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banditnoo · 3 years

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My Castle of Ships {1/2} - Merlin One Shot

Summary | {A strange phenomenon had occurred when Arthur had been born by magic. He now had the ability to read minds. Nobody knew of his gifts. Arthur knew from a young age that sorcery was not welcomed in Camelot. With fears that his own father would banish or harm him, he kept his piece of magic to himself. A piece of magic that had become much less of a burden after he had been crowned king, and for moments like these; While he was bored and Merlin daydreamed.}

Tags | {Merthur, Magic Arthur AU, mind reader AU, Major Character Death}

Warnings | {Like one swear word? Angsty, but not as gut wrenching as 5x13}

a/n | {I’ve finally worked up the courage to post some of my writing on Tumblr! This has been cross posted to AO3 (Legendary_Julia) and Wattpad (GreaserGal19). Maybe one day I’ll get my usernames in order, but today is not that day. Part 2 will come out... at some point. This was suppose to be a stand alone story, but our boys deserve better. Thanks for checking me out, happy reading!}

~~~

{A strange phenomenon had occurred when Arthur had been born by magic. He now had the ability to read minds. Nobody knew of his gifts. Arthur knew from a young age that sorcery was not welcomed in Camelot. With fears that his own father would banish or harm him, he kept his piece of magic to himself. A piece of magic that had become much less of a burden after he had been crowned king, and for moments like these; While he was bored and Merlin daydreamed.}

~~~

Merlin was a daydreamer, he always had been. He'd often find himself thinking of Ealdor while he puttered about Arthur's chambers. Sometimes he would imagine what it would be like to rule his own kingdom, to make his own rules. While he scrubbed away at Arthur's hunting boots, he built his own castle. The citadel would be magnificent. The walls would stand tall, glittering with a hint of magic. Beautiful tapestries would hang from every wall, depicting anything the passerby's wished. A series of tunnels would wind throughout and underneath the stone walls, eventually connecting to water. Yes, the castle would have to be by the ocean. Merlin smiled to himself as he pictured it. The birds, the sound of waves crashing against the rocky shores, and the ships. Merlin loved the idea of having ships. With a boat like that he could sail anywhere, do anything. That's what it could be, his castle of ships.

Arthur had to smile at the name. He too pictured the castle from his spot at his desk. He could only imagine the beauty of a kingdom Merlin could build with his magic. The Castle of Ships.

"Has a nice ring to it," Arthur muttered to himself, to caught up in the image to realize he had said anything aloud.

"What was that?"

"Hmm?"

"You said something."

"No, I did not."

"Yes, yo-"

"You're hearing things Merlin, go back to whatever it is you where doing. Maybe scrub a different spot before you muck up my good boots."

Arthur stood up abruptly, leaving a confused Merlin watch him briskly walk out of his chambers.

"He really has gone mad." Merlin muttered as he began to clean the other boot.

~~~

Merlin knew someone was listening. He's felt the presence in the castle for a long time, but could never quite pinpoint it. He had tried to call out many times. Perhaps there was a Druid somewhere within Camelot trying to communicate, or an evil doer with a presence too strong to ignore. But there was never an answer. He was always left alone with his thoughts, which he was slowing getting scared to think.

When the presence felt strong, Merlin would busy his mind with his daydreams. He would think of home, or add details to his imaginary kingdom.

He did his best daydreaming during round table meetings. The presence would always be strong in the throne room, the magic almost danced through the air. It was here that he added the finer details of his castle.

He constructed a grand portrait hall as Leon droned on about the months finances. The long room would have the most brilliant red carpet, lined with an intricate gold and black pattern. He could almost feel himself walking through the grand hallway as he leaned against the cold stone of the throne room walls. As he imagined himself walking along, he thought about whos portraits he would put on display. He would have his mother, of course, and Gwen, his first friend in Camelot. He could picture the cocky smirk on Gwaine's portrait and the valiant yet understanding look on Lancelot's. His eyes scanned around the round table, imagining all of his friends in their best Camelot red, striking wild poses for the artist. They eventually landed on Arthur, whose head was resting lazily against his hand, trying his best to listen to Leon. Merlin hummed to himself, placing Arthur's portrait at the end of the hallway. It would be the only place fit for his king.

He had heard once of a spell that made the portraits move within their frames, adopting the personality of its subject. He studied Arthur's face as he thought, committing every detail to memory. The way his golden hair fell across his forehead in soft wisps, and how his nose came to a gentle point, complimenting the rest of his face. His favourite feature of Arthur's has always been his eyes. A piercing blue that found him in any room they were in.

They were the same blue eyes that were staring at him now, Merlin realized, staring back, not daring to look away now. Their shared a million words with just a look, a conversation no one else would hear.

Are you as bored as I am?

When is dinner?

When will Leon stop talking?

How's the castle of ships coming?

Merlin's heart dropped. He was imagining things, right? He had to be. They weren't really talking to each other, after all. It was all in his head, somewhere Arthur most definitely was not. He was quickly becoming aware of the overwhelming sense of magic flowing through the room.

I know you're in my head. Make yourself known. I don't know what you want, but you won't be getting it.

Arthur was taken aback by the threatening tone in Merlin's voice. He hadn't realized that Merlin could sense the presence of his magic, or that he was so threatened by it. His eyes dropped quickly, looking at everything but Merlin in the corner of the room.

"Is everything alright, Sire? You looked concerned." Leon's address took Arthur by surprise. Sitting up as fast and as straight as possible, he voided his face of any emotion as he shook his head.

"Yes, yes. Everything is fine. We must ensure that patrol around the citadel continues. I've caught wind of a potential threat. A sorcerer."

"Are you sure, sire? I haven't heard of such a thing."

"Certain. I trust my sources," with a final glance at Merlin, he nodded at Leon, urging him to continue with the meeting.

~~~

Arthur's eyes followed Merlin around his chambers. He could hear his thoughts going a mile a minute as he absentmindedly straightened the pillows on the bed.

"There is something on your mind," Arthur said, not moving his head from where it rested in the crook of his elbow, all but laying on the table.

"What makes you say that?"

"I can see it in your eyes." Their eyes connected from across the room, but Merlin looked away quickly, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. There was a moment of silence before he spoke again,

"Something is troubling you, and I want you to tell me. Please, Merlin, there is no need to lie."

Merlin was fighting with himself, and Arthur didn't need to be a mind reader to see it. They stayed like this, Arthur looking at Merlin and Merlin looking at the floor. They both felt the heavy magic in the room, but neither acknowledged it.

"Have you ever missed a place you've never been? A place that never really was?"

"I never took you for a philosopher, Merlin," Arthur couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face, or the fondness in his eyes, "if this is about your mother, I've told you. She is more than welcome here. I know how much you think of her."

"No, it's- that's not quite it."

'Not thinking of running away, are we?" Arthur's smile grew bigger as he spoke. He knew that's what it was, Merlin had been thinking about it for weeks. He wasn't worried, though. He knew Merlin would never leave without a goodbye, and a chance to convince him to stay. The guilty look in Merlin's eyes confirmed what Arthur already knew.

"I would never! Who would deal with your royal ass everyday if I left?"

"It's a simple fix, really. I would just have to come with you. Make sure you don't get yourself killed."

"Arthur Pendragon on the road? I don't believe it for a minute." Merlin smiled as he spoke. He imagined the two of them running away, into the castle of ships.

Many sleepless nights had allowed Merlin countless hours to add onto the castle. In the late hours of the night, he added gardens and ballrooms, imagined the wind on his face as he held tightly to the mast of a massive wooden ship. Those same nights, Arthur would lay awake in his own chambers, halfway across the castle, and imagine the beauty for himself as he listened to Merlin describe his castle grounds in a way that a child listens to his mother read a bedtime story.

"I am perfectly capable, thank you," Arthur rose form his spot at the table, making his way over to the bed and trying his best not to sound too amused, " and put some wood on the fire, would you? We've got an early morning tomorrow. We're travelling to Annis' land. She wishes to discuss the safety of both our borders villages."

"Is there a reason I was not told of this sooner?"

"It's simply business, Merlin. There's no need to worry. Get some sleep, you'll need it for the journey."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Merlin muttered as he left, shutting the door tightly.

"I heard that!"

"Go to sleep!"

~~~

The knights laughed loudly as their horses carried them down the well-beaten trail. An agreement was reached between Arthur and Annis about the protection of the border villages, making it much safer for villagers in each kingdom to travel through the border forests.

"Smile, Merlin! We're celebrating!" Gwaine gave Merlin's should a rough pat as his horse rode up alongside Merlin's. He held out a water skin, no doubt filled with ale, and gestured it towards Merlin.

"You're always celebrating, Gwaine." He took a long sip before handing back to Gwaine, nodding his thanks. He would need a drink if he was going to deal with the knights for the ride back to Camelot.

Merlin turned to his daydreams as their journey back continued. He was picturing a beautiful courtyard, lush with apple trees and all kinds of flowers, when his magic started to tingle. He hardly noticed it at first, brushing it off as the change in the wind, but the feeling kept growing stronger.

Someone was watching them.

They were just leaving Caerleon's borders through a valley, the perfect place for an ambush. Merlin looked around, uneasy. His body tensed at every little sound as the forest came into view. He was fighting with himself. If he told Arthur, would he believe him? What if it really was nothing? No, his magic wouldn't deceive him like that. He looked at Arthur, who was riding a short distance in front of him.

Merlin didn't even have to call his name for Arthur to turn around. As soon as their eyes met, a look of concern filled his face. His hand came up, signaling the group to stop. He looked toward the tree line, signaling for his men to do the same. Much to Arthur's horror, it was deathly quiet. The birds stopped chirping and the wind seemed to stop howling. The air around them was still as the group looked around.

"Did you hear something, sire?"

"No. That's exactly the issue."

"If we are quick, we can make it to the trees. Find safety in the forest."

Despite Leon's suggestion, nobody moved a muscle.

They continued looking towards the trees, before Merlin gave Arthur a hard nudge. Getting ready to tell him off, Arthur turned quickly on his horse before following his line of sight. Standing atop the rocky hills on either side of the valley were dozens of men wearing loose black and brown clothing, swords and bows drawn, pointed at the much smaller group of knights.

"AMBUSH!"

The horses started going crazy, whinnying and thrashing in an attempt to throw off the knights. Swords were drawn as the bandits began to yell, running down the hills at all angles. They were outnumbered, far too outnumbered to stand a chance against even the weakest opponents. Arthur unsheathed his sword, trying to regain control of his horse.

"Head for the trees!"

Picking off only the first attackers, it was a race between time, the bandits, and making it to the cover of the woods. Taking a sword from one of the bandits bodies, Merlin was quick to follow Arthur. With his heart pounding in his ears, he could no longer hear the commotion of the fight. He could only hope he was losing them.

~~~

Merlin's head was spinning as he stumbled through the thick underbrush of the forest. He had lost his horse when he lost sight of Arthur. He dragged his stolen sword loosely behind him as he tried to ignore the searing pain in his shoulder. The bandits had been quicker than he thought, and had much better aim than what he'd like to give them credit for. He had barely cleared the trees when the arrow struck his shoulder, no doubt coated in a poison that his mind was too foggy to identify.

Things had gone downhill very quickly after that. The sun had set what Merlin could only guess was hours ago. The forest was so dark he could hardly tell which way was up. He was ready to give up finding the others. He had wandered for hours, they could've been halfway back to Camelot by now.

Merlin had stopped for a moment, leaving heavily against a tree to try to catch his breath, weighing his options as he grimaced at the pain shooting through his arm. He stayed there for a few minutes, waiting, listening to the forest. He heard the magic in the forest as it flowed through every tree, every leaf. There were owls in the distance, and the sound of insects flying by. And footsteps? Although the sword was in his good hand, Merlin was weak as he swung blindly behind him. Hearing the dull thud of metal on metal, and a familiar grunt, Merlin dared to turn around.

"It's a good thing you've got sticks for arms," Arthur huffed out a weak laugh as he took the sword from Merlin.

When Arthur pulled him into a hug, Merlin was ready to defend himself, but he was to tired too do anything but lean into the cool metal of Arthur's chainmail. A gentle 'hmff' was all he could manage.

Arthur took Merlin by the shoulders and held him at arms length, giving him a once over. It was hard to see in the dark, but he could see the blood that coated Merlin left shoulder and arm, and now his own hand.

"I would never leave you behind! How could you think that?" Arthur sounded heartbroken as he gripped onto Merlin's good arm tightly.

"I didn't- how-"

"You didn't need to say it out loud for me to hear you."

Confusion was evident in Merlin's eyes as he scanned Arthur's face, looking for any trace of a joke, but he found nothing.

"It's you, isn't it? That presence, that magic... It's you?"

"It always has been."

The magic danced between them, like it had a thousand times before, but there was no fear behind it, not this time.

"You're hurt."

"I noticed."

Merlin leaned into Arthur's arm, trying to stay steady.

"Can you walk? Let me take you to the others. We've set up a camp, we'll be safer there."

"Only if you carry me. Like a damsel in distress."

"Absolutely not," Arthur scoffed as he picked Merlin up bridal style, slinging his good arm around the back of his neck, making sure not to move him too much.

"Hey! I was kidding, you prat! Put me down!"

"Would you rather I drag you? Quit your complaining. If your swing at me was any indication of your strength, you wouldn't have made it another step." Arthur tried to hide the growing concern in his voice. He looked down at Merlin's face, which was now rested against his shoulder, and he could tell it wasn't good. He only now got a good look at what had happened, and his heart sunk. He had had knights that couldn't recover from a wound like that, where the arrow was haphazardly ripped out in an attempt to get rid of the poison it was laced with.

"Merlin?"

"Hmm?"

"Tell me about the castle. The castle of ships. I'm sure there's parts that I've missed. I can't be in your head all the time."

Merlin smiled, closing his eyes as he shook his head against Arthur's shoulder,

"It's a stupid idea."

"It can't be that stupid, you put a lot of thought into it. Have you ever thought of becoming a storyteller?"

The laugh that came out of Merlin was short and hoarse, but Arthur needed him to keep talking. They were still a long walk away from the camp, and Arthur was willing to do anything to get Merlin there alive.

"I didn't realize I had such a way with words."

"Please?"

"What would you like to hear about, my lord."

"I won't hesitate to drop you."

Merlin let out another laugh, much rougher than the last one, that quickly turned into a fit of heavy, wet coughing. Arthur continued to walk, the only sound being his boots hitting the ground for a long time before Merlin began to speak.

"The grand hall, it would stand alone from the rest of the castle. It would have a long, stone pathway for guests to walk along as they gathered for feasts and balls. It would be lined with rose bushed and allium flowers, the dark purple ones."

There was another coughing fit before he continued, "the double doors, they would be engraved. With dragons, fairies, things of magic. Did you know your shoulder isn't very comfortable?"

"I wouldn't imagine, with it being covered in armor and all. Tell me about the boats. They are my favourite part."

"What about them? I've never seen a ship, only the pictures in Gaius' books. They're fascinating, aren't they?"

He could hardly finish his sentence before he started coughing again. It shook through his whole body, making him ache.

"Come on, Merlin. Keep talking. Give me something, a thought, anything. It's not long until we'll be back with the knights. Elyan will fix you right up. Good as new, right?"

Merlin gave a weak smile, "good 's new..."

"Why do you find ships so interesting? They are just big, fancy boats."

Arthur could hear Merlin's thoughts, still going a mile a minute despite him thinking almost nothing at all.

" 's exactly it. They're big, they're fancy."

"Is there a spell for that? Could you create one?"

"A spell for what?"

"Building things. Constructing this castle, making ships."

"I'm sure I could figure it out."

Merlin shifted in Arthurs arms, trying to make himself more comfortable before hissing out in pain and trying to reach for his shoulder.

"Are you trying to bleed out? Quit moving!"

Arthur's words came out harsher that he intended, though there was sadness in his voice. Merlin continued to wiggle until Arthur dropped his legs. Keeping one hand around Merlin's waist, he used his other hand to keep a firm pressure on his shoulder. Against Merlin's protest and Arthur's better judgment, they continued walking through the dark.

"We're not going to make it in time." Merlin was leaning heavily into Arthur's side, barely keeping his footing at he stumbled over another tree root.

"We're going to make it. You're not going dying on me now Merlin. That's an order."

"When have I ever listened to those?"

Merlin stopped walking, forcing Arthur to stop next to him. Letting himself fall to his knees, he landed with a small 'thump' on the cold ground, the blanket of pine needles and leaves welcomed him. Arthur lowered himself after him, keeping one hand at Merlin's side, his other hand reached out to rest against Merlin's cheek, keeping his head steady as he closed his eyes.

"Keep your eyes open Merlin. Come on, looks at me. Say something."

"Remember my story, won't you? You've heard me tell it a thousand times. Built that castle of ships. For me?"

"I won't build it unless your there to see it. Open your eyes, Merlin, please." Arthur felt hot tears roll down his face as he looked at Merlin. His friend, his best friend, his only friend, was going to die.

Merlin opened his eyes slowly, only getting them halfway opened before they became to heavy to move. Arthur moved the hand on Merlin's waist to his back, gently pulling him into another hug. They sat like this, in silence for a long time, Arthur not daring to pull away.

Arthur started to hum a gentle tune in a last ditch effort to break the silence, not trusting his own voice to not break if he spoke. It was a tune he had caught Merlin humming hundreds of times. It reminded him of the warmth of the castle, how comfortable he was when he watched Merlin go about his duties from his spot at his desk, listening to the story of a magnificent castle being built and the mighty ships that gave it it's name. It reminded him of all the times he had to stop himself from revealing his piece of magic to Merlin, to tell him that he wasn't alone, that he wasn't hated.

The quiet song came to an end and Arthur stopped, listening to the sounds of the forest and hoping to hear a voice amongst the gentle rustle of trees, but he heard nothing. There wasn't a cough, nor a cry or a snarky remark, not even a thought. It was quiet, deafeningly so as Arthur began to cry. Long, ugly sobs were the only sound as he pulled Merlin closer to him, begging, pleading for him to move, get up, say something, kick him, yell at him, anything.

But alas, there was nothing. Only silence as Arthur continued to cry. He cried for the loss of his friend, his dearest friend. He cried for the loss of the kingdom they never got to create with each other.

He cried, sobbed, begged, and bargained. But that too, only ended in silence.

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4stars-uswnt · 4 years

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A Shoulder to Lean On [Preath x Daughter!Reader]

requested by anon: More preath with daughter!reader? Something a little angsty where the reader came from a toxic home and can’t communicate her feelings very well with them and they’re worried about her a lot. And she finally feels safe enough to tell them she’s not been doing well mentally and they comfort her.

A/N: hope everyone had a happy holidays and a happy new year!! after a much much needed break, here’s some writing! lol it’s pretty long but i hope y’all enjoy it :)

warnings: mention and brief description of abuse, mention of bullying, slight swearing

“You ready, kiddo?” Tobin asks, as she rolls her suitcase to the front door of the apartment.

“Mhmm,” you hum. “I still don’t see why I have to go with you guys. I’m old enough to stay at home alone, and I’ve done it before.”

“You know why.” Christen gives you a stern glare, reminding you of the exact reason, as you roll your eyes.

A couple days ago, you had gotten into a fight at school. One of the guys in your class had been picking on you, calling you names, hitting you, and asking why your moms would adopt anyone like you, not that you’d told Tobin or Christen any of this.

Ever since you had been adopted about two years ago, when you were 15, you hadn’t been the best at openly communicating with your moms, especially about your feelings. Your previous home life wasn’t the best, as your biological parents would verbally, and sometimes even, physically abuse you.

After going through that whole ordeal and then jumping around in foster care, you weren’t used to expressing your emotions nor were you used to having people, like Tobin and Christen, who actually cared for you.

So when the two soccer players took you in and adopted you, it was certainly an adjustment for you. You found yourself often bottling everything up and then lashing out, usually taking form in a yelling match between you and your moms.

Both Tobin and Christen, but particularly the curly-haired forward, were worried about you. They knew you hadn’t ever actually had the chance to process the traumatic events of your childhood, and your coping mechanism of keeping it all to yourself was not healthy. However, every time they tried to talk to you, you would brush them off.

Though, their worried had been heightened a couple of days ago, when they’d found out you’d resorted to physical violence, punching a boy in the face. But they couldn’t let your actions go unpunished, hence why you were traveling with them to Cincinnati for the USWNT’s SheBelieves Cup training camp and matches.

“Whatever,” you mutter under your breath.

“Come on, this is hardly a punishment.” Christen squeezes your shoulder, decidedly ignoring your comment, and picks up her bag, motioning for you to do the same. “In fact, I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself.”

“I doubt it.” You grab your duffel, as the three of you make your way downstairs.

“Emily and Lindsey will be there,” Tobin offers, knowing that might cheer you up. Living in Portland, you spent a lot of time with the two blonde women and formed a sisterly relationship with them.

You shrug, trying to hide the excitement bubbling within you.

“Come on you two,” Christen calls over her shoulder, as she packs the suitcases into the trunk of the Uber.

“Just try and tone down the attitude, for your mom’s sake, okay kiddo?” Tobin suggests, patting your shoulder. You roll your eyes but nod in agreement.

“Let’s just get this over with,” you huff quietly to yourself, sliding into the backseat, as the three of you make your way to the airport.

——————

As you walk into the lobby of the hotel, trailing behind your moms, you hear someone call your name.

“(Y/N)!” Emily runs across the room and hops on your bag, Lindsey following close behind.

You wince, as the two older women crash into you and squish your body.

“You’re here at camp!” Lindsey claps your shoulder. “We’re gonna have so much fun.”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I’m gonna head up to my room.”

You give them a small smile, wiggling out of their hold, and approach your moms.

“Could I have a key to the room please?”

“Here you go.” Christen pulls out the card from her coat pocket, placing it in your hand. “We’re having team dinner at 6, so be down by then.”

You nod and head down the hall to the elevators.

—————

A couple hours later, after you’d unpacked, showered, and scrolled through your phone, you walked into the large conference room, where the team dinner was set up.

Knowing the routine by now, you grabbed a plate and began to serve yourself some food. Scanning the room, you decide to take a seat next to Sonny and across from Lindsey, your moms only a few seats down.

As you begin to take a bite of salad, you feel Emily nudge your elbow. “So was what you did so bad that your parents had to force you to come to camp?” The defender shovels a mouth full of food, looking at you expectantly.

You furrow your brow. “Huh?”

“Well,” Lindsey chimes in. “You rarely ever come to national camp anymore, and when you do it’s usually a punishment of some sort because you look miserable.”

“Fair.” You nod, taking another bite.

“Well, you gonna spill the beans?” Mal asks, joining the conversation.

“Just stuff at school.” You shrug, as the youngsters around you exchange glances.

“What happened at school?” Rose raises her eyebrows.

“Nothing,” you mumble, ducking you head. “I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

Ignoring you, Sonnett keeps pushing. “Did you not do your homework? Get a bad grade on a test? Ooooo did you get into a fight?” The defender leans forward on the edge of her seat, poking your arm, as the rest of the younger players pause their meal, eagerly awaiting your answer.

