

Pooch is out in the backyard soaking up the last of the sun and gets up as soon as he hears your voice. You get him all riled up and laugh as he pounces on you like a puppy. It’s hard not to play with him for a few minutes, giving him kisses and hiding the bone behind your back, confusing him until you can’t take it anymore and let him have it, laughing again at his antics.

John is at the door, watching and you had no idea that you had an audience. You’re slightly embarrassed he caught you being silly and bump his arm when you pass him to go inside.

“You said he missed me, right?”

“If I said I missed you, would I get that kind of attention?”

“Too late.” You sing, giggling at the disappointment on his face. “Fine, you want a belly rub too? Come here.”

He looks curiously at you, his hair falling in his eyes as he stands just a few inches from you. Tucking his hair back, you let his strands fall between your fingers a few times before you lightly drag your nails through his beard, skimming his lips with your fingertip. “Satisfied?”

His body is swaying from your touch and you like the effect it has on him. He had closed his eyes and now he’s slowly opening them, his gaze full of adoration. “Not in the least.”

It’s Friday mid morning and John is on his way to pick you up. You’re nervous again, twisting the handle to your overnight bag as you wait on the curb of your apartment building. You think about dinner a few nights ago, and how the flirting was starting to get out of your control. How you abruptly stopped and continued the night like almost kissing him never happened. You’re not sure if you have the strength to do it much longer.

The salmon John had made was perfect and so was the walk to campus after dinner. You held his hand but the tension was thick. Luckily, the both of you got distracted looking around the school and getting lost a few times before finally finding the right building and narrowing down which hallway your classroom would be in. When you got back to the house, your laundry was done drying and you made up the excuse that you were tired and had to be up early.

Now your whole body is on pins and needles as you watch his car turn into the parking lot. You wave when there’s eye contact and he smiles as he puts it in park.

“You didn’t have to wait down here, I could’ve helped you with your stuff.” He says, placing your bag and your dress carefully in the trunk.

“I’m very capable. And I got road trip snacks!” You proudly hold up a sack full of trail mix, licorice, and crackers.

“Are you afraid I’m going to get hangry on the way there?”

The thought did cross your mind and you laugh as you see two coffees when you settle in the car.

“Were you afraid I was going to get cranky?”

“Never.” John pulls out of the complex and here you go. It’s only supposed to take a little over an hour to get to the Hamptons, but with Friday traffic it could probably take up to three.

As you leave the city, John asks if you’ve always lived in New York.

“Actually, I grew up in California.” You tell him. “My parents shipped me out here to live with grandma when I was a teenager. What about you?”

He doesn’t respond right away and you’ve always wondered about his family, how he grew up, anything about his childhood. You thought it must’ve been quite interesting if he ended up in an assassin school and assumed John wouldn't really ever want to talk about it. Just like you don’t want to talk much about your past.

“I grew up in the foster system.” He finally says, eyes straight ahead. “In New York.” John doesn’t have to explain much, you can only imagine what that would have been like for him. “I ran away at least once a week. The last time I left was when I met The Director. She took me in and as it turns out, was also one of the leaders for the Russian Mafia in the city.”

You hang on to his every word, listening closely. “How old were you?”

“Eleven or twelve, I’m not really sure.”

“Is that where you met Marcus?”

“No,” John takes a sip of coffee and motions for you to do the same. “It’ll get cold.” He tells you. “I met Marcus when I was in Italy, after I was booted off to the Marines for a few years, and after a lot of training. I was out on my first assignments alone, but Marcus’ job was to trail my every move and I didn’t even know it. He saved my life a few times.”

“Really? Have you ever saved his life?”

Pausing to think about it, he stops at a red light and looks at you. “Yeah, I guess I have.”

You grin softly. “Then there will be two people at this wedding who are very lucky to know you.”

That must embarrass him because he just shakes his head with a small smile and continues to drive. You don’t want to press and ask more questions, so you turn to look out the window. All the trees are turning red and orange, the beautiful shades of autumn on the falling leaves. Time has gone by so fast and it’s hard to think that September is right around the corner.

