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jupiterdrabbles · 3 years

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The Oracle

Chapter One

Word Count: 4.7k~

Rating: Teen

Pronouns for Reader: They/Them/Theirs

Warnings: Vivid details of violence, blood and death.

Parings: Prince Sidon/Reader, Link/Reader

Even after the defeat of Calamity Ganon, the world remained paranoid. So many times had they defeated the evil, and so many times had it come back. The legends melted away after the fall of the champions one hundred years ago, and the citizens of Hyrule could no longer turn to them for guidance.

So, they turned to you.

From a very young age, you always knew something was different. You could never quite place or understand the feeling, but sometimes when making important decisions or choosing what to say, a gentle prodding made its way up your skull. ‘This one! This is right, this is the way.’ Echos of affirmation in an oddly familiar voice that no one else could hear. But, it always seemed to help those in need, so you were keen to listen.

One day, when you were no older than ten years old, your parents had a stranger come into the house. She wore all white, with a thin veil covering her eyes. She met your gaze, and you knew.

You were the same. On some level deep down you resonated with each other. You had something in common that was so engrossed in who you were that it sent shivers through your body. The voice reverberated louder, calling her to you and you to her. She stretched out her hand, palm up, and you put yours in hers. A bright light swallowed you, and everything became clear. You finally knew.

You were an Oracle.

—————

You sat in Hyrule castle, at the left hand of the Queen. Your robes were loose and light, that same white color as the woman who gave you your answer nearly a decade ago. You kept your head bowed as Queen Zelda addressed her court, Link at her right. They were currently discussing the reconstruction of Hyrule, what with a century of abandonment to many of its cities and people. Ever since this meeting had begun, there had been a buzzing in the back of your skull. It spread around your scalp and pulsed at your temples, but you fought back the urge to put your head into your hands. You were currently surrounded by the ambassadors of the different domains and remaining civilizations, you had to remain proper. Besides, it was most likely just a headache from staying awake long into the morning hours with Zelda, reading and studying about the years that had transpired while she was trapped with Ganon, and before you were born.

Zelda often keeps you and Link by her side. While you had known the Queen for a significantly less amount of time than the champion had, you had bonded over the shared burden of having a divine power bestowed upon you from a young age. In your time with Link, he had taught you simple defense maneuvers. As the Oracle, almost all of your concentration had to be in the present, focusing on harnessing any sign or signal you could grab onto to help decipher the coming days or even years. He fretted enough about Zelda not being able to fight on her own, but now that he had two incredibly important people to guard, he felt he was going to have a heart attack. You weren’t given a weapon- many were too heavy or didn’t sit right in your hands, with the added fact that you really weren’t supposed to wield anything that could hurt you in return (keeping your body whole was apparently a big part of the job). Link taught you pressure points and how a two-fingered jab to the right place could bring even Lizalfols to the ground. He promised he’d be at your back in an instance, but it made him and you more confident with some experience under your belt.

The buzzing grew louder and stronger with every passing minute, and you shifted to tuck your feet in on the seat of your chair to ball yourself in tighter. The haze that normally accompanied oncoming migraines wasn’t present, so you shoved it aside and blamed it on exhaustion. You tried to listen past the incessant noise, and to Zelda’s words.

“Even with Ganon defeated, some of the Malice it left behind continues to scorch the land. It isn’t hard to combat, but we will need a large group to cover all of the domains.” Zelda spoke, fingers interlaced atop the table. “Link recommended a force of five for each pool, as some of them can build and expel monsters out of nowhere.” Link nodded at her side, arms folded across his chest. He brought his hands forward to speak, fingers fluttering.

“They aren’t difficult and won’t do much damage to your person- but they are quiet. It’s always helpful to have someone watching your back.” He signed, an interpreter relaying his words towards the other end of the table. The ambassadors nodded, and a Zora woman raised her hand to speak.

“We have stationed guards along different trade routes to ease the journey of the travelers coming to our domain, and there have been reports of Malice pools growing from the ground. I believed they were isolated to the Divine Beasts and to the different shrines and towers. Do you know why they are coming about?”

You looked up to her, and a lump caught in your throat. The way herred scales glimmered in the remaining sunlight was painstakingly familiar, and the more you looked the more the lump grew. It had been the only time you’d raised your gaze the entire meeting, and she- as well as some other ambassadors- took notice. She met your gaze and offered a small smile.

And that’s what did it.

You let out a sharp gasp and clutched at the fabric in front of your chest, all the pain in your head suddenly shooting down to your heart. It felt like something was strangling the organ, a tight grip that squeezed and pulled and hurt. Your vision began to black out as you heard voices all around you. Someone put their hand on your shoulder and another barked at them to stop, leave them be!