You feel yourself getting increasingly agitated, and you clench your hand around your fork.

“Emily!” Tobin calls out from across the table. “Stop being so nosy and cut it—”

“I said I didn’t wanna talk about it!” You yell, as you slam your fist down onto the table, causing the plates and silverware to clatter. The entire room goes silent, everybody turning to look at you to see what’ll happen next.

“(Y/N) (Y/M/N) Press-Heath!” Christen scolds, giving you a glare, nodding her head to the door. “Outside, now.”

You drop your utensils and push your chair away from the table, following your mom out of the room.

Once the two of you are alone out in the hallway, the silence becomes unbearable. Feeling ashamed and embarrassed, you hang your head and avoid eye contact with Christen.

“(Y/N), what happened in there?” Anger evident was evident in the forward’s voice, but she remained calm.

You shrug your shoulders, putting your hands in your hoodie pocket.

Frustrated by your behavior, Christen sighs, “That behavior is absolutely unacceptable, and you know that, (Y/N/N). You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, mom,” you murmur, intensely staring at the plain pattern on the hotel carpet.

“Look at me, honey.” Christen gently lifts your chin with her finger, her eyes softening. “Talk to me.”

You lock eyes with your mom and feel guilt pulling at your heart. You knew that your parents wanted what was best for you and that they actually cared for you, unlike your biological ones, but after what you’d been through, you couldn’t bring yourself to open up very easily.

“I’m just tired,” you easily lie, your eyes fleeting from Christen’s green orbs.

“Okay,” your mom sighs in defeat. “Well in that case, go upstairs and get some rest.”

You give her a small smile and turn to make your way towards the elevators. Before you could get too far, Christen calls after you, “And don’t come back down until you’ve lost the attitude!”

Looking back at her, you throw up a thumbs up, before pushing the up button. After a quick elevator ride up to the third floor, you unlock the hotel room you shared with your moms. Glancing over at your backpack leaning against the desk, you know you should probably start your homework and study for your biology test, but the bed calls to you, and before you know it, you’re fast asleep under the covers, sleep taking over.

—————

The next morning, you wake up in a bed all by yourself. Looking over at the opposite bed, you notice it’s empty, your moms already up. You glance at the clock. 8:17 am. Rolling over to grab your phone of the nightstand, you check your text messages and see one from the group chat with your moms.

Ma 🤙:

Morning kiddo. Breakfast starts at 8 but we didn’t wanna wake you. Hope you slept well. Please be down before 9. Love u

You simply give the text a thumbs up, before sliding out of bed and making your way to the bathroom for a shower.

Once the water is to the temperature of your liking, you step under the hot water, steam filling the bathroom. You were honestly grateful your moms had already gone down to breakfast, as it left you alone to shower in peace.

When you were back at your old home, the shower was the only place you could escape. You would use it as a place of refuge, where the water would drown out all the noise of your parents’ yelling and screaming, numb the pain of your cuts and bruises, and leave you to empty your mind.

Closing your eyes, you let the water hit your face and drip down your body. You try to feel every single drop when it hits and as it falls, grounding yourself in the present.

After a few minutes, you pull your head out from under the water, wipe your eyes, and get on with cleaning yourself.

Once you’ve finished showering and getting dressed, you make your way down to breakfast. You grab a banana and a yogurt before sitting down across from your moms.

“Good morning, sweetie,” Christen coos. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” you respond, as you peel your banana.

“You feeling better?” Tobin subtly asks, raising her eyebrow at you.

You nod, your mouth too full to voice a response.

The two women exchange a worried glance, causing you to roll your eyes. “Moms, I’m fine.”

“Alright, kiddo,” Tobin sighs. “Just know if you ever need to talk about anything, we’re here for you.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, giving her a small smile.

“Well,” Christen starts, as she begins to clear her plate. “We have to leave for training in about ten minutes, so you either have two options: you can either come to the field with us and watch training or you can stay at the hotel and do your homework and study for that test coming up.”

You grimace at your options, not really like either of them. Before you can formulate your decision, your mom interjects, “And yes, you would actually have to do homework. Phil agreed to stay back with you of that’s what you choose.”

“Like a babysitter?” You scoff.

“No,” Christen calmly states. “Just someone to make sure you’re actually doing your work. And Phil does have an MD, so he’d probably be able to help you with your biology.”

“I think I’d rather come watch your training,” you decide, wanting to see your moms play, also having some interest in the sport of soccer.

“Awesome!” Tobin grins at you. The forward had been trying to warm you up to the idea of playing soccer, obviously not pushing anything onto you, but she couldn’t be faulted for trying.

“Okay.” Christen nods, putting a hand on her girlfriend’s arm to calm her down. “That means you will have to study and finish your work later.” She gives you a stern look, daring you to protest.

You nod, taking one last bite of your strawberry yogurt and putting the banana peel in the plastic cup.

“Okie dokie. It’s time to go. Let’s get moving.” Tobin slaps the table, getting up from her seat.

After quickly cleaning up breakfast, you follow your moms, along with the rest of the team, onto the bus. Looking down the aisle, you try to find an open seat, knowing your moms sit together.

“(Y/N)!” Emily shouts, waving to you from the back of the bus. “Come sit with us.”

You make your way towards where all the youngsters sat and see that Emily and Lindsey have squished together, making room for you on the aisle seat.

As you plop down, Sonnett rests her hand on your shoulder. “(Y/N), I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have been so nosy. It won’t happen again.”

“Thanks, Em.” You nod, a small smile on your face. “And I’m sorry for snapping and yelling like I did.”

“It’s no problem, (Y/N/N).” Emily grins, ruffling your hair, as she goes back to being her goofy self.

For the rest of the bus ride, you watch and listen to the youngsters antics, ranging from Sam’s terrible puns to Mal’s mediocre rapping. To your surprise, you find yourself having a decent time, glad to be spending time with people somewhat close to your age.

—————

After getting off the bus and arriving to the field, the team slips on their gear and starts warming up. You find a seat on the bench, bundling up in your mom’s puffy jacket.

About an hour and a half later, Vlatko blows his whistle, signaling the official end of practice, but a bunch of the players remain on the field, either getting in some last minute shots or playing a fun game of 1v1 or 2v2.

“Hey, (Y/N/N)!” Lindsey yells from across the field, where her Emily and Mal are playing keep away. “Come join us.”

You glance over to your moms, silently asking for approval, to which they both give you a thumbs up and large grins, encouraging you to go play.

Getting up from the bench, you jog over to the group of younger players.

“So it’s gonna be me and you versus Sonny and Mal. Sound good?” The blonde midfielder asks you, passing the ball to your feet.

All you can do is nod, before Emily is quickly pressuring you, almost stealing the ball. Trying to remember a move you’ve seen Tobin do a million times before, you roll the ball out in front of you, baiting the blonde defender, and then quickly slip it through Sonnett’s legs, passing it to Lindsey.

“Wooooo!” Tobin cheers from behind you. “Nice move, kiddo!”

“You taught her well, babe,” Christen gushes to her girlfriend, bumping their shoulders.

For a second, all Emily can do is stand in disbelief. “I can’t believe you just megged me, (Y/N/N). How could you do that to me?” She gasps, feigning offense, as she puts her hand on her chest.

Rolling your eyes, you playfully shove the older woman. “Don’t be so dramatic, Sonny.”

As the four of you continue your game of keep away, you can’t help but love the way the ball feels at your feet and the way you have complete control over it. The control and freedom of the game feels nice, practically foreign.

Lindsey makes a pass to you, splitting the two defenders. Once you receive the ball, Emily is, once again, quickly on your back, but this time, as you hold the ball away from her, shielding it with your body, she can’t control her momentum and crashes into you.

You fall to the ground with a huff, feeling the wind knocked out of you, as you’re not really used to the physicality of soccer. Rolling over so you can sit up, you grimace. “Ouch.”

“Oh, come on, (Y/N/N),” Emily chuckles, as she moves to stand over you, holding out her arm to help you up. “That tackle wasn’t that hard, probably didn’t even hurt at all. Don’t be such a baby.”

The words ring in your head, triggering old memories of the man who called himself your father. ‘Don’t be such a baby,’ he’d say whenever you whined about something, even though that was to be expected of a five year old. ‘Don’t be such a baby,’ he’d say as he slapped or kicked you. ‘Don’t be such a baby,” he’d say when you told him about the bullies at school. ‘Don’t be such a baby,’ he’d say, and so you didn’t, at least you tried.

As you ground yourself back in the present moment, you to catch your breath, as you gasp for air. The rage ultimately consumes you, as your blinded by the pent up anger and resentment you held towards your father.

You abruptly push yourself up off the ground and get in Emily’s face. “Don’t talk to me like that!” You grit between your teeth.

“Woah, (Y/N).” Emily backs away from you, holding her hands up in innocence. “Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” You yell, pushing the other woman’s shoulders, causing her to stumble backwards.

“Alright, (Y/N/N).” Lindsey quickly moves in between the two of you. “You’re okay.” She tries to calm you down, but to no avail.

Tobin and Christen, hearing the commotion and your yelling, run over to you and gently but firmly grab you, pulling you away from the blonde defender.

“Come on, (Y/N),” Christen scolds. “We’re going back to the hotel. Now.”

The three of you make your way towards one of the team vans, your moms deciding it would be better than to ride back on the bus with the rest of the team.

During the ride back to the hotel, a tense silence hung in the air. You still hadn’t cooled off, your fists clenched and your knees bouncing. Though your mom was upset by your behavior, she couldn’t help but worry, stealing glances at you in the rear view mirror.

The elevator ride is much more of the same, no one daring to speak until you’re in the privacy of the hotel room. Even as you enter the room and take a seat on your bed across from your parents, you’re still silent, waiting for your moms to yell at you.

Tobin waits, her eyes darting between her daughter and her girlfriend, as she knows Christen is usually the disciplinary out of the two of them. Christen, herself, is choosing her words wisely, not wanting her frustration to boil over.

“(Y/N),” your mom begins her scolding. “That behavior is absolutely unacceptable! It’s one thing to be getting into fights at school, but here, at our workplace and with our teammates, that won’t be tolerated.”

You hang your head, as you fidget with your fingers, feeling ashamed and embarrassed.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, sweetie,” Christen gently directs. Lifting your head, you meet the looks of both your moms, and you can’t stop the guilt from bubbling in your chest.

“I’m sorry, moms,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, or disappoint you.”

“Thank you for your apology.�� Your moms move to seat on either side of you.

“We forgive you, kiddo.” Tobin says, taking your hand in hers. “But we’re worried about you. And until you talk to us and tell us what’s going on, we can’t help you and that’s all we want to do.”

You slightly shake your head in disbelief. “Why?”

“What?” Your ma furrows her brows, confused.

“Why do you wanna help me?” You say a little louder, getting frustrated by the thoughts in your own head. After having to fend for yourself for so long, the thought of depending on others was still difficult for you to accept.

“Because we care, (Y/N). We love you,” Christen cries, as her voice cracks, and she rubs your back soothingly.

“Well I don’t need your help!” You exclaim angrily, shaking off your moms hands, as you stand up from the bed to turn to face them.

At your outburst, Christen’s heart breaks with the weight of defeat. Taking a deep breath, trying to compose herself, her face hardens.

“Watch your tone when you speak to us,” your mom sternly states, her eyes telling you that she’s not messing around. “You’re going to stay in this room and finish your homework and study for your test. No TV, no phone, nothing but your school work. Got it?”

You nod, gulping down the knot in your throat, as tears burn your eyes.

“Hand over the phone, kiddo.” Tobin holds her hand out and gives you a sympathetic smile.

Reaching into your back pocket, you pull out your phone and and place it into your moms open hand.

“We’ll leave you to it.” Christen moves closer to you, before kissing your forehead. “We love you, (Y/N/N), and that’s why we’re doing this.”

All you can do is watch as your moms exit the room, Tobin grabbing the television remotes on her way out. Sighing, you plop down on the bed and run your hand through your hair.

For a second, you contemplate just taking a nap and not doing any of your work, but you knew if you did that, your moms would be even more upset, and you did’t want to test that.

So, you unwillingly sit down at the desk and pull out your laptop and notebooks, starting with your history homework.

—————

After about two hours, you’d completed all your homework and started reviewing for your biology test. It wasn’t that school was hard or that you had trouble understanding the material, it was just that you did’t like doing the monotonous work. You never really saw the point in doing homework if you already understood the concepts.

You check the clock and notice it’s 6 o’clock, almost dinner time. Sitting up straight, you stretch arch forward, stretching your back and lifting your arms.

You wonder what your moms wanted you to do for dinner, but seeing as you had no way to contact them, you decide just to quickly grab something from the team’s buffet and pray they don’t see you. However, you have a feeling they wouldn’t be too upset at you for not staying in the room if you were getting food, but you knew you’d pushed the envelope earlier, so you honestly didn’t know what to expect.

Quietly closing the door behind you, you quickly make your way down the hall towards the elevator. Just as you’re about to turn the corner, you hear your mom’s voice.

“I just don’t know what to do. I mean she’s never really opened up to us that much, but she’s never resorted to violence.”

Immediately you press yourself against the wall, hiding yourself but also so you can hear what they’re gonna say.

“Well, I don’t know if you can keep bringing her to camp anymore, especially if she’s gonna act like that.” You hear Megan’s voice echo in the hallway, and you feel a pit form in your stomach.

“Hey,” Tobin protests, coming to your defense. “(Y/N)’s a good kid. I think she’s just been through some stuff, but I think she enjoys coming to camp and hanging out with the team, even maybe playing soccer.”

You fondly smile, hearing your ma defend you to her good friend, even when you weren’t there.

“I think I’m gonna run up some dinner to her after we eat,” Christen says, worry evident in her voice. “I may have been too harsh on her.”

“Babe, it’s a tough situation, but I think you handled it very well,” Tobin tries to ease her girlfriend’s concerns.

“Hey, why don’t I bring her her dinner and maybe talk to her a little?” Ashlyn offers. “I mean I just thought I might be able to get through to her, maybe even share some of my own experiences with her.”

“That’d be great, Ash, thanks.” You see your mom, but you can hear the smile in her voice.

You don’t hear the rest of the conversation, as you turn around and quickly make your way back to your room, now that you know Ash is bringing you some food.

—————

It was about an hour later when you hear a knock on the door. “Hey, (Y/N), it’s Ashlyn. I brought you some dinner.”

Getting up from the desk, you go to open the door, revealing the blonde goalkeeper holding a plate of food. “Hey, Ash. Thanks for the food.”

“Can I come in?”

You bite your lip, weighing your options. “Yeah, sure.” Opening the door wider, you move to let her in.

Following her into the room, you place your plate on the desk, after moving your work to the side. You sit down to start eating, when you notice that Ashlyn is still watching you from the end of your bed.

“Ummm,” you mumble awkwardly. “Was there something you wanna talk about?” You ask, even though you already had a good idea as to where this conversation was heading.

Ash takes a deep breath before talking. “Look, (Y/N), I’m just gonna be straight up with you. I know about the fight you had at school, and I saw what happened at dinner last night, and I saw the almost fight you had with Sonnett today at practice. And I know that you’re not that kid, because I’ve heard what your moms have had to say about you.

“But I also know that this aggression, this anger, that you have, it’s not healthy. I don’t know if it’s some pent up shit or if it’s something you’re going through currently, but whatever it is that’s bothering you, it’s not gonna go away if you keep it to yourself.

“And honestly, I should know because I’ve dealt with some tough shit that life’s dealt me, but you know what? I didn’t get through that alone, and neither will you. But luckily, you have two amazing and supportive moms that are there for you, and will support and love you, but only if you let them. You even have all of us because this team is a family, and so now you’re part of that.

“So basically, I’m just here if you wanted to talk. It doesn’t even have to be about school or what’s been happening. Could be about anything: your favorite food, the stupid biology test I heard you’ve been studying for, Tobin’s weird obsession with using the same three emojis, Christen’s morning routine, whatever you want, I’m here.”

During Ashlyn’s speech, a whirl of emotions circulate your body, but most of all, you feel warm. You feel warm knowing you have people in your corner rooting for you, something you weren’t entirely familiar with before.

Almost as if the older woman’s words had knocked down a damn, your eyes flood with tears, sobs wrecking your body.

“I just— I’ve never had anybody who— They were always so mean— I could never say anything— I didn’t want—,” you gasp, struggling to breath with the intensity of your crying.

“Shhhhh, it’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. Everything’s gonna be okay,” Ash coos, as she wraps her arms around you, allowing you to cry into her chest.

After a couple of minutes, after your tears have subsided and your breathing’s evened out, you sniffle, pulling out of the goalie’s embrace.

“I didn’t really have the best childhood growing up with my biological family, you know, before Tobin and Christen,” you begin to explain the shortened and simplified version of your story.

“My parents weren’t the best, actually they were the worst,” you say with a chuckle, knowing that was an understatement. “The kids at school, Emily at the dinner table and at practice, it’s all just a trigger, reminding me of things my parents used to do and say. I guess, when I was younger, I never really processed what happened, so now, I just react with all this anger that I have for my parents.”

“(Y/N).” Ashlyn squeezes your shoulder. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I really think that if you talked to Tobin and Christen and opened up to them, even if it’s just what they told me, they’d still love you and support you.”

“Really?” You ask, uncertain.

“Mhmm,” she hums. “As much as it would calm their worrying, and you know how much Chris can worry sometimes,” the two of you share a laugh at that, “I think that this is something you need as well: to have parents in your life who will actually be parents for you, who will guide you, support you, love and care for you, tell you when you’re being stupid, give you advice, let you make bad decisions because that’s how you’ll learn, let you be your true self. I think, deep down, that that’s something you truly want.”

You follow her words and nod. “Yeah,” you sigh. “I do want that.”

Ashlyn gives you a soft smile, as she stands up from the bed. “How about I go get your moms and you guys can talk?”

“That’d be great,” you agree. Just as Ash’s about to leave, you call out to her, “And Ash?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” You give her a sincere smile, trying to convey your gratitude.

Ashlyn just nod with a grin, receiving your message, before leaving the room and shutting the door behind her.

—————

After Ash left, you started to pace around the room, nerves fluttering in your stomach, as you were mentally rehearsing what you were gonna say to your moms.

About ten minutes later, a knock on the door interrupts your thoughts. “Sweetie,” you hear Christen’s muffled voice. “Can we come in?”

“Yeah,” you call back, resuming your pacing, as the two women enter the room.

“Hey, kiddo.” Tobin approaches you. “Ash said you wanted to talk to us?”

“Yeah.” You take a deep breath and shake your hands, ridding yourself of the nerves. As you sit down on the bed, both of your moms take a seat opposite you on the other bed.

“I just wanted to explain some stuff to you guys, tell you my story or whatever, you know, all that jazz,” you stammered awkwardly.

“(Y/N/N), we don’t want you to feel pressured to tell us anything if you’re not ready,” Christen assures.

“No, I need to share this with you. I want to,” you insist, adamantly shaking your head.

“Okay, we’re here for you.” Tobin nods, giving you an encouraging smile.

You take another deep breath before diving into the story of your life. “As you obviously know, my biological parents weren’t really fit for raising a child, which is why you adopted me, but you already knew that.”

You run your hands through your hair, as this was proving to be more difficult than you thought. But looking at the warm and understanding eyes of your moms, you push through.

“My parents, especially my father, were abusive, both verbally and physically. It started as early as I can remember. They would always be calling me names and insulting me if I didn’t do things correctly, even for the tiniest mistakes like leaving the toothpaste on the counter.

“Growing up with that and hearing it everyday, I started to believe it. I thought I was useless and stupid, a no good child, those words ingrained in my mind. But I was taught not to show any emotions. ‘Don’t be such a baby’ is what they’d always say to me.

“So, I learned to hide it all, even if that meant keeping it all to myself. I guess that’s why I’ve been acting out recently; it’s all bubbling over, exploding out of me.”

You quickly glance at your moms, scanning their faces for any hints of disgust or anger, but all you can see is empathy and sadness.

“I didn’t tell you this, but I guess I should’ve: the kids at school bully me, calling me names, insulting me, and sometimes even kicking me. Sometimes, they even talk about you two, why you’re together or why you would adopt someone like me.

“At dinner yesterday, Emily just kept pushing me to talk, which I’ve never really encountered before, and I was really uncomfortable, so I just snapped. And at training, she said ‘don’t be such a baby’ after she’d tackled me, and those words triggered all those memories of my father, and all that anger and hatred I have for him just came out.

Hanging your head, tears falling down your cheeks, you bite your trembling lip. “I know that doesn’t excuse my behavior, and I accept my punishments, but I just thought you should know my past, especially because your my moms and I’m your daughter.”

Through the blur of the pools in your eyes, you see your moms giving you a sad, fond smile.

Sniffling, you choke back a sob. “I’m sorry I’m not the perfect daughter you guys wanted, but I love you, moms.”

Tobin and Christen immediately move to either side of you, wrapping you up in their arms and rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“Oh, (Y/N/N),” Christen whispers, kissing your temple. “Sweetie, will you look at me.”

Lifting your head from the crook of her neck, you meet her teary eyes.

“(Y/N), we don’t want a perfect daughter. We want you, every single part of you, even the most scarred and damaged parts of you, because you know what?” She brushes loose hair out of your face.

“Hmm?”

“All those parts of you are what make you you. (Y/N), you are an incredibly intelligent, kind, caring, and beautiful soul, even with all your scars.”

“Don’t forget talented!” Tobin chirps from next to you. “I saw that nutmeg earlier today.” She smirks, as she gives you a knowing look, causing you all to share a wet chuckle.

“Thanks, moms.” You lean your head against Tobin’s shoulder and hold Christen’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “I’m so grateful for you, moms. I love you guys.”

“We love you, too, kiddo.” Your ma leans down to kiss the top of your head, as Christen lovingly snuggles against your side, humming in agreement.

“And just know that if you ever need to talk to anybody or just need a shoulder to lean or cry on, we’re always here for you.”

You nod against her shoulder and close your eyes, enjoying the feeling of contentment and warmth, the feeling of home that you found between the love of your moms.

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #preath x reader #preath x daughter!reader #uswnt #tobin heath #christen press #preath

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lluvguts · 3 years

Text

sore eyes // boreo

pairing: adult theodore decker / boris pavlikovsky

genre + warning: some angst, swearing, implied sex

word count: 1778

summary: theo and boris have been hiding some things, and theo finally cracks

words in translation: Птица- the bird // Такой идиот - such an idiot

read it on ao3

A text message from Theo’s phone echoed, then resonated in the dark; the ceiling was haloed in the screen’s soft blue light moments before returning to black. Different sheets that held familiar smells. Theo reached out from under the blankets with a sleepy hand for his glasses and stopped cold.

Kitsey: Hey you! Still spending the night at Hobie’s? Wanna grab a bite to eat in the morning? I can swing by the shop :) xoxoxo ♡ ♡ ♡!!!