Eventually you feel John’s hand find its way to your lap, like usual. It makes you feel cherished and your hand finds his, and you start to play with his long fingers.

After a few moments of watching out the window, you let your head rest on the back of the seat. “I wish Pooch could have come with us.” You tell him softly.

“Me too, but Cassey was so happy. She said to tell you hello and that next time you’re over, she wants to play again.”

“She’s sweet.” You glance at John, giving him a fond look.

He grins, threading your fingers together. “You’re sweet.”

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop being so nice.” You whisper, a lump suddenly forming in the back of your throat. Sometimes his comments are overwhelming and it makes you emotional. You’re still not used to it.

He doesn’t miss a beat and squeezes your hand. “Okay.”

There’s not much traffic and the ride is faster than you thought it would be. By the time you get into town, it’s after lunch and both of you are starving. John wants to take you to his favorite seafood restaurant and you tell him that growing up poor you’ve never really had much seafood before, so you’ll need his help.

It’s an experience to say the least. You discover that you like shrimp and crab, you’re not a fan of calamari but John swears you’ll learn to like it. His eyes are glued to you when the clams and mussels come out and they’re actually not too bad. You think it’s best to save trying the oysters for next time and quit while you’re ahead.

It’s only a short distance from the restaurant to the bed and breakfast, which is right on the ocean and absolutely beautiful. The room is just like your apartment, only tiny and there really is only one bed but it’s huge. For some reason you wish it was just a little smaller. Your bags are placed in the closet and John asks if you want to take a walk on the beach before it gets dark. The weather became overcast and windy, but you want to go badly.

The smell of the ocean, the feel of sand between your toes, being here with John… it makes you giddy and you can’t stop smiling. The breeze is chilly though and you only brought a sweater, so John pulls you close as you head towards the peer. He’s been quiet and you bump your elbow into his side, asking if he’s okay.

“I’m okay.” He reassures you gently. “I just really like watching you when you’re happy.”

You tilt your head to lean on his shoulder. “What about when I’m a crying mess in your bathtub?”

He looks away and furrows his brow. “I’d rather you be happy, but I’ll always watch over you no matter what.”

You’re starting to wonder if he’ll ever do or say the wrong thing. And then it hits you hard. Everything he tells you, everything he says to you, everything he promises you… everything has all been backed up by his actions. He doesn’t just talk about whatever he thinks you want to hear, but he actually does things all the time to prove to you that he cares.

It’s something you’re not used to, only knowing the mindless and endless promises to change from Max. The disappointment consumes your stomach because all this time, you were comparing the two of them. And you were letting Max influence your thoughts. Double disappointment. You’ll have some reflecting to do, but you also don’t want to overthink right now and ruin the moment.

At the end of the peer you lean against the wood railing and look out into the ocean. Your hair is going crazy in the wind and John steps behind you, blocking the breeze the best he can with his body.

“Are you cold?” He asks, his mouth next to your ear. You nod and he comes even closer, until he’s pressed up behind you with his hands resting next to yours. It’s extremely intimate and you take a sharp breath, knowing you’re going to ruin the moment anyway.

“Is that a knife in your pocket or are you happy to see me?”

John laughs and moves his hips. “It’s a knife.”

“Oh, darn.”

You feel his body still and you know he can’t tell if you’re joking or not. You don’t give any hints either and stay silent.

It’s becoming colder but John certainly is warm and you’re not too sure what he’s doing until you feel his nose at your temple, breathing in deeply. “You smell so good.”

A part of you wishes that he would stop. That part is doubt and fear though, which you refuse to give into right now. So, you don’t pull away and you don’t make a joke. You let him hold you and enjoy the moment because that’s what you deserve.