The pain in your chest spread through your shoulders and back, down your spine and arms and back up to your skull. Your throat burned like you had been swallowing saltwater and nausea crept into your belly. You saw red, a bright crimson in your peripheral vision fading into blue, into brown. You heard the roar of a Divine Beast and felt it’s anguish. The ground shook with it’s fury and your vision cleared. You looked up and found yourself in the Zora domain, soaked through and surrounded by fleeting citizens. You stayed still, watching in awe as Vah Ruta rampaged through the domain, the marble and stone cracking beneath its feet. It stomped over the throne and it crumbled beneath its weight like a mushroom. The water at your bare feet turned red and sticky with blood, and Vah Ruta turned its massive head to you.

You met its eyes as its trunk lifted high into the air, a ball of energy building between its tusks. You were frozen in place, fear rooting you in your spot as you stared down a machine that easily aided in the defeat of Calamity Ganon. It whirred menacingly and fired at you. The screams and cries silenced, there was nothing left but the beam. Blue and white flooded your vision, then red again. So much red that it faded into black, only two glowing eyes remained. Ganon’s eyes. It gurgled in the silence and unhinged its mouth, pure Malice dripping onto the floor and onto you. You cried out as it burned your hands, and you watched in horror as it spread up your arms and chest. You were covered in Malice- no, the entire world was covered, infected, and dying slowly beneath the surface. And all it took was one pool near the far terminal in Vah Ruta. You blinked the pain away as you traveled with the Malice, one with it now. You saw it tearing apart wires and cogs beneath the surface, reworking the machine to how it saw fit. All it took was one beast, and the world would decay.

Something grabbed your wrist and pulled you from the Malice, and when you crumpled with exhaustion they caught you. They held you and rubbed your back as you sobbed into their shoulder. A hand pressed between your shoulder blades and warmth followed.

Look at your hands, they said into your ear. A girl’s voice, a slight lilt underneath her tone. It’s going to be okay, you can go home.

You brought your hands into your vision, and saw the Malice fading away along with a soft blue light. You peeled away from her shoulder and looked into the eyes of Mipha. Her expression was tense and filled with worry.

If Vah Ruta loses control, then the world will crumble. She spoke softly, taking your hands into hers. I am afraid I won’t be able to calm her, please- tears pricked at her eyes and trailed down her cheeks.

Find my brother.

You open your eyes to find yourself on the floor. The light burned your eyes, and the shape of Zelda above you was blurred and fuzzy. She called out your name in relief, helping you sit up.

“Are you alright- what happened? Do you need a medic!?” She fretted, and you shook your head. Your hands were also shaking, and you would guess your entire body was trembling by the way the ambassadors were looking at you. They stood at a distance, and you learned why as you looked up at Link. He was stood up with his back to you and Zelda, sword drawn and in a slight crouch. You guessed when you collapsed the ambassadors and guards rushed to your aid, only to be stopped when the Champion took your guard. You would have to thank him later, but there were more important matters.

Ignoring Zelda’s questions and worries, you leaned up and grabbed Link’s hand. He spun around immediately, eyes wide. He knelt to your level, hand never leaving his sword.

“We- we need to-“ Your voice shook as you stuttered, and groaned in frustration as the words almost refused to come out of your mouth. Link’s eyes were patient, but you looked down to break his gaze. “Vah Ruta, the Domain- we need to go there, immediately.” You sucked in a breath as you tried not to hyperventilate, panic seeping into your skin as you remembered the blood-slick floors. “Vah Ruta is going to loose control and- and attack the Domain.”

Gasps of shock rang throughout the room, and tension quickly began to build. The ambassadors rushed to speak to each other.

“Vah Ruta? But didn’t the Queen fix it after the Calamity!?”

“My home- my domain! What are we going to do?”

“How is this happening? Is it an omen?”

A Rito ambassador knelt beside Link, who gave him a side eye and clutched the sword tighter. The bird took no notice, all of his attention on you.

“Will the remaining Beasts also rampage? Do we need to be prepared as well?” He demanded, panic thick in his voice. Before you could answer, his panic was well shared.

“The rest of the Divine Beasts?! Oh, Goddess!”

“If Vah Naboris rampages again, Gerudo Town will crumble!”

“Oracle, what did you hear- what did you see!?”

“Please, what is going to happen?”

“Are we doomed again? Is Ganon coming back-“

“Enough!” Zelda cried, standing sharply as her voice cut through the room. They all turned to face her, wide eyed and scared. She took a breath and smoothed out her dress before addressing them again.

“The gift of Foresight is an exhausting one, please allow them to collect themselves before answering your onslaught of questions! Clearly it was a traumatic experience, as they were shaking and sobbing not minutes ago!” She declared, and you felt heat rush to your cheeks. Shaking and sobbing? Oh, what a first impression on some of the most important people in the four domains. Zelda held out her hand to you, snapping you out of your embarrassment and helped you stand. Her hand then came to your shoulder and turned you away from them and across the room. She waved for Link to follow. She held both of your arms as she walked to face you directly, Link at her shoulder.