A rustle next to him. Theo set the phone back onto the hotel nightstand with a hollow clatter before Boris could turn over and inspect. The barely there tickle of his hair against Theo’s bare neck, a subdued breath from behind warming the still air. Boris extended a hand to pull Theo’s upturned shoulder back down into the sheets, murmuring nonsensical Polish—words that would have soothed Theo, in years prior, but now only made him lie unmoving around his touch. The refusal to accept; the wave of shifting light casting foreign shadows along the walls, an inky blue prelude to dawn. The city awakening, another night unfurling into the real world: leaving Theo unsure how to place his relationship with Boris among the daily trivialities of his own life. A piece that does not fit anywhere, no matter what age or chapter they decide to burst into. It simply would not work.

Theo knew Boris was not asleep—his undressed body was emanating delicious heat, closeness that made Theo flinch as he neared. With his back to the curtain he was bathed in shadow, accentuating his downturned jaw and angular form—all the more resemblant to Theo of a sculpted Hermes, or that of a Baroque painting: shaped hues of milk white and hushed blue contours that dipped into the crevices of his body, the brief suggestion of color, only a brushstroke of width, blooming under his sharp cheeks.

His hand the only thing touching him. It crept lower, a delicate dance of fingers across skin, towards his exposed abdomen until Theo flung out a hand in warning. Ironclad grip.

“Boris.”

But he only chortled out a tired laugh, his dark eyes open and one expressive brow furrowed.

“What? Are you still upset over your bird that you cannot enjoy? Let me touch you,” Boris ignored his request—along with the hand locked onto his wrist—and continued to tease with soft touches that drove him mad. Theo brushed Boris’s hand away and sat up.

“Stop. I can’t do this anymore.” Theo said and pulled the thin bedsheet over his middle.

“Cannot do what? Have fun? If this is about Птица, you know there are ways to get it back.”

Theo could not address the crippling shame he felt about the painting. The years of its guarded presence holding Theo afloat. Gone. “I can’t..I can’t keep hiding. It’s wrong. And technically, this is an affair.”

“Hah! Affair,” He spit out the word like it was poison to his lips, “As if snowflake would care. She sleeps with her love, why can you not with yours? Hmm?”

Theo did not reply. “We are adults, Potter. Grown men. She can do what she likes the same as we.” Boris went to the nightstand on his side—Theo’s heart sped at the curve of his taut skin, how his bare hands had felt every scar, caressed each shoulder blade, trailed a finger in unadulterated bliss down the dip in his lower back—his toned muscles twisting as he reached for a cigarette. The days spent craving his body against his own, how desperately Theo missed it during the daytime: a fact he couldn’t face in the present moment, not with him so close, his lips soft even in a sneer.

“You make this sound like it’s an acceptable thing.”

“What has it been these past ten years then? Vegas? Was that something you forgot?” Boris spoke around the cigarette, his voice icy and holding every drop of contempt for the lost time they spent emerging into adults—the things left unspoken finally dusted off and frowned upon.

“Like how you forgot to reach out to me all this time.” Theo said bitterly

“Pfft. Is different thing. Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not. It is directly connected and you know it.” Theo crossed his arms.

“Is directly connected,” Boris rolled his eyes and mimicked him.

“So what then?” Theo asked over Boris’s imitation, his voice growing louder, “Why come all the way out here? Why stay? You could have left the second you saw me in that pub. An easy way out, really. With the painting lost forever and all.” Theo felt the anger rise from where it had been sitting vacant all these years; he had no issue with the bite behind his words, or what it might do to their secret nights spent together. Kitsey might be happier with Cable but it didn’t matter to Theo: he couldn’t live with the shame it would cause if the Barbours found out about Boris, or Hobie. Having to come clean.

Boris leaned up against the headboard—completely bare and unashamed in the fact—to point a finger at Theo. “I stayed for you. Hah! I even took painting for you. If not, would have no reason to be back. Would never see you again.”

Theo let out a mirthless laugh. To conceal the knot of worry threading its way into his mind. “That’s your excuse? To ‘see me?’ We were childish and stupid in Vegas. Apparently nothing’s changed.”

“Fuck you.” Boris stamped out the cigarette and rose from the bed, facing the curtained window and allowing Theo to gaze with confliction at his back. His dense set of black curls magnified in the filtered sunrise. “Thinking I can come back, we can be together, like this. With no worry. Такой идиот.” He muttered to himself.

But he heard him. Theo crawled across the bed and took Boris’s forearm to spin him back. “What did you expect Boris? You can show up in my life, let us have a few good fucks and think everything’s alright? The same?” He had a pained expression flash across his face, his eyes once bright but were now shaded with emptiness at the brief moments he had hope.

“Of course not,” Boris said quickly, but Theo knew that fallen face, even now he did a poor job at hiding what he was feeling, “I came here on business trip. And found you! Was fate that brought us together. Don’t you see it, Theo? And now is fate asking us to be here.”

“Fuck fate, Boris. You can’t just expect me to drop everything and go. Hell, even be sleeping with you. I’m engaged to be married, you have a wife—or was that a lie too? I practically own the shop, I can’t just up and leave Hobie like that. I have a life here.” Theo ignored the ache in his stomach remembering the sight of Boris, after ten years, finally seeing him. The joy that overcame him, the memory of how it made the fierce wind that afternoon not as harsh; his tired eyes had lightened when his arms found his shoulders, small mannerisms never forgotten.

“You expected me to drop everything, that day. In Vegas I had a life, and still you wanted me to go with you. What is so different now?” Boris wiped his face with a rough hand and glared at Theo. His black eyes glittered with hidden emotion: regret for what could have happened, their future dangling by a what-if.

“I told you. I just can’t. I can’t have sex with you anymore. Not like this. It’s wrong on so many levels—I have a fiancé, whether or not I love her. I still have ties. And I am in no way flying across the continent on some drug heist for you. It’s not my fault that you lost the fucking painting.”

Boris sighed. His face undeniably hurt. “So harsh, Potter. I do not know what time has done to change you, but maybe you do not mean things you say.” His smile was only a quirk of his lips, not reaching his eyes. Empty.

“And now, as I think. If not for your little bird, maybe we would have never met again. Last goodbye under that street lamp.” Boris continued, his face hollow. Theo didn’t like where this was going—the broken look in Boris’s eyes as he bent to pick up his clothes strewn across the carpet.

“Where are you going?” Theo asked with bated breath as he watched Boris button his pants, his overcoat, shirt.

Boris, who could never keep his mouth shut. Left without a word.

If only Boris could see, Theo thought, he was doing this for their own good. Because really, what else was there to do? Theo wasn’t chained to Boris, and neither was he. They were adults. They had lives to live—regardless of their love, the ardent connection that stemmed from boyhood, no matter how many times they tried to make it work.

This wasn’t a relationship. Theo had to tell himself compulsively as he gathered his own clothes off the floor and left Boris’s hotel room. To meet Kitsey, to pretend he was at the shop. That everything was going as planned. But Theo started to wonder: was there any way to make things the way they should? Could there be one?

So that Theo could wake to Boris’s sleeping shape in the morning, the face he loved, rather than Kitsey’s? Go their separate ways, different relationships, yet remain on parallel paths: could Theo ever imagine introducing Mrs. Barbour to Boris, while Kitsey stayed with Tom? Would she smile in the same tender, personal way that she often did when Theo was in the room?

Theo knew he had it all wrong. He was afraid of losing Boris; the shame that resided deep in his bones was only at himself—surfacing words: coward. Trapped. Isolated. Stuck in an engagement meant only for the bettering of others. Not what he wanted.

Stay. We can make it work.

A dull, festering throb started at the base of his chest, worming its way to his heart. Clung to the back of his throat. Skull pounding a new kind of headache down the busy streets, searching with sore eyes for a familiar overcoat, thick black hair blowing in the wind. His life raft out of the choppy future he was forced to drown in.

Last goodbye under that streetlamp.

Theo: Boris. Call me.

#fanfic #boreo #boreo fanfic #angst #boreo angst #the goldfinch #tgf #the goldfinch fanfiction #adult theo and boris #fanfiction #m/m romance #i miss this fandom so much where is my tribe

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

Text

Running

A/N: Here is my entry for @obsessedwithrandomthings 500 followers celebrations! Congratulations Dee! You more than deserve this! The prompt I used is in the summary, but I have also bolded it in the text. Thank you so much for letting me take part! The gif doesn't really match the theme of the fic but I searched ‘running’ and it was the best of them lol. I’m also less than 10 followers away from 800 so this is exciting!! As always, I hope you all enjoy!!

Summary: “Run away with me,” You plead, hands framing his face, “It’ll be worth it.”

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: descriptions of injuries, mentions of death and anxiety, vomit - there is a lot of worry and anxiety in this, so please don't read if you don’t like, but I have tried to wrap it up in a fluffy fashion!!

Word count: 1.5k

Your stomach had been a ball of anxiety all night. Nothing anyone said could dampen the fear that was crawling its way up your throat. Something was going to happen tonight, and it wasn’t going to be good.

Your fears are proven correct when Sirius lands in the hallway, holding up a drastically bleeding Remus. His blood stains his white button-up shirt and drips steadily onto the floor.

The scream is caught in your throat. You look wildly at Sirius, demanding an explanation. Sirius explains quickly; they had been tailed as they were following their own targets. Remus threw himself in front of Sirius to protect him from the Sectumsempra curse.

“I couldn’t take him to St. Mungo’s. I don’t know who works there, but I’ve already called for a Healer I can trust,” Sirius shudders, murmuring the levitation charm straight after, following Remus up the stairs in a hurry.

His blood stains the carpet in the hall and would stain the stairs too, but it was the last thing on your mind as you hurry behind Sirius. Remus is laid on the bed; his face contorted in pain, barely conscious but still aware of the pain lancing through his body.

Wordlessly, you conjure clean towels from the airing cupboard, holding them to the cuts across Remus’ chest and arms. Sirius takes a towel from you, holding it to the wound across his stomach.

The Healer arrives in what seems like hours, but it could have been minutes. Your eyes do not leave Remus as you press towel after towel to his cuts, trying to stem the bleeding despite knowing that nothing but magic would help.

Sirius’ hand on your shoulder has you stepping away from the love of your life, letting the Healer complete his work. Your hands are covered in Remus’ blood; your clothes too, are ruined. You barely make it to the toilet to empty your stomach. Sirius is there, holding your hair back, muttering comforting words to you. You press your forehead to the cold porcelain, trying to take everything in now that the adrenaline was leaving your body, but your brain couldn’t comprehend what you had just been witness to.

You force yourself to stand; pushing down the fresh wave of nausea as you make your way back into the bedroom, to Remus. He lies on the bed; his body entirely healed, but deeply asleep.

“I’ve had to give him a strong sleeping draught. He lost a lot of blood and whilst I was able to heal the injuries, there’s going to be some damage internally. He needs to be asleep for it to heal which, with his lycanthropy, will heal in a few days.”

“How long will he be asleep then?” Sirius asks, learning the information to relay to you later. He knows that at the moment, you would not be listening to word being said. That all of your attention would be focused on the man on your bed, asleep and no longer in any pain.

You refuse to leave his side. They all try to coax you from your room. Sirius promises he’ll stay with him so you can shower, but you refuse. Harry tries his hardest to get you to come downstairs to eat, but it doesn’t work. Instead, he leaves for a moment before coming back with a plate of food. You nibble at it, but the nausea soon returns.

The first day blends seamlessly into the second and there’s no change in Remus. He lies on his side of the bed in clean clothes and clean sheets, sleeping peacefully. You admire him from your spot in the armchair across the room; this would the first time in a long time that Remus had managed to get a solid block of sleep without being interrupted by the order or the lunar cycle. You think it every time but in sleep, you see the Marauder in him. You see the teenager you had fallen in love with one afternoon by the Black Lake. The teenager who had stuttered through asking you out but soon found his confidence once you had accepted.

For years it had been you and Remus. The only survivors of the first wizarding war, Remus claimed though it pained him to say it.

On the third day of your vigil beside the bed, Remus groans before blinking against the bright light of the morning. You’re out of your seat in an instant, lurching to the end of the bed with tears in your eyes. “Remus, you’re awake! How do you feel? Do you need anything?”

“I’m sore, but I’m okay. I don’t need anything right now.”

You sag in relief, “I am so happy you’re awake, dear. That was the most terrifying time of my life.”

“Even more than the time you saw me as a wolf?” Remus tries to joke, but he winces instead.

“This isn’t a joking situation, Remus!” You cry, “Do you remember what happened?”

“I remember being followed and then jumping in front of Sirius and then blinding pain. I passed out then, I think.”

Your hands grip the bedpost at the end of the bed, “Sirius brought you back here and we called in a Healer. You were hit with the Sectumsempra curse and your blood was everywhere, and I couldn’t stop it-” You break off suddenly; your words getting caught in your throat.

The sudden urge to run overwhelms you. Your eyes dart around the room – to the suitcases, to the wardrobes. A plan begins to form in your head; a few more days healing was all that Remus would require before he’s stable enough to apparate. You know of a place where you couldn’t be traced where he could spend a few weeks or so recuperating before you run for real.

The desire to leave it all behind takes over. In that moment, the only thing you could ever want is a longer life with the man lying on the bed in front of you. If this war continued, how long would you have? Optimism in this situation is vitally important but as your eyes return to Remus, running over the war-weary, pale face of the love of your life, all you want is to go.

To go and never look back.

“Run away with me,” You start, rushing to his side, hands framing his face, “It’ll be worth it.”

“Where would we go?” He asks, his eyes bright with possibilities.

“Anywhere – the country, the coast, abroad. Run away with me Remus, before the war swallows us whole.”

“What about the Order? Darling, we can’t leave them.”

“Fuck that, Remus. Look at yourself! You can barely move.” You stand, gesturing to the four walls in which you stand, “These last few days have been my own personal hell; I didn’t know if you were going to wake up. For the first time in my life, I have had to face a possibility of a life without you and I won’t do it. Not again. Run away with me, Remus.” Your eyes are wild as you plead to him, beg to him to consider doing this.

Remus’ eyes search yours, looking for what, you don’t know. You know the minute you’ve lost the battle, and you would be remaining where you are. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” You ask brokenly.

“You won’t leave Harry, love. You’re his godmother – you won’t let him face this war without you, you simply won’t.”

The tears that were previously lining your eyes now overflow onto your cheeks. You look at Remus through watery eyes, not bothering to stem the flow. “You can’t do this to me again, Remus. I will not live in a world that does not have you in it, do you understand?”

“I understand, darling.” Remus holds his hand out for you. You stumble over to him, desperate to touch some part of him. With a light tug, he has you sat next to him on the bed you share. “I’m here now,” he whispers, “I don’t plan on leaving for a long, long time.”

You sniffle, “Good. I didn’t like the look of my life without you.”

“What have I missed then; in the three days I’ve been asleep?”

You look at him, somewhat sheepishly, “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t left this room.”

Remus frowns at you. “Darling, please tell me you’ve eaten and taken care of yourself.”

“I’ve eaten a little, but I didn’t want to leave you and I didn’t want to let anyone look after you.”

“I really did scare you, didn’t I?”

You nod, “Beyond scare, Remus. I couldn’t think straight, I don’t think I’ve thought a coherent thought since Sirius appeared with you in the hall.”

He brings your entwined hands to his lips, pressing kiss after kiss to the back of your hand. “I am so sorry, my love.”

“You don’t need to apologise, Remus. You did nothing wrong.”

“Nevertheless. I am sorry, I didn’t think before throwing myself in front of Sirius, and I should have.”

“You were protecting your best friend.”

Remus shrugs, but winces at the stiffness in his joints, “I will not leave you like that again. The minute I’m out of this bed I’m speaking to Dumbledore, demanding lighter missions. I’m too fond of this life to leave it prematurely.”

Tears start anew as you lie next to the man you so dearly love. Gripping his hand in both of yours, you press it your chest, “I’m too fond of you to let you leave it prematurely.”

**************

General (HP) taglist: @the-hufflefluffwriter @obsessedwithrandomthings @kalimagik @summer-writes @lupins-sweater @slytherinprincess03 @mischiefsemimanaged @soleil-amaryllis @bforbroadway @masterofthedarkness @chaotic-fae-queen @peachesandpinks @nebulablakemurphy @haphazardhufflepuff @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @firewhisky-kisses @deafgirltingz @kylosleftbuttcheek @heloisedaphnebrightmore @harrypotter289 @sprvpti @accio-rogers @potterverseimagine @figlia--della--luna @angelinathebook @dreamer821

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years

Text

back to the hedgerows

summary: every relationship has its difficulties, you know that. but it just so happens that the first significant problem in your marriage to gwilym is more of a mountain than a molehill.

word count: 6k+ (oof she thicc-ish)

warnings: angst to the gods!, language, innuendo, assumed infidelity, allusion to child abuse, did i mention angst? like there is literally nothing but angst here and i’m absolutely living for it

a/n: hi, lovelies! super super excited to be sharing this collab fic i wrote with @almightygwil! as i am the self-proclaimed Queen of Angst, i’ve written the first part and ellie wrote the second (which is amazing), which will be coming out soon. we hope you enjoy and sorry in advance. :)

(side note: i do want to make it really clear that this is simply fiction. i don’t believe gwilym would do some of the things outlined in the fic below in real life. just fiction, y’all, and makes for good make-up smut a la ellie!)

you blame hulu for ruining your marriage.

unless it’s gwilym’s fault; maybe it’s yours. perhaps even charlie’s. whoever is ultimately at fault, you do know that if it hadn’t been for hulu, if it hadn’t been for ‘the great’, you wouldn’t be hastily packing your bags, shouting through tears for your son to gather his belongings and put them in the damn suitcase.

if it hadn’t been for hulu, you wouldn’t be on the verge of losing your husband for good.

“mama?”

you turn at the sound of charlie’s voice, small and shy, filled with concern. he stands in the doorway of your room, clutching his raggedy teddybear. the poor animal is threadbare and stiff around the edges. it is worn with seven and a half years of love, and try as you might to wean him off it, he won’t let go. so you don’t push the matter anymore. after all, a boy who has endured as much as he has deserves to love a stuffed animal for as long as he wishes.

“yeah, baby?” you hope your face isn’t as red and splotchy as it feels. but god you’re tired, tired of waiting by the phone like a fool when you know he won’t call, tired of wondering, tired of crying into your sleeve.

“is daddy gonna meet us at grandma’s?” his question is innocent enough, but it stirs the fire in your belly. your fists clench around the shirt in your hand, and you shake your head.

“no, he’s not.” you switch the subject, afraid that if you continue further, you will lose control. “have you packed your things?”

charlie nods. “come see!”

with a sigh, you drop the clothing in hand and follow. your legs are weary, as is your heart. it’s been a long week. if you’re being honest, it’s been a long few weeks. ever since you kissed gwilym goodbye at the airport, the days have grown longer and your loneliness has only increased. it’s rather sad, how much you depend on him, but he’s your husband, and you love him.

even this week, some part of you loves him still.

charlie’s room could be photographed and used in the dictionary as a reference photo for ‘pigsty’. in an effort to pack his suitcase, he’s unearthed everything in his possession and scattered it across the floor. you’d smile, but you’re too tired. instead, you pick a pair of trousers off the lampshade and step over a mountain of toys.

“i don’t know who you think is gonna be cleaning all this up,” you say, dropping the trousers in the suitcase, which is empty of clothes and full of toys and books. “also, i think you’ll need at least one pair of clean clothes at grandma’s. something besides these books.” you lift the first book you see, and a fresh bout of tears prick the corner of yours eyes.

brian’s first gift to charlie: a book on stars. the pages are dogeared and stained with food. memories—memories of brian and gwilym and charlie in the back garden, stargazing like a trio of schoolboys—fill each page. you set the book down, sure that if you open it and reread the heartfelt note from brian on the inside cover, you will burst.

“here, we’ll take this.” haphazardly, charlie lifts a pile of clothes from the floor and dumps them unceremoniously in the suitcase. for extra measure, he adds his favorite pajamas—a dinosaur onesie, given by joe. “we need to leave most of the room for toys.”

for the time first in days, your face softens. you reach out to cup your son’s freckled cheek. he truly is the light of your life. if you had to go back and do it over again, you would still say yes. even if it eventually led to losing gwil, you would always pick charlie.

“i’m sure grandma has toys waiting for you.”

“but not these toys.”

“no, not these ones.” you glance around the room and search for the muster to tell him to clean before going to bed, but the muster isn’t there. you don’t even have the heart to properly fold the clothes in his suitcase. “brush your teeth and get in bed. we have an early morning.”

charlie pouts and slumps against the bed frame. “but i can’t brush my teeth without daddy,” he whines.

“you’ve had to brush your teeth with him for weeks now, charlie.” your voice is tight, on the edge of rage, so you clear your throat and nod toward the bathroom. “hop to it.”

he drags his feet, but soon you hear the water running and the buzz of his electric toothbrush.

for a moment, you stand in the center of his room. you can still remember the day you moved in two years prior—newly married, newly a mother, everything so exciting and raw with potential.

charlie had stood in awe of the empty space, his teddybear tight against his neck. you’d watched him from the doorway, heart in your throat, and leaned against gwilym’s chest when he held your shoulder.

“i don’t think he’s ever had a room this big,” you’d whispered. “or one to himself.”

“how do you want to decorate it, charlie?”

at gwil’s question, charlie spun on his heel. his eyes narrowed, still wary of his new father. his gaze had slid to you, and you’d nodded in encouragement.

finally, speaking only to his shoes, he’d said, “i want planets.”

gwilym had laughed, shaking his head. “he’s gonna fit in just fine.”

you can still feel gwil’s hand on his shoulder and his breath on the curve of your neck. you can still feel the way his love for charlie in that moment made you marvel. no other man would be so willing to marry his girlfriend of seven months and adopted her former student three months later. but he’d been willing, and he’d been excited to start a new chapter.

father, mother, and son.

but perhaps now your worst fears have come true. perhaps gwil’s woken from the dream, realized his mistake in marrying you so fast, in agreeing to father a child not his own. perhaps that’s why he hasn’t called or reached out in four days.

you can only assume that’s why. assuming anything else might kill you.

when charlie reenters the room, toothbrush in hand, you palm at your wet cheeks and smooth a hand across your twisting stomach. you force a smile and take the toothbrush.

“i’ll put this in my bag,” you say. “where it’s safe from all the dinos.”

“mama,” charlie chides as he crawls into bed. “dinos need to brush their teeth too.”

“oh, of course! i just mean you don’t want to share dino germs. it’s bad for you.”

charlie rolls his eyes and tugs his comforter to his chin. “how do you know? have you read my books?”

“only a hundred times.” sitting by his side, you tuck the covers around his small frame. you release a slow sigh and study his face. “grandma is going to be so excited to see you,” you say.

“is she nice?”

“always.”

“why haven’t i met her before? i’ve met daddy’s parents, and grandpa brian and grandma anita. why not your mummy and daddy?”

you shrug. “life’s been crazy, and they live very far away. but they’re bursting to finally meet you.”