TBC Chapter 7

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

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The Assasin and the Caretaker Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

Warnings: car crash, stitching wounds, gunshots, starvation, injury description, death treat(non verbal) and death mention, alcohol

Caretaker felt a lurch as Assasin suddenly made a sharp U-turn right in the dead center of the highway. Car horns blared and a small pileup formed in the other lane. Caretaker peeked out the window and saw that the SUV was amongst the pileup. They breathed a sigh of relief.

"You 'kay back there?" Assasin asked quickly.

"Fine!" Caretaker said back and turned their attention back to Villain. Gosh, they looked horrible with pale, nearly transparent, skin and sunken in eyes. Like a corpse, Caretaker realized. Maybe they were. Maybe they were in that stage between life and death. Caretaker's breath hitched in their throat. This was their fault. If they did not turn Villain in, they would've healed just fine. It would've taken a month at most to recover. But now? Now it would take several months, even years to fully recover. The physical recovery would be brutal and the mental recovery? Caretaker's brow creased. Who knows what Supervillain did to them. Their body wounds could only show so much...

Caretaker did not realize that their hand was softly holding Villain's lifeless one until they felt a weak pressure on it.

"V-villain?" Caretaker murmured and reached their free hand over to feel for a pulse. It was faint, but there and steady.

"Mm," Villain mumbled. Their face twitched and they squirmed weakly around.

"What's going on back there?" Assasin asked, their voice tense.

"Villain is waking up, I think," Caretaker replied and put a tentative hand out to steady Villain.

"No, no, no, no..." Villain murmured, barely above a whisper as they started struggling even stronger. Some of their barely healed wounds begun to bled.

"Hey, hey," Caretaker soothed. They reached over for their first aid kit and grabbed a cloth and gauze pad. Softly, they dabbed at the trickles of blood.

"Wha-wha you," Villain breathed hoarsely. Caretaker's gaze shot to Villain's sickly face. Their eyes were wide open and staring at Caretaker in fear.

Caretaker stopped what they were doing and met Villain's gaze. They hoped their eyes showed kindness, or mercy, anything. Anything that would make Villain believe that they were on their side. That it wasn't their fault. But it is my fault, Caretaker reminded themselves bluntly.

It must've been something in their demeanor or eyes because Villain jerked their head upwards so that their neck was arched. Their chest heaved as fear settled. Caretaker sighed.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Caretaker whispered and rubbed Villain's shoulder which only caused them to erupt into a terrified frenzy.

The sudden fast movement seemed to exhaust Villain. They slumped back onto the floor of the car, silent and staring upwards. Caretaker gently lifted their head and readjusted it to relieve the tension.

"Why-" Villain stopped, opening and closing their mouth as if they had more to say but couldn't get it out. Their hand slowly went to their bruised throat. The second their fingers brushed against the injured skin, they gasped and white electricity shot out of their hands.

"Villain!" Caretaker screeched. They froze. What do they do? They had no magic whatsoever to stop the flood of power.

"Assasin!" Caretaker yelled next. "They are-"

"I know, I know!" Assasin yelled back. "Grab their wrists, make sure not to get in the way of the electricity, and press them into their body. Okay? I'ma pull over..."

Caretaker, without hesitation, carefully grabbed Villain's wrists (which brought more struggling). They slid their hands down to the elbows and pressed them into Villain's chest.

A few scary seconds ticked by. Caretaker felt a strange tingling feeling through their veins, but they ignored it. Soon, Villain's stressed struggles ceased and their body went lax. Caretaker slowly let go off their arms, noting the white and red pattern that their fingers left.

Villain sniffled. "I wanna... wanna..." their voice trailed off as their head lolled to the side. "I... Hero..."

"Hero is... okay," Caretaker assured them, internally punishing themselves for lying. But it was for their own good. If they found out that Hero was so concussed that they were acting like a child... Caretaker didn't want to have to deal with that.

"Supervillain," Villain whispered, their eyes watery. "Don't..."

Caretaker furrowed their forehead and places the back of their head on Villain's forhead. Warm, but not hot enough to be a fever.