“but daddy’s not coming?”

you snap before you can stop it. “i wish you’d stop asking that! daddy is not going to be there!”

when you open your eyes, charlie’s are filled with tears and his lower lip quivers. it’s rare that you lose your temper. months of counseling before and after adopting him taught you to control your anger—however justified it may be. his home before yours had not been kind, and any hint of unhappiness sets him on edge.

cursing under your breath, you lean forward, pressing your hands to his shoulders. “i’m sorry, baby.” the pools of tears in your own eyes match his, and you wonder if it is possible for tears to run dry completely. “i’m sorry. i’m not mad at you, sweetheart.”

a fat tear rolls down his cheek, and you brush it away, swallowing past the lump in your throat.

“daddy’s at work,” you say. “he can’t come. but i bet—i bet he’s missing you right now and wishing he could be there.” the words taste like a lie, bitter and sinful. still, you say them, hoping they will ease charlie’s fears.

“well, maybe he’ll surprise us.”

clenching your jaw, you nod. “maybe he will.” rising, you kiss his forehead and ruffle his sandy hair. “goodnight. fall asleep fast because before you know it we’ll be leaving.”

with a yawn, he curls onto his side. “i’ve never been on a plane before,” he whispers.

“there’s a first time for everything.” you kiss his temple again and tiptoe out of the room, but not before tripping on a mislaid firetruck.

in the solace of your bedroom, you drop to the carpet beside your bed. your head falls against the firm mattress. your fingers itch to reach for your phone but you stop yourself. it’s a bad habit, always has been. you check your phone too often because the worrier in you is convinced if you aren’t attached at the hip, something dreadful will happen and you’ll miss it. this past week, it’s gotten worse. every few seconds you flip your phone over and wait for the screen to light up. the photo of gwilym and charlie—charlie on gwil’s shoulders, ice-cream smeared all over his cheeks—is always devoid of any new messages. well, any new messages from gwilym, and that’s all you’re looking for.

you knew keeping in close contact would be difficult; you weren’t that naive. you’d expected periods of silence on either end. charlie was a handful and, with school ending for the summer, your full-time job became keeping him out of trouble. gwil was thousands of miles away in a different timezone, not to mention working odd hours. you could handle a day, maybe two, with simple texts—a short good morning or hasty i love u written as you run out the door—but it had been four full days since you’d last heard even a murmur. and that wasn’t counting the week before when day by day his responses grew shorter and his calls more infrequent.

god, you hate him.

aside from your mother, your reason for leaving the country remains secret. you’d tell your cousin, katie, but she’d get too worked up. hell, she’d probably board the next flight and rough gwil up herself. you’d tell joe, ask if you could crash in his apartment with charlie on your layover in new york, but you’d rather not subject him to your marital issues. you’d ask anita for advice, but you can’t stomach the idea of crushing the good image she has of gwilym.

so, you stay quiet. suffer in silence. it’s easier for everyone else that way.

just as you’re about to stand, shower off the layer of disgust forming on your skin, your phone pings. the way you dive toward the bedside table is pathetic. your fingers scrabble, shaking, as you lift the phone. flipping it over, the screen lights up, that stubborn sliver of hope in your heart coming to life as you wait.

a text from the airline. confirmation of boarding numbers.

your eyes flutter shut. you should feel disappointed, but you aren’t. it’s what you’ve come to expect. you’d given up two days earlier, finally decided that if gwilym wasn’t going to answer any of your voicemails or texts, then you’d simply stop nagging him. clearly, he wasn’t interested in being a husband or a father at the moment.

dropping the phone to your bed, you head for the shower. the water is too hot, scalding your skin, but it feels good. it feels like something. you press your hand to the steamed glass and allow the water to run down your face, fill your eyelashes, stream off your nose. you breathe hard against the pain in your chest.

an image—your wedding day—flickers to mind: katie’s backyard, covered in string lights; your gown, hastily bought from the local dressers; the night sky, alive with stars. aside from your cousin and gwilym’s family, the ceremony had been next to empty. you needed to get married fast in order to speed the adoption papers along, and you didn’t mind the small gathering. charlie had sat on katie’s lap the entire time, rolling the ring cushion between his hands. he’d been so small then—five years old and already so scarred by the world. but gwilym had held out his hand, beckoning charlie over during the vows; he’d crouched, looked deep into charlie’s eyes, and promised to love and care for him as his own—the memory made you choke on a sob, the sound echoing around the shower walls.

god, you hate him.

you slip into bed, hair wet and unbrushed, with a groan. travel to prince edward island and your parent’s retirement home will be long and exhausting. an eight hour flight from heathrow to jfk, a six hour layover in new york, and then another flight to charlottetown. your head already aches, and you haven’t even reached the airport.

despite everything in you screaming don’t do it, you check your phone one last time. it’s blank, but you pull up gwil’s name in your messages anyway. as quickly as you can, averting your eyes from the long line of unanswered texts, you type your message:

headed to pei. taking charlie. don’t have a return date yet.

message sent, stomach churning, you fall into a restless sleep.

you’re antsy. after eight hours on a plane, your legs are tight and you long for fresh air. charlie’s in much the same state. though he’d enjoyed the novelty of a plane ride for the first hour, for the remaining seven it was a chore just to get him to sit still. now, he’s bouncing on his heels, teddybear in hand, humming a nonsensical tune far too loud in the line to the toilet.

“charlie.” you squeeze his hand tight. “shush.”

the line inches forward, and charlie blows a raspberry with his tongue. “i’m tired, and i’m hungry.”

you sigh. “i’ve just got to go to the loo and then we’ll find something to eat.”

“are we going to go into the city?”

“no, i don’t think we have the time.” it’s a lie—you have six hours to kill—but you can’t think of anything you’d do that wouldn’t make you pine for gwilym. it’s easier to stay in the cool airport, plug charlie in with a movie, and read your book.

“doesn’t uncle joe live here?”

“yes, he does.”

leading charlie into the bathroom, you corral him to the nearest open stall. he pushes his forehead against the stall door, his back turned to you as you relieve yourself.

“we should go see him.” his voice is muffled against the door, and you try not to think of all the new germs crawling over his face.

“i told you, baby, we don’t have the time.”

after washing your hands and exiting the bathroom, you find an empty table and sit down. charlie sits next to you, his legs swinging back and forth. he watches the people passing by, and you wonder if he’s picked the trait up from gwilym.

he looks so much like gwil it’s startling. maybe it’s because you’ve watched them side by side the last two years, but charlie truly does look like gwilym’s natural born son. it’s in his face: the soft eyes, strong nose, full lips. it’s in his mannerisms: his easy smile, soft voice, eagerness to listen. not for the first time, you wonder if you’ll have any more children and if they will take after their father. you used to hope so; now you’re not so sure.

shaking your head, you clear your throat and reach for your phone. you’d left london to get away from the house so full of memories and sweet times together. you’d left london to have a moment of peace, cry in the arms of your mother, and figure out what to do next. you didn’t leave home just to have it all follow you.

sliding open the phone, you search for joe’s name in your contacts list. you dial the number, glancing at your son as the phone rings in your ear. some part of you hopes he won’t answer, so you don’t have to answer any questions. another part of you wants—needs—a familiar face.

he picks up on the third ring. “[y/n]! to what do i owe this great honor?”

you find yourself smiling at the genuine happiness in his voice. “well, it’s short notice, but charlie and i are currently sitting in jfk. we’ve got a six hour layover...” you let the implication hang in the air, knowing full well he’ll pounce.

you can already hear his keys jangling on the other end. “i’ll be there asap.”

an hour later, you’re sat in a restaurant overlooking times square. you hadn’t planned on going into the city, but joe insisted. he wanted to show his nephew the sights—as many as he could in a few hours time—but charlie insisted he be fed first. now, sitting across from your son and joe, plates laden with overpriced food, you notice a lightness in your chest you haven’t felt for some time. it’s nice to see someone you care about, and joe is unusually tactful in his conversation. he’s tiptoed around the topic of gwilym and ‘the great’ and for that, you’re thankful.

“so, charlie’s told me all about school, which, apparently, rocks,” joe says between bites of a burger. “what’s up with you, [y/n]? how’s married life treatin’ you?”

you know it’s partly a jest—he’s asked the same question nearly every time you’ve spoken since you married gwilym—but there’s also a level of true interest in his query. but you shift in your chair, wincing as you turn to look at the busy street below. and perhaps he notices because he hurries to say instead:

“seen brian lately?”

this you can answer without crying or shouting or slumping low in your seat. nodding, you look to charlie. “we went over for dinner a few nights ago, didn’t we? tell joe what grandpa bri said.”

charlie keeps his focus on his mac & cheese as he speaks. “he said if i tried really hard i could have hair like his, but i told him i don’t want to look like a poodle.”

joe laughs, his head tossed back, his hands clapping together in sheer joy. you laugh, too, despite remembering the utter embarrassment you’d felt at brian and anita’s dining room table.

charlie grins, his eyes darting back and forth between each adult’s reaction. he’s pleased with himself, the pride on his face all too real. “mama made me say sorry.”

“i hope she did,” joe says with a chuckle. “that’s brutal, charlie.”

charlie’s forehead puckers in a frown. “daddy says always tell the truth.”

“yeah, but you gotta...” joe waves his hand, shaking his head. “never mind.”

a moment of quiet falls over the table. you’ve barely touched your salad, finding that, although your stomach growls with hunger, you don’t have the energy to eat. joe’s looking at you with open curiosity, and it makes you squirm. he knows something’s up, but now is not the time to unburden yourself. not with charlie sitting so close, not with your heart as tender as it is. one wrong move and you knew you’d fall into joe’s arms, a sobbing mess in the middle of the restaurant.

what dignity you have left, you’d like to preserve.

“what do you think about going to the park?”

joe’s eyes narrow across the table. “central park?”

“you said you want to show charlie the sights.”

joe glances at your unfinished food then your face. still, he says nothing. instead, he pays for the meal, even though you try and slide your card over his when the waiter comes by. you leave your salad and grab charlie’s hand as you exit the restaurant. you’re possessive that way—always needing to hold on to some part of your son; you’re the same with gwilym. neither seem to mind, so whenever you’re able, you hold charlie’s hand while crossing the street or you run your nails gently over the back of gwil’s neck as he likes it. you suppose, with charlie, it’s a mother thing. one day he won’t lean into your shoulder when you wrap an arm around him, so you take every chance to hold him that you can. you suppose, with gwil, it’s a wife thing. though you aren’t a huge fan of pda, you like letting others know he’s yours.

you hope he still is.

the day is warm, sticky with humidity. as you walk the few blocks to central park, joe points out his favorite landmarks. charlie seems interested enough, though he’s much more concerned with pointing out every pigeon than he is responding to joe’s explanations of the buildings around him. a fine pool of sweat gathers under your arms, and you soon shed your cardigan. the frigid air conditioning of the airport will be a welcome feeling once you’ve returned to jfk.

joe leads you to a playground, tucked away behind overgrown hedges. charlie drops your hand and rushes for the jungle gym, his faithful teddybear flinging in the wind behind him. with a soft smile, you collapse on the nearest bench and reach for your water bottle. after a sip, you offer it to joe, who shakes his head.

you know what’s coming. he’s going to ask about gwilym, and you’re going to have to come up with a suitable answer. you don’t have a suitable answer, not one that would keep your issues private but at least clue him in somewhat. finally, when the silence is overbearing, you give a short sigh.

“well, out with it, mazzello.”

he feigns shock. “out with what? i’m enjoying the sound of the birds.”

“you’ve been studying me all through lunch. tell me what you’re thinking before i scream.” you know you sound petulant, but it’s hot and eight hours on a plane with a wiggly child was hard. more than anything, you want to be home—not in london. the last two weeks have been hell, walking through the halls, visibly watching gwilym slip away, and having no clue what to do. no, you want your mother, and her home—whether it be prince edward island or the ridiculous summer home in lyon—is your home.

joe glances sidelong at you, his face drawn tight. when he speaks, his tone is serious, one you don’t hear from him often. “is there something going on? between you and gwil?”

despite knowing it was coming, the question still makes you want to wretch. you look away, curling your hands around the water bottle. it cracks between your fingers.

you decide to lie. it’s easier that way.

“no... no, not really.”

joe tries, but fails to catch your eye. “it’s just that... you seem really depressed. i thought maybe with him being gone...”

he’s given you an excuse—maybe on purpose, maybe on accident—but you jump for it, cursing yourself for not thinking of it on your own. “i mean, yeah, it’s been hard. it’s been—fuck—nearly two months now.”

“that’s a long time.”

you nod and return your attention to charlie, who is swinging on the monkey bars with ease. “yeah, it is, but he should be due for a few days off soon. he might be able to come back for a long weekend.” you grit your teeth against the words. they taste sour, and you take another sip of water to wash away the bad taste.

“[y/n]—”

twisting on the bench, you give joe a look that shuts his mouth with a snap. “we’re fine, joe,” you say, though, now more than even, it is clear you are not fine. you hold his gaze, daring him to push further.

he doesn’t. he just stands, hands in his pockets, and shuffles over to charlie with a nod.

wrinkling your nose against the sudden sting of tears, you lean back against the bench. a branch from the bush behind you digs into the skin of your shoulders, and any breeze which drifts your way smells vaguely of piss. that’s new york, you suppose: people as prickly as branches and the persistent smell of bodily functions. altogether, not terribly different from london.

your phone pings, but for once, you hold still, your tongue clamped between your teeth. your heart tells you it’s gwilym, finally woken from whatever slumber he’s been under, apologetic and eager to make amends. your mind tells you otherwise; it’s likely the airlines or your mother or katie. never gwilym; not anymore.

the message on your screen is from instagram, and you ignore the traitorous twinge of disappointment in your chest. frowning, you open the app, certain you’d turned notifications off long ago. what loads first in your timeline is a series of five photos. days off in pompeii, gwil’s caption reads. you don’t bother to swipe through the photos. you exit the app, delete it for good measure, and slide the phone back into your purse.

rising from the bench, you find joe and charlie hunkered beneath a slide. they’re imagining dinosaurs and jeeps and dangerous missions in the forest. with a smile, you drop to your hands and knees and join them, intent on enjoying what time you have left.

joe drops you off at the airport with plenty of time to spare. in the cell phone parking lot, you gather around the hood of his car for a final goodbye. joe slips charlie a fresh five dollar bill for the snack machine when he thinks you aren’t looking, and it’s the most uncle move you’ve ever seen. it warms your frigid heart, so much so, you nod to the back of the car.

“make sure you haven’t forgotten anything, love. we don’t know when we’ll be back if you’ve left something.”

charlie ambles his way behind the car, inspecting his new money, and when he’s out of earshot, you turn to joe.

“i’m going to talk,” you say. “and you’re going to listen and say nothing when i’ve finished. is that understood?”

his eyes are wide as he nods.

“i haven’t heard from gwil in nearly five days now. last week, his texts got shorter and more infrequent and he stopped calling. this week, he hasn’t responded to any of my messages, voicemails, or otherwise. so two days ago, i gave up and i stopped reaching out. it’s been radio silent since, and i don’t know why. so, that’s what’s going on, and why i’m so goddamn depressed. but if i find out that you’ve called him and tried to make him see sense, i will never forgive you, joseph. do you understand me?”

his only response is a shocked blink, but it satisfies.

“it’s my marriage,” you continue. “i have absolutely no idea what i’m doing, but it’s my marriage, and i’ll figure it out whatever way i can.”

there’s a pause then joe crushes you against his chest before you can stop him. his hug is painful. your left arm is caught between his chest and yours, your right shoved across his shoulders awkwardly. his arms tighten the strap of your purse against your neck, and you’re sure there will be a harsh red line when you pull back. but you don’t care. you let joe hug you. there’s pity in the embrace, but more than that, there’s love, and you feel it. love for you, for gwil, for charlie.

charlie’s voice breaks the moment, for which you’re glad. a second longer and you’d have started crying. “i didn’t leave anything but i found a dollar.”

wiping the underside of your eyes, you push away from joe and turn to your son with a smile. “wow—six dollars in one day! what are you going to do with all that cash?”

charlie shrugs and shoves the bill in his pocket. “i dunno. maybe buy my own plane.”

“so fiscally responsible. i’m proud.” joe ruffles charlie’s hair, grinning. “will you let me take a ride for free?”

charlie looks joe up and down then nods. “i guess. you did buy me lunch, so it seems like a fair trade.”

“we’d better go.” you reach for charlie’s shoulder. “thank you, joe,” you say, hand curling around the handle of your suitcase.

his smile fades around the edges, and you see a sigh lift his shoulders. “take care of yourself, [y/n].”

“i always do.”

he rolls his eyes. “you know what i mean.”

you look away, but nod. “tell your family we said hi.”

joe sticks his hand out to charlie, who shakes it with some trepidation. “look after your mom, charlie.”

“yeah, okay.”

you leave, bags dragging behind you, slamming against your ankles, with a wave. it hurts to watch joe stand there, hands in his pockets, ratty baseball hat on his head, looking so forlorn. you know that, if you asked it, he’d find gwilym and make him set things right. but this is your fight. no one else’s.

an hour and a half later, you’re strapped in your assigned seat, charlie’s head on your lap. his cheek is hot against your thigh, his chest rising and falling to the gentle rhythm of sleep. as the plane takes off, you glance out the window and watch as the world fades from view. you can’t help but think that somewhere below is a family much like yours.

you imagine them sitting down to dinner, laughing, catching up on the day, looks of love shared across the table. you imagine the mother and father, finding a moment of stolen passion against the pantry door as the son settles down for an evening movie. you imagine her laugh as he mumbles filthy things against the skin of her neck, things that set her heart ablaze. you imagine the way his hand strokes over her leg throughout the movie, his eyes meeting hers every now and then over their son’s head. and you imagine him laying her down on the bed, caressing, loving, worshipping her until they are spent.

some time ago, your life had looked similar. it doesn’t anymore, and you aren’t sure why or what you’ve done wrong.

the flight attendant pulls you from your thoughts. “can i get you anything, ma’am?” she asks.

a flood of answers rise to your chest. a phone call, an answer to prayers, my husband. instead, you shake your head. “no, but thank you.”

your parent’s home is picture perfect, like something out of a magazine: the long, winding drive framed by lush trees, the pale stonework crawling with ivy, the faded green shutters, and chipped picket fence. you’ve come once since it was bought. your parents, ever the world travelers, surprised you when they announced their move to their maritime provinces, and due to your teaching job, new relationship with gwilym, and concern for your student charlie, you’d only had the chance to visit for a short weekend.

as your father pulls up the drive, you nudge your mother with your shoulder. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were trying to be anne shirley, mother.”

your mother tosses her head back with a laugh. her sunglasses are overly large, but you can still see the laugh lines around her eyes. “of course i am, dear. much to your father’s chagrin.”

from the driver’s seat, your father merely huffs. he makes a face at charlie who, buckled tight in the passenger seat for the last few miles of the journey, giggles behind his hand.

your mother slides her hand across the bench. her fingers tap the bone of your wrist, and you look away from the window. she’s pushed her sunglasses over her hair, and her painted lips are drawn light.

“we’re so glad you’re here, sweetheart.” her tone is soft, apologetic.

the corner of your mouth twitches into something close to a smile. “me too.”

“okay, last stop. everybody out.” your father parks the car and pops the trunk.

you follow your parents to the front door as charlie races around your legs, babbling questions and comments as if he’s never spoken a word in his life. your father, who bears the brunt of charlie’s attention, takes it all in stride. tim, your brother—god help him—blessed your parents with eight grandchildren before you managed to give them one of your own. anything charlie has to throw at your parents, they will surely be able to handle.

after a light supper, charlie convinces his new grandfather to take him to to the river at the base of the property. he’s eager to find worms and, if your father can get free labor in return for fish bate, he’ll take it. they walk off, the sun dipping closer to the horizon as the day draws to a close. your mother stands in the doorway and nods her head toward the garden.

“come help me.” her request is more of a command, but you listen, grabbing a watering can from the back stoop as you trail after her.

the air on the island is fresh, slightly salty but sweet. you breathe deep, reveling beneath the open sky, unobscured by wires or skyscrapers or aircraft. your mother’s garden sprawls across the backyard. a ladder rests against the apple tree in the corner, heavy with fruit. raised flowerbeds with soft brown dirt sprout with tomatoes and snap-pea vines and peppers. a strawberry patch, struggling but alive, stands on its own. there’s a foam pad on the ground, and your mother kneels on it, reaching for her gardening tools.

“there should be some grape tomatoes ready,” she says, pointing to the plant. “gather what you can in this.” she passes you a paper container, and you set to work.

the birds twittering and the unhurried breeze work to soothe the ache in your soul. you could get used to this, a simple life here. the thought startles you, and you drop the tomato in your hand. it lands on your foot with a splat, covering your toes in sticky juice.

coming here, leaving london, you never thought for a moment it would be permanent. you just needed a change of scenery, a place to clear your thoughts. you have no intention of leaving gwilym. god, though he’d ripped your heart out, until he said the words, you’ll stay by his side forever.

“sweetheart? [y/n]?”

you look up. “huh?”

your mother frowns. “you’re just standing there.”

“am i? oh, sorry.” you turn back to the tomato plant and rip whatever red bubble crosses your eyeline. the tomatoes drop to your container with a muted thud, echoing the fragile beat of your heart.

“do you want to talk about it?”

you meet her gaze, and the worry, the concern, the love there nearly drives you to your knees. for days on end, you’ve been shoving it down—the fear. it’s not helpful, not to you or charlie or anyone else. for days on end, you’ve been choking back your anxiety, telling yourself it’s all just a misunderstanding. now, in your mother’s garden, with the weight of the world bearing down on your shoulders, you break.

the tomato container falls to the ground as your hands clamp against your mouth. you cannot stop the sobs which shake your frame, but you can at least muffle them against your fingers. the world becomes hazy, a blurry mess as your tears flow free and steady. vaguely, you’re aware of your mother’s arms around you, holding you tight; her hands rub soothing circles over your back. she smells of vanilla and shampoo.

you don’t know how long you cry, but when you finally step back, the sky is a dark red. you wonder if charlie’s come back from the creek, if he’s seen you in such a state. you pray to god he hasn’t. gently, your mother leads you to a wooden bench tucked against the fence. you sit together, your head cradled between her chin and shoulder. she smoothes your hair with one hand and holds your other.

“i’m so afraid, mum,” you breathe. your throat is clogged with emotion, your nose, too.

“of what?”

sniffing, you wipe your nose. “that he’s gone and met someone else. that he’s forgotten us.”

you feel her shrug against you. “well, i’ve only met the lad once, but he doesn’t seem like the type.”

“he’s not,” you say, stronger, clearer. “he’s not. but it’s been five fucking days. five days! and he’s been half-there for longer.”

“i don’t know what to tell you, love.” she twists to look at your face. “your father and i... we’ve had a good run of it, but that doesn’t mean we’ve not had our own issues. sometimes—sometimes people hurt those they love most.”

“did dad ever disappear on you?”

“no, i can’t say he did.” she sighs. “but he did shag my best mate cheri.”