The back door suddenly opened. Caretaker didn't even realize that they parked.

"Hand them to me," Assasin said, half-way leaning into the car. Caretaker picked up Villain's body and gave them to the waiting Assasin.

"Hmm thanks," Assasin said. Suddenly their hand shot to their belt and they revealed a gun.

Caretaker swore their heart stopped beating for a second or two. Their eyes took in the situation. Assasin had Villain and was keeping Caretaker away with a gun. A gun, Caretaker said to themselves. They slowly raised their hands.

"I can't trust anyone," Assasin explained. Their voice was taut with pride and releif. But there was something else, regret maybe? Caretaker wanted to sink into the ground. Gosh, they felt betrayed. How could Assasin do this? Without them, they wouldn't have Villain in their evil, manipulating grasp to begin with. They wanted to retort, say something nasty, but their voice only croaked.

"Then why?" Caretaker managed, their voice shaky. A single motion of Assasin's finger and they would be dead. That wasn't really a nice thought...

"I'm sorry," Assasin said, with something in their tone. Caretaker just hoped it was sincerity.

And they pressed the trigger.

Three months earlier:

Assasin watched the rebels in fear. There were seven of them sitting around a fire, drinking alcohol to their heart's content.

"You know the rules Assasin," Supervillain's voice boomed in their ears. "You get rid of who I tell, when I want it, and without any question."

"Yes," Assasin whispered out loud.

"Then why won't you do it?" Supervillain asked next.

"That's my business," Assasin had answered. Why did they ever think they could sass Supervillain? Why couldn't they be mature and hold their tongue? Why did things have to be this way?

Assasin slammed the ground a little to loudly, causing the rebels to look their direction. They froze. It was now or never.

Assasin stepped out of their hiding spot and faced the rebels, gun in hand.

"Who are you?" One of them asked, possibly the leader. He had a black patch over his right eye that completed his pirate look of a long gray beard and thick hair to top it with. His face was unnaturally tanned compared to his pale hands.

"Put your hands up!" Assasin ordered. It sounded ridiculous, given the circumstances. The rebels must've thought so too because they laughed.

"You aren't the only one with a gun, Assasin," the leader spat. In one fluid motion, Assasin was on the ground with a bleeding torso.

"Hmph," Pirate-guy loomed over Assasin's fallen figure. "Pity..."

"Leave," Assasin mustered all their strength and aimed it at Pirate-guy. They felt themselves making their way into the guys head, but it was quickly blocked by an experienced person's will.

Pirate-guy's face contorted into something like... realization? Assasin couldn't tell through the fog of pain.

"Healer!" Pirate-guy yelled suddenly. Healer? Assasin asked themselves. Healer, like a doctor? Don't hope yet Assasin, don't bring your hopes up yet...

Suddenly, a woman was looming over them now. This time, the rebel was pressing against their stomach. Assasin tensed, waiting for the pain, but only gentleness came.

Assasin watched as blue light streamed from the lady's hands and into the gunshot wound. They squirmed and bit back a scream as the ripped flesh melted itself back together.

"Gah, stop," Assasin gasped the same second that the lady stopped her magic.

Assasin looked down and saw that the bleeding out wound was now a white scar. They looked up in confusion at the lady and Pirate-guy.

"You are one of us," the lady said, slightly breathless.

"I'm not a rebel," Assasin pointed out, immediately regretting it. They flinched, awaiting the next damage inflicting blow. They thought of the last time they sassed someone. It cost them a week being drugged with a power suppressor and locked in a frigid cell.

"Not yet," Pirate-guy mused and helped Assasin to their feet.

The day before the rescue:

The lady, Healer, stood in front of Assasin with Pirate-guy by her side.

"Bring this Villain to me," Healer ordered. Assasin nodded and turned around ready to break both Villain and Hero out of Supervillain's torture center.

"Oh yeah, and Assasin?" Pirate-guy spoke up.

"Yes?"

"Just Villain. No one else."