“aunt cheri?”

nodding, your mother looks into the distance. “i nearly chopped his balls off.”

“why didn’t you?”

“because we love each other. we worked it out.”

with a scoff, you look away. “you’re in the minority.”

“you can be in that minority, too.” she grabs your hand. “your relationship... everything you’ve had with him has been so much so fast—”

“i know.” your head drops as a fresh flurry of tears rise. “that’s what i’m afraid of.”

“you didn’t let me finish.” your eyes lift to see her watching you, a faint glow of motherly pride on her cheeks. “everything you’ve had with gwilym has been so much so fast, but every time i see your photos or your videos, he looks like he’s about to fall over because he loves you so much. i don’t pretend to know what’s going on in his head; i’d reckon he doesn’t know either. but you have something worth fighting for, [y/n]. i’d hate to see you give that up.”

“i don’t want to,” you whisper.

“then don’t.”

you kiss charlie’s forehead and slip out of the guest room, shutting the door behind you. the house is quiet, asleep before ten thanks to the excitement of the day and the weariness of travel. you find your bedroom, cozy, tucked away in the third floor attic. your mother claims she had it redone just for your visits. the window seat framed by bookshelves and the wrought-iron bed frame remind you of your childhood room, yet there is an elegance here your room lacked as a child.

after readying yourself for bed, you glance about the room. the rug beneath your feet is soft to the touch, and the upholstered chair in the corner has a fresh set of bath towels. there’s an exposed brick wall with three photos nailed to it. you step closer to inspect.

three photos.

a family photo from age nine, your parents side-by-side, your brother’s arm slung around your shoulder. much of your childhood consisted of moving from country to country, always following your father’s job. you’d been happy, though, and looking at the photo now, you feel a surge of gratitude.

a photo of your first classroom, the students sat at your feet. charlie stands directly to your left, his face leaning into your hip. you hadn’t known then, what he would mean to you know. you run your finger across his face, still pudgy with baby fat.

the third and final photo, a picture from your honeymoon. the austrian mountains tower over you in the background, the sky effortlessly blue and picturesque. gwilym is well-dressed and handsome, smiling down at you, his arm curved around your waist. you’re looking up at him, laughing, holding the straw hat against your head as a gust of wind attempts to whisk it away.

your chest expands with love, for your family, your son, even your husband.

you aren’t sure how things will turn out. for all you know, gwilym very well could have met someone else; he could be making plans to leave you as you slide under the covers. yet something tells you—maybe it’s hope, maybe it’s foolishness—that’s not the case.

you check your phone. empty, as per the usual. this time it doesn’t fill you with as much dread as normal. he’ll come around. one way or another, things will get sorted. you’re willing to fight for that.

#gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee imagine #bohemian rhapsody #borhap fic #j writes #fic collab

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sheerbeautyreigns · 3 years

Text

DESIRE

Part 37

"You know I'm not done with you yet."

It was about 10:30pm when Joe showed up at Paul’s room with his bag. When Paul let him in, he was still wearing his navy blue suit and white shirt. He didn’t even speak. He just took him in his arms and kissed him hungrily. “Take your clothes off.”

Joe didn’t say a word. He just did as told and left his clothes aside. “You look nervous.” Paul commented taking his hand, leading him over to the sofa. “Are you OK?”

“Just a bit…anxious.” Joe eventually said as Paul forced him to kneel, facing the back of the sofa. “About the punishment?” Paul said leaning to speak into his ear. “Yes Sir.” Paul undid his neat top knot and ruffled his hands through his hair. He loved to watch it cascade down his back. It made him miss his own. “You disobeyed me and you will learn your lesson. Understand?” Joe's stomach dropped. “Do you understand?”

“Yes Sir. I understand.” He finally said. “Good boy. Now, head up. Eyes front.” Paul trailed his hand down Joe's back and finished off by smacking him hard on the ass. He smiled upon hearing Joe take on a deep breath through clenched teeth. “It’ll be so much more effective in my dungeon. I still have to introduce you to the cane. You’ll have a hard time sitting after but…it is what it is.” Joe hadn’t heard Paul speak so firmly in a while. Could he blame him though, after sleeping with Colby? Joe knew he needed to do this. Paul walked around to the back of the sofa to where Joe was facing. He was surprised. He thought that he was going to fuck him. He cupped his jaw with his right hand and tilted his head. Joe cast his eyes downwards as Paul stroked his fingers along his beard. He walked away taking off his jacket. Joe didn’t dare move his head, just continuing to look down at the carpet. Paul arrived back, now just wearing his black briefs. He moved behind Joe, taking hold of his pelvis, grinding his crotch against his asshole. Joe was instantly hard. “You want this baby? Huh?” Paul asked seductively. “Yes Sir.” Joe said, hungry for his cock. Paul reached around and grabbed Joe’s dick. “You’re rock hard. Just like I want you.” He said, slowly pumping it. He could hear Joe breaths become heavier at his touch. He let go.

“…but not tonight.”

Joe couldn’t help but look over his shoulder with disbelief at Paul’s words. “Not until I want to. You do as I say when I want to.” Joe bowed his head. “You need a good night’s sleep. Let’s go.” Paul said slapping him on the ass again. Joe winced since he’d hit the same spot. Paul watched as he got off the sofa and went to open his suitcase. He looked pretty disappointed. The older man almost felt sorry for him but he had to be firm. Joe took his wash bag into the bathroom and brushed his teeth. When he went into the bedroom, Paul was propped up on his elbow. He pulled the sheets on Joe side back and tapped on the mattress. The young man pursed his lips and climbed into the bed. He lay with his back to Paul as he couldn’t look at him. Paul’s arm wrapped around his torso, pulling him into him. He had taken his briefs off now. Joe could feel his hard cock rub up against his ass. It made him hard once again. He shut his eyes feeling Paul’s breaths on the back of his neck followed by soft kisses. The older man’s hand trailed up to Joe chest. “Turn around. I wanna see your face.” Joe did as told. “You OK?” Paul checked. Joe nodded. “You’re not OK. I know when you’re lying. It’s OK to say that you’re not OK. I want us to have total transparency in this relationship.”

“I know you’re disappointed in me.” Joe said deflated.

“I am disappointed but your purpose for the next few days is to change my mindset. Wipe the slate clean. As long as you go along with what I expect from you, there’s no problem.”

Based on how subdued Joe was now coming across, Paul already knew that his mind games were working.

They flew to Connecticut separately the next day. Paul took the private Jet with Vince and Joe flew in a few hours later. Paul picked him up and they arrived back at his at around 7pm. Paul let Joe chill out for a while since it had been around an 8 hour flight. He went about unpacking his case while Paul sat at his desk on the laptop in the bedroom.

“Babe you nearly done?” Paul asked, eyes fixed on his screen.

“Yeah I’m good.” Joe said, setting his case aside and slowly padding towards the window. “It’s so nice to be out here again. It’s so peaceful.”

“Gets lonely though when it’s just me.” Paul chimed in, closing down his laptop. “Come here.” He said from his computer chair. He motioned for Joe to sit on his lap. He did as told. Paul raised his hand up to Joe chin. His thumb rose up to Joe bottom lip. Tenderly, the young man kissed it, looking Paul in the eyes. Those gorgeous chocolate pools. He could never resist them. Paul moved his thumb away and kissed him gently. “I’m so glad you’re here.” He said, barely above a whisper. “Me too.” This time, Joe kissed him deeply. Paul’s hands roamed along the material of his t-shirt, urging it to come off. Joe stood, peeling it off, also dropping his cut offs to the floor. Paul rose up to meet him, kissing him again, backing him up towards the bed. He pushed him down on his stomach and stood over him, unbuttoning his white shirt and pulling off his trousers and socks. His eyes traced over the curves of Joe’s buttocks under the material of his black boxers. Joe looked over his shoulder, up at him.

“Head down, close your eyes.” Paul ordered. Instantly, Joe obeyed, swallowing. He could hear Paul leave the room and walk down the hallway. His stomach dropped when he heard him punch in the door code. So soon? He was so sure Paul was on the verge of fucking him but apparently not. Not yet anyway.

The older man returned. Joe could hear faint clinking. Paul set something on the bed down by his legs. “Now, hands behind your back.” Joe inhaled, doing as told, effectively folding them halfway down his spine. He could feel Paul slip a strand of leather around each wrist, buckling it. He then joined both together with a small hook. “Try and get outta that.” Paul told him. Joe strained his arms, to no avail. “Good boy. You’re going to be very good for me over the next couple of days. Aren’t you?” Paul said, cupping his ass cheek. “Yes Sir.” A smile spread across Paul’s face now that he had Joe at his mercy. He pulled out his trusty bottle of lube and smeared the cool liquid on Joe entrance. A small gasp escaped Joe lips when it hit. “Legs further apart.” Joe wriggled on the bed, adjusting his position. “I’m not going to fuck you yet…” Joe felt something hard and cold start to penetrate his opening. “Aaah!” It felt like metal. “I picked this baby up in Vegas. It’s pretty special, you’ll see.” Paul teased. “What is it?” Joe asked, slight panic invading his voice. “Don’t ask questions baby. Just lie there and take it.” Joe gritted his teeth as Paul pushed it further in. He could see Joe hands straining against the cuffs with agitation. The young man shut his eyes and gritted his teeth. “Please-” He started, tears starting to form in his eyes. “Calm down baby, almost in.” Joe breathed deeply, trying to compose himself. “There. Looks so good shoved up your ass.” He could hear the smile in Paul’s voice as he moved away “Now, let’s see-”

A small shock came from the butt plug causing Joe to jump, yelping. “Oh shit! Sorry baby!” Paul laughed as he assessed the few buttons on the controller. He pressed another. “Fuck!” Joe cried out as he shocked him again. “I don’t like this!”

“Baby it’s not that bad.” Paul cooed, leaning forward, patting him on the head until Joe shrugged him off. Paul pressed another button, causing a double shock. Joe cried out, straining hard against the cuffs. “You gonna be good for me huh? Huh?”

“Yes Sir, yes. I promise.” Joe sniffled, lowering his head onto the bed in defeat. “You know what? This might just be my new favourite toy.” Paul said setting the remote aside. He flipped Joe over onto his back. And moved his hair away from his face. Paul’s face softened upon seeing his whimpers and teary eyes. “Don’t be upset now baby.” He leaned down and kissed his trembling lips. “I don’t like the shocks.”

“I know you don’t baby. If you behave, I won”t have to use them as much. Its that simple.” Paul pulled him up to his feet gently. He knew the plug would be pretty uncomfortable, as evidenced on Joe face. He picked up the remote again and lead him by the arm into the dungeon. Joe could already smell that familiar smell of leather. Paul lead him over to the spanking bench. “On you get.” He simply said. He watched Joe struggle to get on top since his arms were tied. He loved to see how helpless he was. He waited about a minute before helping him into position. It made Joe feel so low. Paul went about securing both his ankles into the attached restraints on either side of the bench. Lastly he pulled the centre strap over his back and buckled it. Joe couldn’t fight how hard he was right now and Paul couldn’t fail to notice. “I love how hard this makes you.” He smirked causing Joe to lower his head in shame. “Makes me so hard too…” Paul said seductively, slipping out of his briefs and stepping in front of Joe face. His hard cock was inches away. He took a handful of Joe’s hair and pulled his head up. Joe looked up at him wide-eyed before eyeing his cock. He opened up as Paul moved forward, taking his cock in his mouth. Paul was right in depriving him of it. He hadn’t seen him suck it with such vigour before. “Fuck baby, that’s so good…” He trailed off, holding his head in place as he started to fuck his mouth. Gasps escaped Joe’s mouth with each thrust. Trails of drool fell to the floor below. Paul thrust it in, his balls hard against Joe’s chin, watching as the young man began to struggle and moan. He caught his breath as he withdrew. He repeated this time and time again until his cum filled the back of his throat. “Good boy, swallow it whole.” Paul smiled as the young man took it all in. “Good boy.” Joe loved Paul’s praise. Paul let go of his hair and moved to the back of the spanking bench. He grabbed Joe ass cheeks, causing the young man to groan. “You’re being so good for me baby.”

“Thank you Sir.” Joe eventually said. “I can’t believe I have two more days of this.” He said as his finger moved the base of the plug in his ass. “Aaah!” Joe let out. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes,” Joe winced. “Look at me.” Paul said firmly. Joe looked over his shoulder, trailing his eyes up to Paul’s. He moved the plug again, this time trying to push it in further. “Aww please!” Joe pleaded with him. He had never seen this look of desperation in his eyes before. “What do you want baby?” Paul asked, rubbing his palm over his ass cheeks again as Joe lowered his head “Please, I’m sorry…”

“Sorry?” Paul reiterated with a questioning look on his face. “Yes,” He sobbed. “I’m sorry I betrayed you. I love you. I’m sorry…” Paul’s stomach dropped. He was not expecting this already. It threw him off his game. Slowly he moved around to the front, crouching down to Joe’s level. “You do know I’m not done with you yet?” He moved his hair away from his face. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. “No…I can’t …”

“Yes, you can. You were doing so well. Why stop now?” Paul taunted. “You hurt me. You promised that you would do as I say.” He said firmly looking into Joe teary eyes before getting up again and walking around the back. “Please, I can’t !” He heard a drawer open from the other side of the room. Without warning, Paul gently tapped him across his ass cheeks with his cane. Joe immediately struggled knowing what was coming. “Please! Aaah!” He let out as the first whip stung. “You’re a noisy one.” Paul went off to the drawers again. He appeared at the front of the bench holding the ball of the ball gag in his hand. “You give me no choice.” Joe eyed the gag. “No!” He told him, edging away, pursing his lips. Without hesitation, Paul stood and held Joe's nose, trying to keep a firm grasp of his head while he struggled hard with panic. As soon as he opened his mouth gasping for air, Paul shoved the gag in and made quick work of securing the strap tightly as Joe cried behind the gag, his whole body struggling. Paul felt a fire in his stomach as he did this. He had never been so forceful with Joe. It pained him to be so harsh but he did say he’d have to punish him. He tried to block out his cries and protests as he picked up the cane again and struck for a second time, a defiant look on his face. Joe yelped and struggled with each one until he got to the eighth. He was so exhausted that he simply whimpered into the gag, his head falling. Paul being the perfectionist he was, insisted in caning him two more times until he got to ten. He could see Joe’s hands ball into fists and he could hear his muffled sobs. He inhaled deeply, putting the cane down. A smattering of pink welts covered his backside.

After about a minute of silence, the young man opened his eyes. A puddle of drool had formed on the floor below. Tenderly, Paul ran his index and middle finger over the welts causing Joe to tense up again, seething. “That’s it. I’m done.” Joe shut his eyes and started to cry again. The room fell silent. All that could be heard were his sobs and Paul’s slow breaths. Eventually he undid the gag and set it on the table nearby. After all of his protests, Joe couldn’t even muster up a word. Paul crouched before him, pulling his hair away from his face again. Tears had stained his cheeks and his eyes were red. Paul cupped his face. “I don’t like hurting you but you need to learn. Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes.” Joe whispered shutting his eyes. “Yes Sir.” He sniffled. “Good.” Paul kissed him tenderly on the forehead and went about undoing the straps. He unhooked the link between his wrists causing Joe’s arms to fall limply at his sides. He winced, trying to move them. “They’ll be OK, just need to get the blood circulation going.” Paul said helping him off the spanking bench, leading him to the bed. He helped to lower him down. He looked so sad. “You did good. I didn’t expect you to take all ten, especially with the cane.”

“I didn’t have a choice.” Joe muttered, looking away. He took hold of Joe’s jaw, urging him to face him “You didn’t, which made it so enjoyable. I was ready to fuck you so hard when I first started caning you.” Paul said, full of lust. “I’ve never been more in love with you.”

“How can you love me when I’m crying like that? I don’t understand.” Joe said, palming his face, so confused. “I wish I knew baby.” Paul shook his head and gave a small smile getting off the bed. Joe sat up when he saw him walking to the chest of drawers again. What now?

Paul looked back at him. “Relax baby. It’s to help the welts.” Paul advised as he walked back to the bed with a tube of cream in his hand. “Turn over.” Joe obliged, lowering his head into his arms. It felt good to lie like this. The young man winced as Paul gently went about applying the cream. “I know baby, I know but this’ll help.”

After a few moments, Paul spoke. “Do you hate me after that?” He didn’t want to ask but he needed to know. Joe turned his head to the side, still resting it on his forearm. “No.” He paused. “I had it coming. I shouldn’t have gone behind your back, regardless of how I felt about you at the time.”

A horrible feeling hit the pit of Paul’s stomach on hearing Joe words. He looked down at the reddening welts on his ass. He placed his hand on his shoulder and trailed it down his back. “What’s done is done. Let’s move on from this.” Paul suggested. Joe nodded in agreement before closing his eyes.

#roman reigns #wwe #tribal chief #roman reigns fic #fanfiction #smut #d/s #hhh #paul levesque #d/s writing #d/s lifestyle #slash fiction

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agentsix606 · 4 years

Text

New Years: Damirae. Oneshot.

Titans tower is a mess regardless, but with streamers, red solo cups and confetti everywhere. It was even worse. Garfield was passed out face first on the worn-out couch, Roy Harper was lying on the countertop, Donna was on the carpet beside Gar looking dead as a doornail and the rest of the titans had somehow managed to make it into their own rooms.

No one could really remember what happened last night, drunk or not. Maybe it was because no one lasted until the stroke of midnight, most had passed out or given up on waiting for the new year. The only two that stayed out and kissed when the ball dropped, were Dick and Kori, though no one was surprised at that.

Jaime wasn't nearly as intoxicated as Gar and Donna had been, but he was near there. He'd been able to safely walk to his room and land on a bed. Roy and Donna on the other hand didn't even make it to a couch, both drunkenly opting for the floor or cold countertop. Dick and Kori both went to bed just after midnight, the pair being sober.

Kori had only allowed the Titans to drink for the one night, so they weren't going to refuse the offer. Except Damian and Raven who both figured that it would be better and safer if they were completely sober. Even though her healing factor would burn off the alcohol before it could affect her, Raven was contempt with opting out. Damian just felt that it was unnecessary. He muttered something along the lines of alcohol being a distraction and a recipe for disaster, which it was.

Him and Raven had gone to bed relatively early. He wanted to be up early to train, as per usual, and she just wanted to get away from the overwhelming emotions of her intoxicated teammates.

The morning went by quickly, Dick and Kori moved the three teens into their own rooms and cleaned up the mess left with the help of Raven. Damian had finished training at around 7 and had lent a hand as well.

"So, I take it your night was enjoyable, Raven?" Damian asked as he handed a red cup to Dick, the smell of the alcohol left in it burning his nose.

Raven scoffed, "Clearly not as enjoyable as theirs." She muttered, motioning down the hall towards the team's quarters, "and you?"

"It was satisfactory at most, this New Years that you spoke about seemed to be nothing spectacular, in fact it seemed rather ludicrous."

"That's a fairly accurate synopsis, at least this year no one was awake to try and kiss anybody at midnight." She shuddered at the memory of Gar getting into her personal space after failing to woo Terra. To be fair, he deserved that black eye.

"It's snowing outside." Damian noted, "I doubt Logan or Reyes would be found anywhere outside with it blizzarding."

"I doubt they'll even leave their rooms today." Raven mused. "But who knows about Donna's physiology, she could probably heal from the hangover quickly, and Gar is just as complicated."

He hummed quietly, pressing his thumb to his lip, "Do you have any plans today?"

"Nothing beyond my usual day, you?"

Damian pondered for a minute; the only plan he had was travelling to Gotham to see his father. He found himself conflicted about whether to ask her to partake in the voyage. "I'm required to visit father in Gotham City with Grayson." Pause. "Would you like to accompany me?"

Raven stopped in her tracks. The garbage bag he didn't notice she was carrying had fallen to the floor. "You want me to go with you to Gotham to see your family?" her quiet voice asked.

"Yes," the word came out hesitant, "father is curious about my relationships with the team, and I am closest with you." It was a lie, a small one. But still a lie, father was curious, but not that curious.

If anything, it was Damian himself that was curious about Raven. His feelings for her were confusing to him, he thought that if she came with him, he could figure it out without the prying ears of his teammates. "if you do not wish to join, I will not force you to, it is simply an open invitation."

"Damian- "she started, frowning at the ground, "-you've never asked anyone to accompany you to Gotham, ever."

"you're a friend, my father has what he calls an indoor policy." He leaned against the counter, "you're always welcome at the Manor."

"In that case, maybe I will. Dick mentioned that your library is exceptionally large." She nodded towards him before picking the garbage bag up again and throwing it in a portal. "Thank you for the invitation, when do we leave?"

#damirae #demonbirds #damian x raven #justice league #dc #teen titans

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morallygreyprompts · 5 years

Text

BTHB 2.0 #11 Continuation

Previous Post Here

Here you go! I hope you like what I’m able to come up with since a lot of people liked this idea.

Thief had returned the stolen items, but then they realised they were going to have to walk back to Hero's base, wherever that was. They didn't let go of their arm, keeping it tucked up against their body, safe from anything that could hurt it. They could feel the sheer heat radiating off their skin, searing pain, which the slightest movement could disturb and turn it into a white-hot blaze. Thief just wanted the money to be able to buy the medicine. To get rid of the pain.

They felt tired and dizzy, but they followed Hero, avoiding the police that surrounded the shop Thief had tried to rob. Hero knew these streets well, and it was easy to get out of range, but Thief's fever wasn't getting any better, they'd been getting worse over the last few hours. They forced themselves to take deep breaths, to just keep their arm still. Hero would sort it. They just had to hold on.

"Let's hear it," Hero said. "What happened?"

Thief pursed their lips, they didn't really want to get into it. It had been a mistake, and it had hurt. "I'll need to know so I know what I'm up against."

"I… uh, I stole from [Villain], got caught. I was lucky I escaped with just this." Thief accidentally moved their arm and immediately regretted it. It was like carpet burn."Fuck!" They bent over, hissing badly, holding on tight to it. Thief let themselves slide down to the floor, hiding their head as they tried to force air into their lungs. They wanted to curl up and die. They just felt awful.

Hero crouched in front of them. "Easy, [Thief]." Hero put their hand against Thief's forehead and frowned.

"You’re burning up, come on. I’m going to carry you."

"You most definitely are not."

"Yes, I am. You’re literally swaying when you're walking?"

Were they? "I would rather die than have you carry me. I still have my dignity."

"If you don’t let me, then that could very easily be arranged. Now shut up and hold still."

Thief accepted there was no point in arguing. Hero picked them up carefully, so Thief's sore arm was furthest away from them. Thief covered their face with their good hand, seeing and they were now being carried through the streets bridal style.

"What did I do to deserve this?"

"I mean, technically, you became a thief."

"Jee… thanks. Never would have figured that out."

Hero smirked and carried them back as quickly and carefully as they could.

Thief didn't bother trying to remember the route. They were too tired. Their arm was still burning and that kept most of their attention. They were already tempted to dose, but they simply refused to stoop that low.