That's fine, Assasin thought. That's why I have Caretaker.

"Because," Healer said, repeating her infamous quote, "Don't trust anyone."

Don't trust anyone non-magical.

#villain whumpee #betrayed #caretaker #injured hero #injured villain #gun tw

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fluffykitty1999-blog · 3 years

Text

Dog of the Military- Chapter 5

Lots of whumph here. And a bit of medical care.

Chapter 5- Triage

They got a room on the second floor- as soon as Roy unlocked the door, Ed strode in, albeit shakily. Roy expected the first thing the boy would go for was the bed, but to his surprise, Ed opened the door to the bathroom, turning on the tap and sticking his head under the water, drinking straight from the faucet.

The kid spent a good three minutes just drinking, and Roy realized with a sinking sense of certainty that Ed obviously hadn't been given water in a long time.

"When was the last time you drank anything, Fullmetal?"

"Last night. That lady- the Lieutenant- she snuck me a mug of water."

Ed strode out of the bathroom, falling into the closest bed and letting out a long sigh.

"And the last time you ate anything?"

"Uh... a day or two?" Ed mumbled into the pillow.

Roy felt indignation burn in his chest. "Right. So you get back and Banks threw you in a cell with no food or water for two days?"

"Pretty much."

Roy wanted to kick a hole in the wall. But he didn't. Ed sounded half asleep, anyways.

"Do you have any clean clothes?"

"Back at the fort, I think."

"Right." That was out, then. Roy would have to buy the kid something to wear- the kid's shirt was basically rags anyways.

"What else did he do to you, Fullmetal?" Roy tried to keep the anger from his voice.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

Roy wanted to push the issue. He really did. But he was pulled from his thoughts by a knock at the door.

"Hello?" he pulled the door partially open, only to be met with the innkeeper- a rather homely looking woman- who was looking at him tentatively.

She held a plate in her hands, and a fresh loaf of brown bread was sitting on it, as well as a mug of broth. "I brought you this." Despite the fact she was talking to Roy, her eyes seemed to search the room behind him. Ed really had been a sight- shambling, bloodied as he was, through her lobby a few minutes ago.

Roy looked over the offering, nodding. "Thank you."

He stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. "Is there a doctor in this town?"

The woman nodded. "Shall I send for him?"

"That would be helpful if you could, thank you."

The woman nodded, handing him the plate of food, before she scurried back down the hall.

Roy stepped back into the room- Ed didn't make a move at the sound of his entrance- he was still sprawled out on his stomach on the bed. Roy tried to ignore the blood stains on the back of the boy's shirt.

"Wake up, Fullmetal. The innkeeper was nice enough to bring you some food."

"Hmm?" Ed lifted his head, managing to turn over in bed and carefully sitting up, tearing into the loaf of brown bread as through his life depended on it and finishing the mug of broth in a few gulps before sighing in contentment and laying back.

"We need to talk about what happened to you, Ed." Roy spoke up from where he sat on his own bed.

"Do we really, though?" Ed mumbled. "I got the information, we're going home- that's pretty much what matters."

"Colonel Banks tortured you, Ed. To try and get that information. I intend on filing an official complaint against him for the imprisonment and torture of a state alchemist. If I'm going to do that, I need details on what happened to you."

"I got back and wanted to catch a train to Central asap. Colonel Banks wasn't going to let me leave without giving him the information. That's pretty much all there is to it." Ed said simply.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Roy stood, opening it to find a doctor- a rather careworn man with thick-rimmed glasses a a black medical bag- standing outside.

"Good evening, Sir. I was told you were in need of my services?"

Roy nodded. "Thank you for coming. Come in..."

The doctor stepped inside the room, looking over to see Ed lying on the bed and nodding.

"Good evening, young man."

"Hello." Ed narrowed his eyes, looking at Mustang. "Who's this?"

"This is the local doctor. He's going to check you over- since you refuse to talk about what Banks did to you, someone needs to treat your injuries..."

"I'm fine." Ed protested.

"Then prove it. Let him look you over. Humor me here, Fullmetal."

Ed frowned.

"Let's start by taking off your shirt, if you don't mind." The doctor gave Ed a reassuring smile. He had a kind face, despite his obvious age- the man looked like he'd been in his profession for decades, and probably had several grandchildren. It was different than the sort of young, sterile lab coat clad upstarts Ed was used to in the hospital. Ed didn’t like to admit it, but the man seemed... nice. For a doctor.

Ed sighed, but obliged, unbuttoning his white shirt and shrugging it off, trying to hide his wince as he did so.

Roy hadn't been prepared for the mess of injuries beneath the boy's clothing.

Half a dozen perfect circular burns spotted the boy's left side. Ed's ribs and chest were a splattering of black and blue, violet bruises blossoming on his torso. There was a rather deep cut on the bicep of Ed's flesh arm, in addition to his black eye, swollen lip, and the cut that ran over his left eyebrow and ended just after it crossed the bridge of his nose.

As shocked as Roy was, the doctor took in the scene before him with practiced professionalism, nodding solemnly.

"I'll need to clean these wounds, young man." He pulled a jar and some gauze from his bag, quickly but carefully swabbing the cigarette burns with moist gauze, dabbing them dry, and smearing a salve onto them before he was taping a bandage over them with meticulous but gentle hands.

He moved onto the wound on Ed's arm- it was three inches long, and rather deep, and he frowned, cleaning away the blood. "This will need stitches, I'm afraid."

"I don't like needles." Ed said firmly.

The doctor nodded, withdrawing a vial from his bag. "That's perfectly understandable, son. I'm going to ask you to close your eyes- you'll feel a pinch and a burn, but only for a brief moment."

Once the doctor was sure Ed had closed his eyes, he withdrew a syringe from his bag, drawing up some of the drug in the vial and carefully injecting a small amount of either side of the cut.

Ed frowned, twitching at the sensation. "What are you doing?"

"Just preparing the wound, son." the doctor set the syringe aside, threading a needle with practiced ease and expertly beginning to suture the wound. Ed didn't flinch as the needle pierced his skin, completely unaware. Roy realized he'd numbed the boy well enough that Ed didn't even realized he was being stitched.

"You can open your eyes now, son." the doctor made sure to tuck his syringe, needle and thread back into his bag before giving the boy the instruction.

Ed opened his eyes, looking surprised to see the wound neatly sutured shut. Before he could examine it too closely, the doctor wrapped a bandage around it, nodding to Ed.

"Now that all the open wounds are taken care of, I'd like to feel your chest and abdomen- check for broken bones and such."

"Okay." Ed said, though he narrowed his eyes, looking at the doctors hands. "But if your hands are freezing I'm gonna bite you."

It was such a childish threat that Roy was stopped cold for a moment, but the doctor simply laughed. "Of course, I know- nothing less fun than cold hands and stethoscopes." he rubbed his hands together for half a minute to warm them, looking to Ed for permission. "May I, young man?"

Ed nodded, and the doctor carefully ran his hands over the boy's chest and ribs, starting at the top and working his way down. He moved with a gentle but practiced ease. Still, Ed tensed up, sucking in a breath, when the doctor came across a rather sore area. The doctor saw how Ed tensed up and stilled. "Sorry, lad. It must hurt a bit there, yeah?"

"I wasn't sure if they were bruised or broken." Ed admitted, voice barely above a whisper. The doctor nodded sympathetically, before he continued down the boy's abdomen, carefully feeling his stomach before concluding. "Mostly bruised, one broken." he confirmed. Ed gave a tired nod.

"Any other injuries that need attention?"

"His back."

Ed glowered at Roy, looking betrayed, but he gingerly elbowed his way onto his stomach anyways.

Ed's back was less serious, but still marred by 3 rather large cuts. The doctor cleaned and examined them all, before nodding. "I think the smaller two will heal nicely with just some bandages, but I'll have to suture the deepest one." the doctor nodded to the four inch cut that was rather deep.