"Here we are… think you can walk in for me?"

"I could have walked the whole time," Thief grumbled. Hero lowered them down, and Thief nearly stumbled with dizziness. Hero guided them inside and sat them down in a chaise. Hero carefully took their shirt off, earning a handful of winces and hisses, and then the bandages. Thief groaned as Hero peeled them away and then helped them lie down,, keeping a hand on Thief's back to slowly lower them.

Thief huffed out a breath, their cheeks flushed. They felt awkward lying half-naked in front of their enemy. They weren't sure what they were meant to do with themselves. Their hand crept up to their wound. They could feel the heat radiating off it.

"You're an idiot," Hero said out of nowhere. "What the hell did you do to this?"

"I already told you?" Thief raised an eyebrow.

"You idiot! Look at the state of this. I'm going to have to keep you here for at least a week to make sure you're healing. Don't move, I'll be right back."

Thief could only lie there while Hero went to collect what they needed. They looked around as best they could, although all they were able to spot was an expensive-looking ornament on the table near their head. Thief reached up to take it. It would fit in their pocket easily.

"Put. It. Back," Hero called out.

Thief is stunned. "You're not even in the room! How did you-"

"I just know, you little shit, now put it back before I tie you to the table!"

With a smirk, Thief did so. Settling themselves, trying not to pay attention to their wounds. It hurt so bloody much.

Hero returned with what they needed on a tray, including an IV line.

"How do you just have this stuff?" Thief asked.

"For a rainy day, and right now it's pouring. Now hold still."

Hero was able to hang up the IV bag and slipped the needle into the Thief's good arm. They hissed as Hero secured it. "You need the medicine going straight into your blood, so leave that in."

Thief nodded. They just wanted to sleep.

They cried out as Hero touched their shoulder and started cleaning the wound. Thief tried to get up but Hero was able to keep them steady. There were tears in their eyes and their breathing came in small gasps. It was so sore. They writhed and couldn't keep still. Hero gave them a break. "It's okay, there are painkillers in the IV. They should kick in really soon. Thief could already feel them taking effect. They were slowly able to relax.

But as the pain faded all they wanted was to sleep. They were so tired from days of being kept awake, and finally, the pain was going away. "Thanks," they mumbled to Hero. Hero smiled down at them. "Don't worry about it, try and stay awake a little longer, I need to ask you some questions- [Thief]?"

Too late. The idea of finally being able to sleep without pain was just too sweet a concept to wait for. They fell asleep while Herp set to work mending their shoulder

Like my stuff and want to support what I do? Then maybe consider buying me a Kofi? Ko-fi.com/morallygrey

#hero and villain #writing prompts #continuation #BTHB #hero #thief #infected wound #carried #whump #I ship it

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ratmonky · 5 years

Text

Smooth Criminal

Hee hee~

One special fic for one very special person! <3

@a-nonnie-mousse wrote this at 3 AM and the horny bitch I am, I wanted to write something out of it!!

Here’s a link to her artwork of the same post!

2.5K Words

It’s been an entire week since Illuso had left Naples for a mission. The mission itself wasn’t difficult but he’d been looking forward to having a day off before Risotto handed him another file of a man he had to take care of. The target was in Bari, he’d stolen from Passione. To his surprise, the man wasn’t even a Stand user. It was an easy mission but it took him a literal week because of how well the man hid.

Simply, he was in a bad mood because of how much time he lost to find the man. He was both tired and very upset over why Risotto gave him a mission in Bari where he’d have to track the man with little to no trace at all. Melone would’ve been perfect for this mission.

He could’ve complained but he didn’t have the heart courage to disrespect his leader. That’s why he was going to the base at midnight, just like Risotto asked. The leader wanted Illuso to write a report on how the mission went.

It wouldn’t take long. Maximum an hour or two.

He could go home and finally open that bottle of wine he got from Gelato as a present. Getting drunk on red wine before dozing off would bring him in a good mood, definitely.

Illuso pushes the door open and the foul smell of mold and dust overwhelms him even before he steps inside. Covering his mouth he looks around to find the source of the horrible smell but he’s not sure if it’s the old food that’s literally decomposing on the coffee table or the horrid stains on the carpet and the walls.

“What the hell happened here?” he yells to the only person who seems to be unaffected by the smell and the mess around her and of course the only person in the base.

Shrugging you continue reading your magazine.

“How can you sit there and continue reading your shitty fashion magazine?” he yells turning around to indicate the mess around the base, “You were told to stay back to clean the base and take care of it. Not to trash the fucking place.”

You stare at him over the magazine but nonetheless flip a page in disinterest.

“You fucking-” Illuso snatches the magazine away from your hands, “Are you fucking listening to me?”

You click your tongue and give him a death glare, how dare he interrupt your ‘me time’!

“It wasn’t me, this happened because of Ghiaccio and Formaggio. They had a fight and-”

“I don’t care what happened, you were ordered to take care of the damn place!” Illuso interrupts you again and makes it clear that he doesn’t need to hear any unnecessary explanations from you, “You’re useless.”

“Oh am I?” you jump up from the dirty couch and point at him, “Who’s the idiot who lost track of his target and wandered in Bari for a week?”

Illuso’s shoulders tense, “What did you say?” his eye starts to twitch.

You smirk at him, “I said that you aren’t shit, Illuso.” your mocking tone makes his blood boil, “You’re the weakest member in our team. Even Pesci could easily kill off that target.”

“You don’t belong here, you can’t kill on command, you can’t work in pairs and you’re doing nothing to be useful to Passione. Why are you even here?” Illuso asks flatly, trying to maintain a calm tone to not start another fight between you two, “I’m not asking this to start a fight,” he assures but a sharp blow to his jaw from you gives him the answer.

Illuso halts for a moment as he brings his hand up to his face to rub his aching chin but it’s enough to make you regret your actions... just a little too late.

“Man in the Mirror,” he brings out his Stand even if it’s in the rules that nobody in the team were allowed to use their stands during an argument.

Before you can manage to call out your own Stand Illuso drags you into the mirror world, leaving both of your Stands back at the base.

“This is going to be a fair fight,” he starts, rolling up his sleeves, “No Stands-”

“It isn’t fair, you deserved that punch!” you ineffectively tried to end the fight before it even began but Illuso wasn’t having it. You swung at him with every intention of starting a fight, it always has been in your nature to start meaningless fights.

“We’ll fight equally. I won’t hold back and you shouldn’t either,” Illuso sneers at you, you both know he’s more of a fighter than you are.

“Take me back,” you warn, tone low and dangerous.

Without warning, Illuso lurches forward, grabbing you by your hair and twisting it around his hand to get a better grip on it. He pulls your back flush against his chest and yanks your hair, “Just admit that you’re useless to the team.”

A startled sound escapes your lips when he pulls your hair harder, “Son of a whore!”

This wasn’t a fight, this wasn’t even equal as he said it would be. He was just taunting you and not giving you a chance to fight back. You knew he’d be unfair and wouldn’t let you fight him but he wasn’t even giving you the chance to argue with him either.

“Repeat after me; I’m no use to Passione and to my team.” he scoffs.

You’re the best assassin they could find, he knows he’s wrong. You’re superior to even Risotto with your Stand for fuck's sake.

“Die you dumbass!”

When you start struggling, he pulls your hair harder and reminds you once again as he’s done countless times, “You’re here just because of your Stand, without it, you’re nothing.”

You grit your teeth and try to twist your body to hit him. It hurts to admit that he’s right. Everyone in your team knows that you’re accepted in the hitman team thanks to your Stand; Back to Black.

With the power to wear your Stand like a suit, similar to Ghiaccio’s White Album, you could move within shadows. Your power gave you the ultimate advantage to kill your target without being followed or having to risk your life. Because once you drag someone in the shadows with you, their Stand separated from them.

This was the main reason why Illuso hated you the most, with Stands similar to each other’s, your fights mostly ended in a deuce.

“Same goes to you,” your mocking tone must’ve caught him off guard because you felt his hold on you loosen for a second, enough for you to use the floor as a springboard and slam into your teammate as hard as you possibly can.

Illuso lost his balance and fell backward. You fell right onto him with your entire weight, earning a pain filled grunt from him.

Not even waiting for another second, you make a move to get back on your feet to declare your victory over him but Illuso pulls you right back on the floor with him. He captures you under his weight, pressing you flat on your stomach while muttering, “I hope you eat shit and die.”

With all of your might, you try to use your hands to leverage yourself up but Illuso forces your hands down with his own.

“I’m stronger than you don’t ever forget that,” he whispers in your ear huskily. He’s out of breath and still isn’t aware of how close you two are to each other but you’re painfully aware of everything. Like how warm his chest feels against your back and how attractive he sounds when he’s on the verge of snapping.

The position he’s holding you down is even worse. He’s using his hips to hold you down while your hands are strongly being held down by his own and Illuso’s hot breath is tickling your skin.

It’s all too much to handle. You can feel your cheeks blushing and a wave of arousal hitting you like a brick.

“Illuso,” you call out his name desperately, “please get off of me.”

Your pleads falls to deaf ears, your teammate chuckles at what he thinks is your shame of losing to him.

“I win,” he declares and you nod rapidly to confirm his victory over you, hoping that he’ll get off of you as soon as possible.

But again, this is Illuso. He loves to brag about his win.

“Say that you’re a useless pawn without your Stand.”

You repeat after him without hesitation.

Illuso raises a brow at your submission. It was hard to even get an apology or a couple words of gratitude from you but now you were bowing your head to your literal arch nemesis?

He had to take it as far as he can, he wanted to see how much he could milk this.

“Who’s the worst and weakest Stand user in the team?”

“Me.”

“It’s your fault that we’re not getting paid enough, you’re nothing but a nuisance to our team.”

“Yes.”

After you admit another dozen ‘facts’ he finally got bored. It wasn’t fun at all when you weren’t resisting or calling him names while cursing.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he mutters to himself.

He pushes his torso up with his hands and turns you to face him so he can lecture you about how you should do as you’re told by your higher ups but the words don't come out.

Illuso stares down at your flushed face in awe.

(Had he taken this way too far? To the point to make you cry?

No, you weren’t crying… you wouldn’t cry because of his words.

Nobody ever managed to get to you, this had to be a prank.)

“Don’t look at me,” you cover your face with your hands.

The atmosphere of the situation suddenly shifts to something much more sultrier. Illuso would’ve looked away, got up and return both of you back to the real world to never talk about this again… But! He couldn’t. Not when you looked so cute, hiding your pretty face behind your hands, begging him to look away.

Sorbet and Gelato had told Illuso many times that the new member of the hitman team was head over heels for him but he thought they were baiting him on it. It had to be a lie. You wouldn’t even look at his way without insulting him or starting a fight.

ALl out of a sudden the realization hits him harder than any of your punches.

Illuso leans forward with a smile, “You know, nobody can see you inside the mirror but me.”

“So you can be as vulnerable as you want to be,” he adds by whispering in your ear, slowly pulling your hands away from your face.

Illuso finds himself studying your pretty face, “Melone keeps talking about how cute you are,” he purrs, ignoring completely what they were fighting about. He lets out a raspy sigh, “I never thought I’d agree with him on something.”

Blushing red, you cover your face with your hands once again. He enjoys the view for another second. “You’re gorgeous,” he breathes out.

You groan, taking a peek at him through the gaps of your fingers, “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” he smirks and raises a brow, leaning even closer to your face.

Your hands go to his chest to push him away, “This.”

Pouting, Illuso gives you the best puppy eyes he can pull off, “I thought you liked me.”

You decide to look up to his face and tell him to fuck off but you simply get lost looking in his eyes.

“I do,” you confess. Catching him by surprise.

Illuso loses no time on pressing his lips on yours as he hovers over you between your legs and you kiss him back hungrily. You wrap your legs around his waist to bring him closer to where you need him the most, Illuso is quick to roll his hips into yours to let you aware of his growing erection under his pants.

“I need you, Illuso.”

Your needy voice sends shivers down his spine, he pulls back from you to pull down his zipper and kick off his pants. You waste no time slipping out of your leggings.

Illuso looks down at you as he’s pumping his cock, “I never thought I’d see you like this.” he chuckles.

“Me neither.”

His cock slides inside your needy hole with a little too much force. A shaky moan escapes your lips before arching your back and holding onto his strong shoulders.

Smirking, Illuso slams into your slick heat harder to tear a louder moan out of you and it works.

It’s been a while for him, so he can’t stop himself from thrusting in your needy pussy without warning. As wet you are, with every thrust a squelching sound echoes in the mirror world’s base. The sounds of skin slapping on skin fill the dead silence of this world. Your lips part and call out his name in need, “Illuso!”

His cock fills you so well. You can’t help but lift your hips to meet his thrusts, shamelessly begging for him to fill you even more. Noticing what you want from him, he starts to fuck you frantically.

Your moans fill the void world of the mirror once again before his cock twitches inside of you and giving you what you actually need from him, filling your pussy full with his seed. You feel his warm cum gush out of your spasming cunt when he finally pulls out.

Taking a minute to catch his breath, he can hardly believe what you two just did. You seem to agree, it’s easy to tell from the way how silent you are.

“Uh,” he doesn’t know what to say.

Thanks?

That felt good?

We should do this often!

“We should return back to the real world,” he looks at you and you agree with a silent nod as you’re dressing.

He uses the same mirror he used as before to return to the base with ease and in the middle of a meeting your teammates are having.

Although your teammates were used to seeing you two fight in the mirror world and come back with messed up looks, there was no way for either of you to be able to explain why you’re both trying to put your clothes back on.

You sink into the shadows with the advantage of having your Stand with you now to avoid looking at your teammates.

“We can explain-” Illuso started but got cut off by the people around the now clean coffee table to collectively groan and throw stacks of money on the table.

“We told you they’d do it in the mirror world,” Gelato says as Sorbet is collecting their teammates’ money off the table with a smile.

Gelato throws a stack he got from his boyfriend to Illuso, “Take her out on a date next time.”

#illuso x reader #illuso #la squadra esecuzioni #la squadra x reader #jjba part 5 x reader

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whumpy-tales-and-thoughts · 4 years

Text

“I know what you did”

Inspired by this post

Tw: whipping, noncon touching, pet names, knife.

Taglist: @mnmlover2002

***

Leo never felt quite alright when Marcus embraced him. That said, he never felt alright around Marcus at all. But, today felt different. He tried to not stress himself out too much, there’s no way he knows, he thought, and held his breath as Marcus hugged him harder, maybe putting a bit too much strength into is arms.

“Oh, love”, he said into Leo’s ear, his tone happy. And then, a deep sigh into his neck. It was like the atmosphere in the room had gotten heavier. “Oh, love”, he said again, his voice a bit colder. “I know what you did”.

The words fell like rocks onto Leo, whose body was now frozen by Marcus’ lethal expression. A slap brought him to the soft carpet, where he sat on his legs, looking up at the larger man with a shocked, terrified expression. He was simply covering his cheek with his hand, not having the mental strength to make any other action, now.

Marcus knelt down by him and Leo tried to crawl backwards, but Marcus grabbed his ankle. “Don’t move”. Two very simple words. Leo nodded. “Now, do you want to tell me what you did, or would you rather play dumb and get more hurt than you’re already going to be?”

Leo opened his mouth to talk, and he tried to, he really did, but his voice refused to come out, and the more time that passed, the more Marcus’ grip in his ankle tightened. By now it was sure to leave a bruise. “Well?” his black eyes glimmered and Leo gulped in a frantic attempt to calm himself.

“I… I, I…” his breath kept getting caught in his throat and tears were forming in his eyes.

“Say it”, Marcus growled and got on his feet. He stepped on Leo’s stomach before he had a chance to move away.

Leo coughed and whimpered, but opened his mouth again: “I tried… to leave-”

His breath was cut off from the force of Marcus’ step that fell down on his stomach like a brick. He cringed and coughed and doubled up on himself soon as the other man’s foot was off him. “I’m sorry”, he managed to whisper, and soon he was raised to his feet by the collar of his shirt.

“Sorry won’t cut it this time, Leo. I give you this much freedom, this much love, this is how you repay me?” He threw him back down and turned his back at him. “Move an inch while I’m gone and I’ll kill you”. His voice was dry and cold -most likely a very real threat.

So Leo stayed. He stayed on his knees, barely breathing, crying silently. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he made any kind of noise. Marcus returned with handcuffs and rope, and Leo’s breath caught in his throat when he saw him taking off his belt.

Guiding him by the back of his neck, Marcus led Leo to the bed, where he pushed him down to lie on his chest. He cut his shirt open with the box cutter he’d always carry in his pocket. Slicing it open, he made a shallow wound down his spine. Leo winced. “Oops, an accident”, he commented, his voice as black as his hair. He tied his arms and legs to each of the four bed posts, cuffing them for further security.

Leo felt sick. He was completely defenseless, completely vulnerable. Marcus could do anything to him like that. Even things that would hurt him more than just physically. His mind flashed to the belt. Marcus could hit him with it or continue taking his clothes off, and he prayed it would be the former. He clenched his fists; it was the only sign of defiance he could make.

Soon, he felt the first hit. It was unexpected, and he sucked in a deep breath before growling in pain. But it was better than the alternative, so he kept quiet. He greeted his teeth and braced for the next hits, tried to keep count to take his mind off the pain but soon it was unbearable, he lost count he’d scream and wince after every whip, his skin felt alien on his back, too bare, too opened, too raw. When his back was too much of a wreck, Marcus moved to his arms, and when his own blood splattered on his face, Leo buried it in the sheets.

This was so wrong, so unfair. He wasn’t in the wrong here, Marcus was. Marcus had kidnapped him; he wasn’t wrong to try to escape. He wasn’t wrong to seek his freedom. His mother could only try so much to find him, he knew her efforts would be fruitless; she didn’t know where or with who he was. Leaving that place was solely up to him, and he’d swore to himself that he wouldn’t stop trying. Yesterday was the first time he’d tried and now, he wasn’t sure he wanted to repeat it.

Marcus had left the house, and it was the first time he hadn’t called his sister to watch over Leo. He’d warned him, though: “Make one wrong move and I’ll know”. Leo took the warning lightly and once he was sure Marcus was away, he sneaked off his room and went to the kitchen, pretending he was getting something to eat, checking if he was alone in the house. And he was. So he took one of the kitchen knives and moved to the front door. As expected, it was locked. He used the sharp end of the knife to try to unlock it, but before he could even make a small amount of progress, the end of the knife bended.

“Oh, no, no”, he’d murmured. He’s definitely going to notice this, he’ll definitely notice this, he thought, his knees suddenly trembling. He tried to straighten it with his finger, a stupid move, he noted to himself later, seeing that he’d successfully cut himself. “Now how the hell am I going to hide that, fuck”, he whispered to himself and walked back to the kitchen, but there wasn’t another knife with a sharp end like that. He had one chance, and he’d screwed it up. The windows all had metal railing around them, so that was a no-go as well. Hastily, he wrapped his fingers up in a paper towel and cleaned the floor off the droplets of his blood. The sun had started going down now, which meant it had been about an hour since Marcus had left. He’ll be back soon, he’s never gone for more, he’d thought, panic rushing through his blood, from his legs to his mind. Ultimately, he decided it would be best to take the knife upstairs and hide it. He slid it under the bed and just then, he heard the alarm going off, which meant Marcus was back.

Leo threw the bloodied paper towel into the toilet’s bin, covering it with other paper. Luckily, his fingers weren’t bleeding anymore. Leo had “been good”, as Marcus was saying, so he was allowed on the bed and around the house. He lay on the soft mattress with the blue, floral sheet and matching mattress and covered himself up till his eyes. That’s what Marcus saw when he climbed up to his captive’s room. “You’re sleeping so soundly”, Leo had heard him say, and a chill had run down his spine. Marcus left the room right after that and the missing knife was never brought up, even though Marcus had cooked dinner.

So, Leo thought he’d gotten away with it. God, how wrong he was.

By the time Marcus had finished belting his arms as well, Leo was swinging in and out of consciousness. Some hits had gotten to his face and head as well, together with his arms. Slashes decorated his cheeks and ears and the back of his head had blood stains, mixing with the blue dye of his hair.

“You can hear me, can’t you?” Marcus whispered by his ear.

Leo nodded, and it was more of an instinct. He didn’t want to give him any answer, he just wanted to float off somewhere, but his consciousness was being too stubborn.

“Good. You’re going to get yourself up and from today on you’ll be chained to the wall again”. His voice was stiff and threatening, as if one wrong move could detonate another explosion. Marcus was a person who could go from sweet to sour in a matter of seconds, Leo knew that all too well by now.

Marcus ducked, looked under the bed, hummed, stretched his arm to grab something and got back up. “So, this is where that was, I guessed so. You kept looking towards the bed last night”. He used the knife to cut the ropes and unlocked the cuffs. “Get up, baby. Let me see your pretty face”.

Leo forced himself up, his arms too weak, too pained to hold him, yet he managed to sit up with a grunt, looking at nothing in particular, with a dazed look. Marcus took Leo’s cheek and moved his face upwards, so they could see each other eye to eye. “Do I want to ruin this lovely face of yours?” he asked himself, and Leo felt his body going cold again. Marcus brought the knife with the tilted head near Leo’s eye and he stopped his breathing, bracing for the worst as the blade was getting closer and closer to his skin.

Marcus’ smile dropped and so did his eyes. He dropped the knife down. “This is worthless now that it’s broken, Leo. I can’t carve anything or cut anything with it without the sharp end. You’ll be just as useless if your pretty face is ruined”. He traced his fingers through Leo’s soft skin. “You’re so beautiful, love. If only you were obedient, too”, he said, squeezing one of his welts with his finger. He took on a satisfied look as Leo winced. “I can do anything I want with the rest of your body but don’t worry, I’ll never touch your pretty face”.

Marcus moved aside and stretched his arm towards the wall. “Now, go on. Walk up to the wall and I’ll chain you. Remember, you caused this, babe.”

Leo almost cried out when his arms were raised to be locked in place by the cuffs.

“Yes, this is much safer. I think I’ll just leave you like this”, Marcus leaned in for a kiss, but settled with a peck on Leo’s cheek, when he saw the younger man wasn’t responding. “see you at lunch, then, babe. Or, not!” he tutted, closing the door behind him.

Leo was left back, his heart sunken along with his spirit.

#leo and marcus #tw noncon touching #tw whipping #tw knife #My writing #whump #whump writing #wrote half of this at like 6am sleepless lmao

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sidemenimaginesss · 5 years

Text

no sleep - olajide olatunji

requested: yes - “22- jj”

prompt: 22. “did they hurt you?”

summary: you’re home alone one night and thieves break into your home. you call jj for help and he comes over to comfort you.

wordcount: 1252

you’re lying in bed wide awake, but it’s just you and your mind. it has been racing the entire night, and you can’t manage to fall asleep. you groan in frustration when once again your mind wanders off to a different subject and you turn over in your bed.

not one sleeping position seems comfortable and your mind keeps thinking of stuff to worry about when you cover your face with your soft pillow. “shut up, shut up, shut up,” you chant to yourself in your head, but once again, no success.

so instead of trying again, you sit upright in your bed, turn on your nightlight and put on your bathrobe over the worn out t-shirt you use to sleep in. your feet slide into your slippers and just when you’re about to get up, you hear a noise coming from somewhere in your house.

a shiver runs down your body, but you quickly blame the october winds. convincing yourself the noise is nothing unusual, you grab your phone to guide you through the dark and walk over to the door that parts you from your living room.

pulling the door handle down, you are met with the darkness of your living room. your eyes widen when they finally adjust to the dark, noticing two outlines standing next to your couch. your breath catches in your throat and everything around you starts spinning when you quickly back up into your bedroom again.

the strangers in your house somehow didn’t notice you entering the room, and you’re glad they didn’t, giving you time to think. if you call the police now, they’ll hear you speak and immediately leave. instead of giving the two intruders the time to escape the police, you decide to take the matters into your own hands.

the plan you’ve created in your mind could go incredibly wrong, but you decide to stick with your gut anyway and go along with it. after 30 seconds of preparation, you take a deep breath, once again opening the door and getting your phone camera out, using the flashlight to record evidence of what is going on.

the two - now visible - men look up when they notice the light and one immediately starts to run towards the door, leaving his bag behind. “run!” he yells to the other, but the other just grins at you, coming your way.

your right hand still holds your phone whilst the left hand behind you reveals the first ‘weapon’ you could find in your room, just in case anything like this happened.

“back off!” you yell at him, threatening him with a plant pot. he keeps coming closer, and before you know it, you’ve hit the vase onto his head. he falls to the floor and groans in pain, having underestimated your strength.

without you realising what’s happening, he picks up one of the shards and throws it at you, hitting you just under your eye, leaving an ugly scratch. your phone, and with that your light source, drops to the ground. in the time it takes for you to recompose yourself, he’s already gotten up from your carpet and taken the bag his friend left behind.

you point the camera at him again just to see a last glimpse of him leaving your house. you run over to the door and lock it, turning on the light beside it at the same time.

you stop the recording on your phone and gasp at the sight in front of you. not only is your living room a mess because of the shattered vase, but almost all the drawers are opened, stuff is thrown to the ground and some of your personal belongings are missing.

you take a moment to exhale a shaky breath, and go back to your bedroom, where you feel safer. you quickly cover yourself under your blankets when you realise you’re shaking.

you blink a few times whilst staring off into the distance, realising what just happened. tears start forming in your tired eyes and you pick up your phone, calling the first person that comes to mind.

after a few rings, you consider hanging up, but right at that moment jj picks up. “hello?” his groggy, tired voice answers, “what’s going on? are you okay?”

at this question, you break down and start sobbing, immediately sobering up jj. “i’m sorry for- for waking you up. it’s like- it’s 4 am. i’m sorry-“ he cuts you off by replying “don’t say that, you know i’m always here for you love.”

“please tell me what’s going on. do you want me to come over?” he asks, and you nod in response, “these men- there were two burglars and i- i managed to get them to leave but-“

“did they hurt you?” he asks you through the phone, and you whimper in response. “i’m gonna fucking cave their heads in i swear to god i’ll knock them out and-“ he catches his composure and takes a deep breath. “listen, i’ll be there in like 10, okay? sit tight, i love you, always,” he says, and hangs up the phone.

ten short minutes later, you hear knocking on your door, and notice jj’s text on your phone, telling you he’s here.

you take soft and quiet steps towards the door and unlock it, revealing a very alerted looking jj. when he notices your appearance, and the mess behind you, a frown out of confusion and worry forms on his face. his soft hand lands on your cheek, and you flinch when he touches the cut. “what the hell happened?”

you look down at the floor, more tears falling down your cheeks. he locks the door behind him and takes your hand, leading you to your bathroom. “let me clean that up for you while you explain,” he says, in the most cautious way possible.

he seats you onto the edge of your bathtub and looks around for a disinfectant and bandaids, while you take a breath and tell him everything. he gently disinfects your wound and even dries your tears with some tissues.

“babe, you’re so dumb, but i’m so so happy you’re okay. i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he sighs when you’re finished talking. a slight smile forms on your lips when you look at the guy in front of you.

“thank you,” you say breathlessly, looking up at him through your wet lashes. “i don’t know what i’d do without you either,” you add on quietly. your gaze falls to the floor again when you feel your cheeks heat up. jj puts two fingers under your chin, lifting your head up to look him in the eyes.

“hey. i love you so much okay, and this will never happen again. we’re gonna get that video to the police and we’ll get those bastards behind bars. i promise you, okay?” he comforts you, and you simply nod in response, never doubting anything he says.

“will you please stay with me tonight? i couldn’t fall asleep earlier and i definitely can’t anymore right now,” you say with red cheeks.

“of course angel, i’ll be there to protect you. even though you’ve already proven you don’t need anyone to protect you,” he smiles at you, and the two of you leave the bathroom and lie down in your bed together.

“goodnight jj,” you whisper into the darkness. “goodnight love,” he whispers back, and you fall asleep in his arms soon after.

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stellar-alley · 4 years

Text

•The One With The Monster•

Hey guys! Just a little warning before this chapter starts, I will be touching on religion, but it is in no way accurate and I am not trying to offend anyone in any way. This is all simply for the story, so if I say anything please do not take offence.

Also: This story is based on the song Monster by Dodie, so if you'd like to listen to it while reading then it can help set the mood.

Enjoy!

"So what are we going to do with him?" The arc angel glances over at his associate.

"Well, I suppose we could always assign him to an unsolvable case, someone who can not be saved. That way he will stay on earth forever" The lower level angel suggested.

"We could always assign him to-" The arc angel tapped a name the list he held with his index finger.

"Hm... Good choice. A demon he's bound to fall in love with, he will be gone within a decade. Clever" She smirked at him.

"Would you like for me to inform him? Or shall I?" He asked as she shook her head.

"Oh no don't you worry, I will tell the boy about his new and permanent position"

(Basically, our little angel was just assigned a case to a demon where he'd inevitably fall in love and die, all because they couldn't accept that he was gay)

Tell me again about how it hurts

"Okay... Eddie please, just tell me again how much it hurts" Richie leaned forward to cup Eddie's face with his hand. The shorter boy pushed him away. Suddenly Eddie was up and of the bed, pulling at the ends of his hair as pain flashed through his eyes.

"I-It feels like someone stabbed me in the back with a needle and I can feel the fucking venom spread through my system. Like roots of a fucking weed growing" He hissed.

Shit... This is what I was worried about

Being awfully loud for an introvert

There was a moment where Richie didn't speak, he just let Eddie rage.

Eddie sat down on the edge of the bed, practically hugging himself, with blank eyes and an emotionless face, "God, I can feel it seeping into my blood" he sighed. "Rich... Baby, what's happening to me?" Eddie's fear-filled voice cracked as his eyes grew watery.

Richie couldn't even meet his gaze as he muttered a guilt-filled, "E-Eddie... I'm so, so sorry".

Eddie's brow scrunches together, he tilted his head like a confused puppy. "Richie... what did you do?".

Richie moved out of his family's house at the young age of 22. His parents were very reluctant to let him live on his own, worried that he'd somehow spill the family secret, start the next set of witch trials or something. He was a demon after all. He loved Maggie and Wentworth with his entire heart, but as Panic At The Disco once said, if you love me let me go.

He wasn't a monster, neither were his parents. They were just two angels in love who made a wrong choice, so of course, they were thrown down to earth, banished. And heaven forbid there be any angels on earth that aren't guarding a human, so Maggie and Wentworth there stripped of their white angelic feathers and gifted new ones, darker ones.

Still, they were just as magical, just as magnificent. Long and elegant, they shimmered like the dark night sky. Their wings only came out when they wanted them to, unfurling like a red carpet being rolled out, it was one of the best feelings in the world to Richie. But if not then they just kinda went poof, disappearing. Although they would have to let their wings out at least once a week or else they'd wake up with major back pains. Sometimes Richie would even do it subconsciously in his sleep, he'd wake up from a nightmare and he'd just be curled up in his own dark wings. It was oddly comforting. When they went full dark angel, they had the wings as well as small black horns that would peak out through Richie's equally as dark curls. There were also dark eyes and sharp fangs.

There were other things that came with being a demon. They had magical powers, to a certain extent, they could make things happen, some call it miracles. Oh and also if they were to lash out and lose control, one would be able to see their pointy fangs and blood-red eyes. Richie had always been in love with his demon eyes. Their normal brown colour turned to a deep red, and the rest of the whites in his eyes turned black, making him look like a total satanic worshiper. Which they weren't by the way just cause they were demons didn't mean they had to worship the dark lord.

His place was magnificent, to say the least. It was a one-bedroom apartment with a kitchen and living room and just enough space for an office corner. But he made it work. He was only one person after all. He tried to keep everything organized, only half failing, which had surprised even himself. The apartment wasn't messy, he kept the dirty clothes in the hamper and the trash in the bin. Although he did always have a couple of dirty dishes in the sink and way too many papers on his desk, but he didn't mind.

Everything changed about two months after he moved in. He was sitting at his desk, some chill music on the in the background (Fly by Bloodwich to be precise. Recommended by Stan) when he heard something smash and fall from outside in the hallway. Richie waited a moment before he decided to go make sure no one was like... bleeding out on the floor.

Stepping out into the hallway that connected all the apartments, he noticed another male figure. Richie couldn't make out his features as he was crouching down on the floor in front of his door, back towards Richie. The guy had dropped a vase, pieces of porcelain scattered across the floor.

"Shit shit shit! Mom's gonna kill me!" The guy whispered, he frantically tried to collect all the pieces.

Richie knew he could help, alongside his miracle abilities, he also had a little bit of mind control. And he couldn't bear to hear this guy whimper about this damn vase any longer. He was going to command the guy to back away and he'd miracle the vase back to its original state, then just clean up the boy's memories a little before letting him go, so he wouldn't question the now fixed vase.

Before he gave the command he allowed his eyes to roll back into his head, they reverted back into their demonic state as he commanded, "Stop". Richie's voice stern and deep, it always got that way when he commanded someone to do something.

The boy froze.

"What?" He suddenly jumped up from his position on the floor. Richie wiped his eyes away, they changed back to their normal brown just as his eyes met the eyes of the other boy's. For a moment he could've sworn that the other's eyes were blue, but not like, blue but blue. A blue that could give the sky and sea a run for their money, a blue that'd make someone have to shield their eyes cause it was so bright. But he blinked just as Richie tried to focus on their colour, and suddenly they were brown, just brown.

"Sorry... I uh... Thought you were my neighbour, they party a lot and I always tell them to shut the fuck up" Richie told a terrible lie. No one on his floor partied, they were the Losers floor after all. He knew how weird he sounded so he quickly kept going, he tried to get rid of the awkward tension. "Sorry about the vase" Richie rubbed anxiously at his neck.

"W-What vase?" The guy asked with a lifted eyebrow.

"The one that broke..." His voice drifted off when he looked over and saw the vase that sat perfectly on the ground beside the other boy's feet. "oh" was all he could say at that moment.

Good going trashmouth. What the fuck just happened?

"I'm Eddie," The guy, who is apparently Eddie, said, forcing the awkwardness away. He stuck out his hand for Richie to shake.

"The name is Tozier, Richie Tozier" He replied and shook Eddie's hand. "Moving in I see?" He motioned to the boxes that line the hallway.

Eddie's eyes went wide for a moment, maybe a moment too long before let out a laugh mixed sigh, "Yeah, this is me" he pointed to the door right across from Richie, the sight caused the trashmouth to smile a little bit more at the thought of having a cute neighbour.

Now that Eddie was no longer crouched on the ground he was finally able to get a good look at him. Eddie was a petite guy, for sure a couple inches shorter then Richie and had a smaller build as well. He had a head of neat chocolate brown hair that flopped into his eyes, which he constantly swatted away, Richie found it adorable. He wore a pastel blood hoodie and black skinny jeans and some nameless runners.

"Welcome to the Losers floor" He said with a wink.

"The what?" Eddie asked.

"The Losers floor, that's our name. You've got me, Richard Trashmouth Tozier, the leader of course" He nods, "Beverly Marsh, the badass" Richie points to the apartment beside his own. "Benjamin Hanscom, the nerd" He points to the farthest room, the one after Bev's. "Mike the animal lover, he has a cat, but don't tell the landlord" Richie smirked, he gestured to the room across from Ben's. "And then there's Bill and Stanley. God, I don't know how they fit two people in that fucking apartment, let alone a god damn bird".

Eddie's eyes went wide at the statement, "A bird?".

"Yeah, Staniel loves them. I think her name is like Alley or something" Both of the boys turn to the camera like it's the office.

He leaned casually against the doorframe to his apartment, "Need a hand with the boxes, Edwardo?" Richie asked.

Eddie had to resist the urge to shoot the nickname down and deny his offer, but he knew that be seeing more of Richie in his life. Eddie was his guardian angel after all (;

Eddie was an angel, well he was pretty sure he still was. Eddie always had an enteral battle going on inside of him. They fought over what was right if he should be listening to his lord and saviour or to his heart. He repressed his feelings for centuries, but love always won. Coming out was something. (I don't feel comfortable going into details). But everyone seemed okay with it, sure some hated the idea but everyone liked Eddie. And as luck would have it, a week later he got his first official Guardian placement, Richard Tozier. They'd given him everything he needed, a book full of fake memories and a storyline to follow, it was all set, well... kinda. They basically just gave him the job, no further explanation on why Richie needed to be guarded or anything at all for that matter. They just told him he had 3 days to prepare before being shipped out.

Living on earth was something. But the guys above gave him some books and tips to keep his heavenly side a secret.

Don't fly in the city, don't use your powers unless necessary, and never, ever tell your person about your secret.

All they said was don't fly in the city, they never told him he couldn't just sit in his apartment with his blinds drawn and his wings out, so that's what he did most nights. He had specific shirts and hoodies with little slits in the back so his wings could come and go with ease. Sometimes he'd just opt to sit shirtless on his couch while watching Will and Grace reruns.

With no knowledge of what he needed to guard Richie against, Eddie simply chose to be the friendly neighbour that was always there to help. But then he realized how dreadfully annoying Richie can be, and then their iconic banter began. But during all of their arguments and bickering, a spark was lit. The two went from friendly neighbours to each other best friends. They'd developed countless traditions that were carried out throughout the week, Taco Tuesday, well that was just the day they went to eat at Burrito Gringo. There were also Sunday laundry nights, where they'd spend countless hours in the creepy basement laundry room laughing their asses off about some random ass shit since anything was hilarious after 1 am. Although on Mondays, both of the boys always seemed to be oddly busy. Maybe it's because these are the days when they both hiked to different parts of the city, heading deep into the forest, away from civilization before letting their wings out and taking flight.

Around the one-year anniversary of Eddie moving in, Richie had no doubt in his mind about 2 things. 1) That he was head over heels for Eddie fucking Kasbrak, and 2) that said Eddie fucking Kaspbrak was also an angel. How did he know this? Well, the first day the two met, Eddie literally miracle-d the vase with shiny blue eyes. These eyes were not only a one-time occurrence, sometimes when Eddie laughed a little too hard, the times he got a little bit too embarrassed, or when he sneezed too hard, or if Richie's touch lingered a little bit too long on Eddie's body, they'd appear. Even though it was always only for a moment, blink and you'll miss them, Richie always noticed. And one day when Richie was walking home from the radio station he may or may not have noticed that he could see perfectly into Eddie's apartment. From there, he watched the short boy grow angelic wings from his fucking back. So, yeah Richie kinda knew Eddie was an angel.

He never brought it up, for various reasons. Richie knew a lot about demons but he also knew his fair share about angels, and he knew that if word got out to the people above about someone knowing Eddie's secret, he'd be in deep shit.

Even though the trashmouth knew what he saw, he could practically feel the angelic powers pour out of his little angel, but he didn't want to face the facts. He didn't want to believe that the boy he loved was an angel. They could probably be together, to hell with the sides! They'd make it work... But then came the inevitable, the biggest thing that stood in their way. Something everybody knew.

An angel and a demon could never share a kiss. It was a curse put upon the first angel and demon who fell in love, all those years ago. The curse states that when the two opposing creatures kiss, the being of light will lose their spark, it will go dark, they will go dark. Basically it means that Richie was to kiss Eddie, Eddie would lose his wings, and he'd turn into the same beast that Richie was. Or even worse, Eddie could die, if he wasn't able to survive the turn.

So Richie suppressed everything, his thoughts, his ideas, his feelings. Anything that could lead to having a crush on Eddie was shoved into a box and stuffed into his metaphorical closet. He wouldn't allow himself to be the reasoning behind Eddie's banishment, he couldn't... Richie wouldn't be able to live with himself if he knew that he was the reason his little angel was turned dark. So he made a vow to never kiss Eddie.

So Eddie kissed Richie instead.

It had been officially one year and one month since Eddie moved in across the hall from Richie, and it has been exactly one month since the two started dating. Richie was the first one to make a move, he was reluctant since he couldn't kiss Eddie, but he could see the yearning in his angel's eyes and he really just wanted to be happy, to make Eddie happy. That's all he ever wanted.

So he gave in. Eddie confessed his feelings one night after Richie's failed attempt at a tinder date with some asshat named Connor. Eddie spilled his guts out about since the first time he saw Richie in the hallway, he has been living on this high, the feeling that he only got when he was with Richie. And that feeling gave him life. What Richie didn't know was that the life Eddie was feeling was the feeling of finally living. He was doing what he wanted, on his own terms, with the man he loved. That night forward they were officially boyfriends.

Eddie found it kind of odd that they didn't share their first kiss after they both confessed their true feelings. Instead, once Richie finished spilling his guts, he simply wrapped Eddie up in his arms and the two held each other, their hearts beating as one. That night they slept together, no sex, just being wrapped up in each other's arms was enough. And Eddie was okay with that.

It was just another morning that the demon and the angel had woken up together. Eddie had woken up first. To no surprise, he found his limps were tangled up with Richie's. But once the demon had woken up, the two sat facing each other in bed for a while. Until Eddie practically jumped on Richie, cupping his face and kissing his lips.

Richie was left in shock. They'd kissed. And it was amazing. There was only a single moment where Richie's mind burst at the thought of their lips touching, but instead, he drowned it out by passionately kissing Eddie back. Eddie had pushed Richie onto his back, playing with his hair as the made out on the bed, that's when Eddie jackknifed off of Richie. That's when he started to turn, and that's where we are now.

"Eds, baby I'm so sorry. I should've told you sooner" Eddie snapped his head to face Richie. His angel eyes were showing, and they were blazing like a roaring fire. The flames so burning hot that they turned sky blue.

"What the hell did you do?!" He hissed, anger and confusion laced his voice.

Richie could barely let out a stuttery, "I-I'm..." that's when he let his eyes roll back. With regret he let his demon eyes roll forward, he hoped it would be more than enough of a response.

His blue eyes snapped open wider than ever, "Y-You!" he shrieked. Eddie went to stand and get the fuck out but before he knew it, he'd stumbled over his own feet and landed on the carpeted floor of Richie's bedroom. With the pain that radiated through his body, he felt something, stress relieved from his shoulders, but now there was more weight on them than usual. His wings. Eddie curled up, the pain simply had more space to cover.

Richie slid out of his bed and shuffled over to Eddie. "Please can I just-"

"No, NO! Get away from me" Eddie backed away, "You demon fucker, you did this to me" he hissed. Hastily he got to his feet, he stumbled out of the room.

Get out of my room, smile wiped clean Isn't it weird to be so mean?

Eddie had sworn Richie out countless times, but nothing stung as badly as the words that just slipped out of his mouth. He couldn't even begin to imagine the pain Eddie was going through. The guys below always described it as the feeling of what it's like to burn in the deep pits of hell. But the least he could do was make sure Eddie didn't have to go through this alone.

He marched into the main area of his apartment where he spotted Eddie had sprawled out over the couch. The demon moved quickly to crouch down beside Eddie. The angel's eyes were in a half-open stat, but once they caught sight of Richie they reverted back to their blue shocked look. But now they were focused on something just above Richie's eyes.

I'm guessing that I've grown horns I guess I'm human no more I can tell I've rotted in your brain

"Oh... Sorry. This happens sometimes" He smirked down at the shorter boy. His hands wandered up to brush up against the small horns that had appeared in his dark curls.

The shorter boy was hugging himself, the pain pounding in his head. "I can't believe you'd do this to me. Turn me... Make me into a monster" Eddie breathed breath after breath, each word filled with a hatred that was new to the both of them, and Richie hated every moment of it.

Oh, how easily passion twists You think I'm a crazy bitch I craft my words to fit your head 'Cause no one listens to the dead

"You think I wanted to do this? Do you think I wanted to turn the fucking love of my life into the same thing that haunts me? The thing that looms over my fucking head every goddamn day of my life? Eddie I always wanted what was best for you, that's why I joke and I play and I never let you in because I didn't want to get close. I didn't want to feel anything for you but I couldn't" Richie's emotions were about to overflow when he realized the amount of stress that sat on his back. So with a roll of his kneck and a stretch of his arms, he allowed his pitch-black demonic wings to magically roll out behind him.

If Eddie's eyes could grow bigger then they already were, then they did. "LIES! That's all your kind does. It's all been lies, and to think I fell in love with a fucking spawn of satan".

The words burned like a slab of meat over an open flame. There was one way that Richie knew he could capture Eddie's attention, grab his attention by the balls and tell him what's what.

So maybe I will talk to you The only way I know how to I've said my speech through sharpened teeth

"Edward mother fucking Kaspbrak. Do you think, that I would spend over a year, lying to my dumbass neighbour just to turn him? 365 days, 8760 hours, 525600 fucking minutes, all so hell could have one more damned demon? Eds, Eddie, light of my life, I never, ever, planned on turning you" Richie's voice was stern and serious. It was something that was new for Eddie. He couldn't help but notice the fact that Richie's teeth had sharpened into fangs, poking out from behind his lips as he spoke. They must have unconsciously lengthed as his emotions grew stronger.

Although he wasn't focused on Richie's new way of talking. He was focused on the words, the phrase he just said. Light of my life. A direct quote from The Shinning, the same words Jack Torrance told his wife Wendy during the climax of the movie. It was their safe word, the phrase they said when something was happening when they needed help, when they needed each other. If something was happening and the other needed help, no questions asked. Suddenly everything became so much more serious to Eddie.

Eddie curled deeper in on himself, with closed eyes, and a weal voice, he wept, "Then why am I dying".

Richie's dark heart broke at the sight of his boyfriend who crumbled before him. "oh... Spaghetti" He muttered, collapsing beside him, throwing his arms around the angel. "I-I'm gonna figure this out".

With that declaration, the two stayed like that for a while, Eddie curled on the couch with his wings behind him with Richie's arms wrapped around him. Their foreheads pressed against each other's. Richie's wings even lowered down and wrapped around the angel. When the dark wings touched the lighter ones, it was like the first time their hands brushed up against each other. It sent a shiver up both of their spines.