"Just get it over with then." Ed groused. Once again, he didn't complain as the doctor skillfully numbed the wound before stitching it, daubing more salve on all the wounds before taping a gauze pad over them.

"Now then, let's see to your face."

Ed rolled onto his back, letting the doctor carefully clean the cut above his eye and dab at his smaller scratches before sitting back.

There was a knock at the door, and the doctor strode over to open it. The inn keeper stood in the doorway, a steaming cup of tea in hand. "Ah, Mrs. Berkley, just as I requested. Thank you."

He pulled a small brown bottle from his bag, putting a splash of whatever medicine was inside it into the steaming mug of tea and handing it to Ed.

"Drink up, son."

Ed took a long sip, snacking his lips and frowning, making an odd face. "Tastes weird."

The doctor laughed. "Yes, it should. It's normally a strong tea, but it tastes better than the medicine itself."

"What medicine?"

"Just something to ease any soreness you might have and help you get some rest. You should drink it all- help to relieve any pain. Especially your chest."

Ed nodded, taking another long sip and closing his eyes, appearing to relax some. By the time he was mostly through with a mug, his eyes had grown heavy, and before long, Ed was fast asleep.

The doctor smiled down at the sleeping boy, carefully plucking the mostly-empty mug from the boy's hands and setting it on the beside table.

The doctor moved to clean his glasses, nodding to Roy. "Any questions for me..." he paused, squinting at the bars on Mustang's uniform "Colonel?"

Roy nodded, looking up from Ed's sleeping form. "What did they do to him?"

"You saw the cigarette burns yourself. Several cuts from a rather sharp blade, and contusions on his chest- I assume the boy was kicked quite hard."

"Will he be alright?"

"With time, I don't see why he won't make a full recovery." the doctor conceded. "Though I don't exactly understand who would inflict such injuries upon a boy..."

"Colonel Banks, the ranking officer at Fort Goldenfield. I'll be filing an official complaint against him, there's no excuse for what he did to my subordinate." Roy's charcoal gaze flared, before he turned his serious gaze to the doctor. "Would you be willing to write a statement in regards to Ed's injuries?"

"Of course." the doctor nodded. He pulled a small amber bottle from his bag. It contained a few pills. "I've given him a dose of laundrum- he should rest well through the night. If he's uncomfortable in the morning, give him two of these every four hours."

Roy took the pills, nodding. "Thank you for helping him. What do I owe you?"

"No need to settle that now. I assume I can send the bill to your military office, as well as the statement regarding Edward's injuries, Mr...?"

"Mustang." Roy quickly stuck out his hand, and the doctor shook it. "Colonel Roy Mustang."

Roy grabbed a pen and paper and quickly wrote down the address for his office in Central, giving it to the doctor.

"Right. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Mustang. I'll prepare the documents and mail them off first thing in the morning. I can stop in to see Edward tomorrow if you'd like, as well."

"I appreciate the offer, but I don't think we'll be in the area that long. We were planning on catching the first train to Central in the morning. If you think he's well enough to travel?"

"Ah, of course. I don't see any issue with him traveling. As I said, if he's uncomfortable give him those pills."

"Thank you doctor."

"Not a problem, not a problem. My number is on the medicine bottle, feel free to call if anything changes."

The doctor quietly left, leaving Roy in the inn room as night approached with a sleeping Edward.

Roy sighed, covering the sleeping blond with a blanket and locking the door to their room, stepping into the hallway to find a pay phone.

He had some calls to make.

Obligatory ko-fi button. Do you like papa Roy’s characterization here?

https://ko-fi.com/fluffykitty12

#fma #fma fanfiction #Fullmetal Alchemist #fullmetal alchimist brotherhood #Roy Mustang #edward elric #Parental Roy #parentalroy #whumph #whump #hurt/comfort #hurt #comfort #dogofthemilitary #injury

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