Eddie's body had almost grown used to the pain, it was numbing, his body ached, but the feeling of Richie's touch made everything just a little bit better. As much as Eddie wanted to be mad about this, it was Richie's fault, deep down Eddie knew his boyfriend didn't mean it.

The angel felt the demonic presence that cuddled against him shift and move, followed by the all too familiar 'Click' sound of Richie's phone turning on. He tilted his head upwards and saw Richie's head was perched on top of his own while he scrolled through the contacts on his phone. "Seriously rich? Ruining our moment? I'm literally dying you asshole" Eddie's voice had a little less pain and some more confusion mixed in there, and maybe even a little laughter.

The demon's lips turned into a little smirk. He slowly slipped off of the other, "I've got this angel, just give me a moment. Don't die!" He hollered whilst he walked into the other room.

Richie had his parents on speed dial and the phone rang three times before they answered. He cut to the chase and asked what to do if an angel was turning. Of course, Maggie informed him that there's nothing he can do, the change will most likely kill the angel.

Richie's voice came out sounding way too chirpy for the situation he was in, "hmm, no. My angel won't be dying today. So we need another way".

There was a sudden muffled sound, followed by a very quick argument of few words before Wentworth picked up the phone, "Son? yeah, I'll call you if I find anything until then, keep the angel awake and alive. Love you son" and the line went dead.

You break the rules and spikes grow from your skin

Eddie had heard the stories, every angel knew them. The ones of the curse and what it's done to the angels that were stupid enough to fall for a damned demon. But for some reason, Eddie knew that deep down he would've kissed Richie again if he had the chance to go back, he'd do it again and again, no matter what the cost. Because deep down he knew that this boy.... this demon, was the only person Eddie truly ever felt this way about. He's never cared about anyone the same way he cared about Richie, it was love.

The angel could sense the demon when he re-entered the room. At that same moment, another jolt of pain shot into his body. This time it started at his lower back and spread like roots to a virus up his back.

"H-Holy shit" Eddie's eyes snapped up to meet Richie's, worry washed over him when he noticed that the demon's face had gone as white as a ghost.

"What? Rich, what is it?" he questioned. Richie stared in shock as black veins slowly kept up the back of Eddie's neck. They edged their way up to his neck and into his wings. They trained the whites of his wings as they. It seeped into the feathers and kept growing, black spikes in a world of white.

"Eddie, hey, sweety, trust me okay? It looks bad, I won't lie. But we're gonna beat this, you and me" Richie's voice was reassuring, but Eddie still needed to see what was happening. He rapidly sat up, ignoring the pain that it caused. He moved towards the full-length mirror Richie had proper up against the wall in his living room.

His voice was weak, only able to let out a soft "No....". Richie stood behind him, which was good since Eddie basically collapsed after seeing himself, the shock had overtaken his body.

Please let the devil in

Richie, of course, caught his boyfriend. He cradled the boy in his arms, softly stroking his hair while he wept into his sweater. The apartment was silent, the only sound to be heard was the soft sobs and sniffles that the angel.... that Eddie let out as Richie held him close.

A meter apart, we blankly stare

The demon wasn't that strong so at one point he had to slowly lower himself and the boy who laid in his arms to the ground. That's where they laid for a while. The pain pulsed through Eddie's body which caused the tears to keep falling. Richie held him tight, one hand holding the other's while the other would run through Eddie's hair, in slow calming motions. The two laid on the kitchen floor, Richie's back was leaning against the counter for support. Both of their wings were sprawled out everywhere as they laid together.

After countless minutes, Eddie's weeping stopped, so did the rising and falling of his chest as he breathed. "Eds?" Richie asked, voice low. When he was left with no response he asked again. "Eddie?". Now worry filled his face as he turned his boyfriend over to see his face had gone soft, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. "HEy, Eddie, Eddie?"

We shout in our heads, "Are you still in there?"

"no, no, NO... no" Richie winned, he ran his hands along Eddie's body. He moved his index finger and his middle finger along the boy's neckline, he tried to find a pulse, anything. But there were no signs of life.

Well, this ends bad then, we knew it would

"It can't end like this... I-I won't let it".

The sound of his phone ringing cut through the air like a knife. He grabbed his phone from his pocket, he smashed the answer button when he realized it was his father who was calling. "What?" His voice came out weak, hopeless even.

"Son... Blood" His father sounded out of breath. "A demon's blood can change him, bring him back".

"What? Dad, no... No, I can't turn him, h-he's an angel"

"Richie, either you turn him or he dies. You don't want him to die, do you?" The question made something snap deep within the demon. He knew what his dad was doing by the tone in his voice. He'd used it in the past to manipulate Richie, not in a bad way, but he needed it right now. His dad knew he wouldn't want to lose Eddie, so he left him no choice.

"Fine" Richie hissed, he clicked the end call button before dropping his phone.

So we won't eat our words, 'cause they don't taste good

(Mild blood warning)

The demon slowly moved his boyfriend off of him and laid him carefully onto the cool tile floor beneath them. Richie moved quickly through his kitchen, he got one of the various knives from a drawer before he took a seat again beside Eddie.

"Okay... Eddie, I'm so sorry" Richie apologized again for the 100th time. He took his own hand and with the knife, he made a clean cut across his palm. The demon hissed, fangs poking out from his mouth, at the pain.

Before he could change his mind, the demon carefully picked up his boyfriend's hand from where it sat on his chest. He studied it for a moment, examing the soft skin against his. He shook his head, cleared his mind. It was hard, his hand began to shake the moment he gripped the knife.

Just do it. He thought.

"I love you," He said as the knife drew blood.

The moment he was done with the knife he let it clatter to the ground. Instead, he put Eddie's hand in his, pushing their cuts together in hopes that enough blood would enter the boy's system for this cult-like ritual to work.

He held their hands together, he pressed his lips up against the back of Eddie's hand, and just held them.

Eddie's eyes snapped open. His heart beat strong and hard inside his chest. He looked over and saw Richie, a demon, his demon. He held their hands together to his chest, his head tilted downwards.

His voice was weak, tiered from the aches and pains, "Rich..." he whispered.

The demon's head jolted upwards. He was overwhelmed by emotions, he's alive. A smile spread across his lips as he let out a small, "Eds". Without missing a beat he jumped at him, wrapping him in his arms and hugging him.

The sudden action caught the former angel by surprise. "H-Hey... It's good to see you too trashmouth".

Tears began to fall from Richie's eyes, unable to hold back his emotions any longer. He slowly let go and moved to face his boyfriend, "I, thought you were dead. You flatlined" he looked into Eddie's eyes and suddenly his face fell a little.

The angel's eyes were still blue, but there were no whites to them. They were actually similar to Richie's, which he loved. The only difference was that instead of red, it was blue, and everything else was pitch black.

Eddie noticed immediately and mirrored his emotions, fear, and worry. Which Richie caught on to and quickly changed this up, "I have something to tell you". Eddie simply responded with a small nod, "So you know the curse right?".

"Of course, everyone does".

"Exactly. So, uh... Yeah we kissed, and you almost- um, ya know... died. But I brought you back! You're here now, and you're alive. But y-you aren't the same" He glanced away, unable to meet his gaze, suddenly ashamed of his red and black demonic eyes. "I-I guess it's better if I show you".

Richie slowly got to his feet and helped Eddie to stand, the boy's legs were a little wobbly but he wrapped an arm around Richie's waist for support as he led the shorter boy towards the mirror. What stood before him sent a little shiver down Eddie's spin. He looked into his new eyes, the blue he was used to seeing remained the same, but instead of the normal white that usually surrounded them was replaced with a black as dark as night. The darkness grew wide for a second, his eyes stared at himself in shock. His wings had changed as well, the black veins were now gone, and so were the white feathers he knew so well. Although his wings weren't black like Richie's (Which Eddie kinda found dark and sexy), his new wings were a silver-grey, they shimmered under the light, slightly changing as he moved and tilted his body.

I'm guessing that I've grown horns I guess I'm human no more

The no longer angel noticed something else. Little spikes poking up through his brown messy hair. The little horns felt smooth to the touch.

"I'm so sorry Eddie. I never meant for any of this to happen" Richie kept his eyes on his hand, where the cut had already healed.

"Richie... We could've never been together before. An angel and a demon? That's insane, totally against every rule, on both sides" His voice was stern, anger slowly building up as he went on. It all changed within a moment, "But I'm not an angel anymore..." His voice drifted off a moment before Richie realized what he meant. The dark-haired boy stared wide-eyed at his boyfriend, not 100% sure what was going to happen. His heart began to flutter. Then the smile he's grown to love spread over Eddie's lips, even going up to his demonic eyes.

"So it's just you and me now" Without missing a beat, Eddie closed the gap between Richie and himself, he moved his hand to grab the collar of Richie's shirt before he pulled him down towards him and kissed him.

"So what now?" Richie asked his boyfriend, who's head was leaned against his chest as the two laid together in Richie's bed after a hot and intense makeout session. It left both of them sweaty and speechless. The power that the two shared was something neither of them had ever felt before, leaving them both a little mad that they hadn't done it sooner.

Two ugly creatures, two sinister preachers

"Well... Now that we're two ugly creatures, two sinister preachers" The jokes rolled off his tongue. Richie could get used to these demon themed jokes.

Blind to the past, like a couple of monsters

The newly deemed demon rolled over to lay propped up on his elbows, facing Richie. "Rich there's one thing I know for sure. Heaven can't get to me, and I have a feeling Hell can't get to you". Eddie hadn't a clue about Richie's past, but he knew he'd find out sooner or later since they were in this mess together. Two separate sparks that by some miracle collided, creating something amazing.

"So it looks like it's just us..." Eddie's voice drifts off.

"You and me" Richie confirms.

"Us, together" The two smiled at that thought, "Just a couple of monster".

Word count: 6119

D A M N

Guys, I'm pretty sure this is the longest chapter/oneshot I've ever written. I had so much fun writing this chapter! Exploring their backgrounds and giving the whole angel x demon thing a go, and I really enjoyed it, I hope you guys did too!

As I said this chapter is based on the song Monster by Dodie. I knew the moment I listened to this song that there was some deeper story behind the lyrics and I needed to bring it to life.

Anyways that's all for me! I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter, and don't forget to like and comment, it shows that you like my work and encourages me to keep writing.

Until next time

so long and goodnight.

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adrenaline-roulette · 5 years

Text

Absolute Beginners

Chapter one: Breaking a few egg heads

Years after running the Labyrinth, and rescuing her baby brother. Sarah finds herself forming an unlikely friendship with the Goblin King himself.

Sarah Williams was well and truly done with life. Not in a, ‘Oh what a cruel, harsh world!’ sort of way, but more of a ‘If Jareth shows up in my home one more time uninvited, then I may be forced to commit a crime’ sort of way. Don’t get me wrong, the company Jareth provides is rather excellent, a pleasant change from the goblins who she constantly found ransacking her kitchen cabinets and fridge, and he certainly made for intelligent conversation while her university friends were away during the semester break. The only issue with the King of the goblins continuously showing up unannounced, was the sheer amount of glitter that he left behind during each visit. Now Sarah likes glitter just as much as the next girl, but trying to vacuum it out from her carpet, and washing it from her hair was a nightmare! So much so, she now found herself simply leaving the apartment as it was, covered in glitter. Though she had to admit, that in the right lighting (Usually around 5:13 pm) the rooms took on an almost magical look, what with all the glitter…. And dream catchers, and wind chimes.

With a groan, Sarah shouldered her front door open, dropping the heavy grocery bag onto the tiled entrance way, a sickening crack filling the empty apartment. “Shit.” She muttered, looking down at the fabric bag, which was slowly becoming wet at the base, “There go the eggs…” She kicked off her shoes, and frowned down at the bag, knowing full well that it wouldn’t clean itself up, though she damn well hoped that maybe, just maybe if she scowled at it long enough, it would. A familiar gust of wind caught her attention, though not enough to cause her to look up, she knew exactly what it meant, and the sound of the patio doors bursting open only confirmed her suspicion.

“My dear Sarah, I’ve brought you a gift!” called the clipped English accent of the one and only goblin king. Sarah remained staring at the ever-growing pool of shattered egg, that was slowly creeping closer to her sock clad feet. “Hi Jareth.” She smirked, looking up at the ever-glittering king who now stood in the apartment entrance with her. “Any chance you could, you know.” She motioned her hands in what she called, her best magic impression, which was more or less a vertical rendition of jazz hands. Jareth rolled his mismatched eyes, muttering under his breath about not having to wave his hands to perform magic, instead he used crystal balls. With a flourish of his black leather gloved hands, one of said crystals appeared between his fingertips, he twirled it there a moment, watching as Sarah grew impatient, her eyes following the egg yolks as they neared her big toe. With a small chuckle, he lunged the crystal at the mess on the floor, the puddle and shattered egg shells all disappearing in a grand display of glitter. Sarah glanced down at where the murder of twelve innocent individuals had just occurred, nothing was left at the scene of the crime, no one would ever know what had happened. Her eyes travelled up to Jareth’s, a smile playing on her lips. “Remember that chat we had the other day?”

“You mean the one where we discussed whether pork was really a type of vegetable?”

“No, not that o- Wait, when did we have THAT conversation?!”

“Perhaps that was with my advisor Garret, not matter, please continue.”

Sarah shook her head in wonderment, the things that man said were a mystery sometimes. “I meant, the chat we had about you coming to the door like a normal person. I don’t care if you glitter poof outside of my home, just not inside, it takes too long to clean up afterwards.” Sarah watched as Jareth visibly scowled at the use of the word ‘poof’.

“Sarah, precious, I do not poof anywhere. I appear, there is a difference. And besides, I simply had to arrive as suddenly as I did, as I announced when I arrived, I have a gift for you.”

Sarah manoeuvred herself around Jareth, having collected her grocery bags once again, in order to deposit them on her kitchen counter. As she made her way around her kitchen, she found herself trying to recall how this had all started. The whole, Jareth appearing in her apartment and presenting her with gifts.

The 25th of March seemed to spring to mind when thinking about the beginning of this all. It was three years after Sarah had run the labyrinth to reclaim her baby brother Toby from the Goblin King. She had been out with her friends at a house party, where everything was served in a red solo cup, and no one really knew what they were drinking, but it was obvious that whatever it was, it contained copious amounts of alcohol. By the time Sarah had stumbled home, it was past 3 am, and even in her drunken state, she knew to be grateful for her father, Karen and Toby being away for the weekend. She made her way upstairs, after finally managing to unlock the front door, she could’ve sworn she felt small goblin sized hands helping her steady her own shaking hands, to open the door, but they seemed to disappear just as soon as they had appeared. Her typical evening routine was abandoned that night, instead she opted for stripping her rather revealing dress off, and throwing on a pair of sleep shorts and shirt, she could take her makeup off in the morning… Or afternoon, depending on what time she managed to drag herself out of bed. She sat on the edge of her bed for what felt like hours, but was in fact no longer than twenty minutes, her eyes focused on the mirror of her old vanity table, contemplating whether she should call on her old friends again. Ludo, Sir Didymus and Hoggle had always been happy to talk with her, but perhaps not at such an ungodly hour. She shook her head, and sighed. “Goblin King, Jareth, I need you..” She whispered, as tears slipped from her eyes. After such a great night, the last thing Sarah expected herself to be doing was crying, especially over something that had occurred over three years ago!

“Sarah, have you called to wish away another child….” The sneer in His voice fell short as Jareth peered down at the young woman sobbing on her bed. This certainly wasn’t how he had imagined their next meeting, especially not with Sarah looking as she did now, the makeup running down her face was not an appealing look. “I… I’m so sorry Jareth!” Sarah cried out, her wide green eyes seeking out his own, there was such vulnerability there, one he had not seen during her run of his labyrinth. “Sorry for what Sarah?” He smirked slightly at the way she shuddered lightly at the sound of her name from his lips, perhaps there was hope for him yet? His mind danced away from the scene playing out in front of him, paying only a small amount of attention to the blubbering Sarah, explaining why she was sorry. In his mind, Jareth Saw himself and Sarah dancing, which seemed like such a novel idea, especially seeing as there were far more things that were less polite that he would like to picture himself doing with Sarah. Though something caught his eye about their dancing, at first it had seemed like any other ball Jareth would host, or attend in the underground, but this was different. Not different in the layout, or the guests who smiled politely as the couple danced past, but in what Sarah was wearing. It would have meant nothing if the shade of her dress was slightly darker or light, but no, this particular shade of red could mean only one thing. The image playing out in his mind was of their wedding day, more specifically their first dance, and if Jareth had it his way, one day it would no longer be a dream, but instead a reality.

He suddenly found himself jolted out of his dream, by the sound of Sarah blowing her nose, it looked as if she were finally getting to the point of all of this crying. With a deep breath, she launched into a grand speech. “Jareth, I forgive you. All you did was what I asked for. You took Toby to your castle because I wished for you to do so. For years I tried to convince myself that you took him under different circumstances, but I can’t lie to myself any more. Everything I asked for, you did. If anything, I should be thanking you, not hating you!”

Now this took Jareth by surprise, and very little did these days. After living for over a thousand years, it was hard to find anything truly shocking, but this was certainly unexpected. It was as if his brain had stopped working, he couldn’t think of any witty response to Sarah’s sudden change of heart, come to think of it, he couldn’t think of anything to say at all! So instead, he opted for standing in front of the mirror he had appeared through, his mouth agape and nodding along, like some sort of stunned fish. A very regal looking fish, with fabulous hair, but a fish none the less. With one final half smile from Sarah, she fell to her side, head resting against the pillow, and slept.

“That was…. Unexpected.” Jareth murmured, raising an eyebrow down at the sleeping woman. He did not envy her of the headache she would undoubtedly have in the morning, he only hoped she would remember what she had revealed to him. Leaning down, he pressed his lips against her temple, chuckling softly had she hummed happily in her sleep. “Take care Precious.” He whispered, before vanishing through the mirror, leaving the first of many clouds of glitter behind him.

After that first night, Jareth found various reasons to visit Sarah, though he always made sure she had the house to herself before he appeared, knowing full well that she may have found it rather difficult to try and explain the dashingly handsome King in her bedroom. Or as she put it, ‘If my father finds out there has been a man in my room, he will murder me.’ But Jareth much preferred his variation of the story.

As the years passed, Jareth found himself having fewer excuses to visit Sarah, especially after she moved out to her own apartment. There were only so many times he could simply pop over to reclaim one of his goblins, who he most definitely had not sent to her home himself. Besides, if he used that excuse too many times, he feared Sarah may think he was negligent of his care to the goblins… She was right of course, but he would never let her know that! So, instead of taking some time to think of decent excuses to visit her, he began appearing almost daily, with some of the worst reasons imaginable!

“Oh, hello Sarah, I’m so sorry to intrude, but I wanted to offer you this lovely feather duster to replace the one my goblins ran off with the other day. It is of course made of pure chicken feathers.”

“Sarah dear, I wonder if you have any of that mortal pain remedy. Paracetamol I believe it is called? The goblins have given me a terrible migraine.”

“Precious, I was just about to cook myself up a delicious omelette with these fresh eggs, would you care for one?”

“Sarah! I don’t know what to do! The goblins, they… They’re trying to build a catapult! Do they know something that I don’t? Should I be preparing for war? Sarah help!”

“Are you any good with political negotiations? No, don’t ask questions, just give me a yes or no answer. “

“Dear Lord, Sarah! The goblins, they’ve set the bloody hedge maze on fire. It turns out the catapult wasn’t for an upcoming war, no instead they’ve used it to fire burning barrels of ale at the labyrinth!” (This particular instance was followed by Sarah coming home from classes the next morning, to find Jareth seated in her patchwork armchair, elbows resting on his knees, with his chin planted firmly on his interlocked fingers. Without so much as a question asked, Sarah had made her way into the kitchen, leaving Jareth there for thirty minutes, before returning with two bowls of steaming hot pasta, and a glass of wine for each of them. After this occurrence, Sarah found herself no longer dreading Jareth’s impromptu visits, and instead she simply worked around them. Jareth also realised, that perhaps he no longer needed an excuse to visit her any more, and soon found himself inviting himself over whenever he pleased, just for a chat.)

“Sarah? Is there any particular reason you are holding onto those biscuits with such force?” Jareth chuckled, as he smirked at the brunette beauty before him. She had been standing in the same position for the past five minutes, her only movements those of when she breathed, and blinked. She had that far off look in her eyes she often adopted when thinking of particularly fond memories, or dreaming of somewhere she would rather be. Jareth found himself hoping for her to be thinking of memories, and prayed she didn’t despise his presence enough to dream of herself elsewhere. She blinked her eyes slowly, before returning to the kitchen, where her body remained despite her brain being a million miles away. “I… Sorry, I was just thinking about what to do now that I have destroyed all of my eggs. I was supposed to be making a cake for work tomorrow.” She blushed, knowing full well that Jareth knew that was the last thing she had been thinking about. Even though he had no actual clue of what she had been remembering, it doesn’t take a scientist to know that no one spends that long thinking about eggs.

“Well dearest thing, isn’t it just an amazing coincidence that my gift for you, just so happened to be goblin city fresh eggs!” Jareth grinned at the exasperated sigh that came from Sarah. She was onto him! He had used that excuse before to visit her, he had hoped she wouldn’t remember!

“Thank you, Jareth, I do appreciate it. But don’t you want to keep them? Either for yourself or the goblins?”

“The goblins don’t particularly like eggs. They prefer chickens as an animal, alive and clucking, and terrorising my throne room. Not chickens pre, all of that. As for me? I never have a shortage of eggs in the kingdom.”

“Are there really that many chickens in your kingdom, that you have enough eggs to keep you in stock?”

“You have seen my labyrinth love, surely you registered how many chickens there were just hanging about?”

“Well, uh, you see… I had always assumed you had put them there, thinking they were some sort of scare tactic…”

“I… I genuinely do not know how to respond to that Sarah. After setting the cleaners on you, you thought the chickens were there to frighten you?”

Sarah felt the blush creep up her cheeks at hearing how silly it all sounded now that it had been said out loud. And that damned look Jareth was giving her just made her want to scream at him. Instead she threw the pack of biscuits at his head, smirking as it hit him square in the forehead.

“Now that was just rude.” Jareth muttered, and he picked up the biscuit packet off the floor, feeling the broken cookies inside the wrapping.

“That’s two casualties this evening! First the eggs, now the biscuits? When will your murderous spree end Sarah?” Jareth cried in mock horror, his lips curling into a smile as Sarah rolled her eyes at him.

“It will only end when I have murdered the greatest threat this world has ever known!” She declared, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Oh? And who is that my dear?”

Read chapter two here

My Masterlist

#jareth x sarah #labyrinth #labyrinth fanfiction #sarah x jareth #goblin king #sarah williams #adult sarah williams #funny #humour #fluff #cute #conffesions #enemies to friends #friends to lovers #jareth poofs wherever he needs to go #so much glitter #like way too much glitter #labyrinth 1986 #labyrinth film

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