“Alright,” She said, sighing. “Honestly, they had no right swarming you like they did.”

“It’s alright, your Highness. I’m sure I would do the same in their position, hearing something as startling as a Divine Beast losing control and running through a domain.” You folded your hands and held them near your stomach, trying to ground yourself. “I should go and explain my vision, they need to-“

“No,” Link signed, his first two fingers and thumb pinching together. “They will only stress you out more, you’re already unwell.”

“But they need to know! We need to travel to the Domain as soon as possible!” You furrowed your brow as you spoke. “It’s going to happen soon, and the Zora need to-“

“That’s why I will tell them, and you go rest as much as you can.” Zelda said calmly, rubbing your arm in a soothing motion. “Tell me what you saw, and I’ll relay the information so you and Link can start getting ready. You’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“You won’t be coming?” Link asked, and Zelda shook her head.

“Hyrule still needs a leader. I can talk to you both through the Slate, and offer any assistance you may need.”

You bit at the corner of your lip. The air felt heavy and your chest was still tight from the lingering effects of your vision. Zelda was right though, as she always was. You needed to prepare.

“...alright,” You whispered, and they turned back to you. “If you’re sure.”

“Of course. Now sit down and give me just a moment.” Zelda led you back to where you were sitting before and you eased yourself onto the cushion. You tucked into yourself as the ambassadors looked at you, feeling like a luminous stone at midnight under their gaze. Zelda gathered their attention and began to explain what would happen, that they should return to their rooms until called down to hear the explanation, and Link stood in front of you.

“You have no reason to be nervous, it will just be me and Zelda.”

“I’m not nervous.” You countered, looking up at him. “I’m just-“

“You are, and it’s okay.” He interrupted, and your mouth clipped shut. “There’s nothing wrong with it, but I want you to know you’ll be safe. I’d never let anything near you that wasn’t welcome.”

“I saw that earlier,” You chuckled, and a soft smile spread across Link’s face as well. “You had your sword out and everything, it’s like you were staring down a hoard of Bokoblins.” You playfully jabbed at his stomach, which he sidestepped with ease.

“It almost was, you should’ve seen the Gerudo. She almost grabbed you herself.” You giggled a little, covering your mouth. When your laughter subsided, you looked at him seriously.

“Thank you. For- for always protecting me. I’m sorry if I put any more stress on you, you deserve a break after fighting the calamity.” He waved you off, scoffing slightly.

“Believe me, this is a vacation. I can’t stand still for the life of me, much less take a vacation. Can you imagine me, relaxing? It doesn’t fit right.” He made a face of disgust and stuck his tongue out. You smiled fondly.

“You’re right, it doesn’t. But any moment you need to take a break or even just sleep in a little longer, do so. I don’t want you burning yourself out on my account.”

“I think I took enough of a nap when I was in the Shrine of Resurrection, don't you think?”

You shrugged, not knowing exactly what to say in response. Link was stubborn, and getting him to budge on anything was hard, but especially hard when it came to his health. You have had small blips of visions where Link was bleeding profusely or otherwise severely wounded but he kept going. You knew he would get nightmares of the calamity as you would get them too. Part of the glamorous life of an Oracle was near magical empathy, you could see and hear what someone was going through and live in that struggle. It wasn’t something you loved, in fact sometimes it felt like an invasion of privacy, but sometimes it led to you helping those you cared for. You had talked to Link about his dreams and he opened up to you a little. The burden was worth it in the end, but you wished you could do more. Link and you continued to chat softly, and soon enough Zelda came back. Her smile was strained, and you swallowed hard.

“So,” She began, clearing her throat. “They aren’t exactly thrilled with the fact that it won’t be coming from you directly, but they will live on” She looked back to where the door was swinging shut, the ambassadors now being escorted to their respective chambers. Hyrule Castle was one of the first things to be rebuilt, and more rooms and space was added for Hylian citizens to seek shelter in while the Kingdom was being rebuilt. It truly was a beautiful building, now that it was reformed to its proper glory.

“Are you ready? We can take this slow.” She asked, and you nodded. She brought out her Sheikah Slate and opened a feature that allowed her to take notes, and looked to you to begin.

“I- I was in the Zora domain. They were all fleeing rapidly, and shoving past me. Normally, when I have these visions, I can phase through what I need to in order to find what I need, but-“ Your hands shook again, and you squeezed them together. “I was really there, I felt them knock into me. It’s never been like that before.

“Many were injured, some were dead, but no one was stopping. I looked up and Vah Ruta was in the domain, thrashing about and destroying many of the pillars and making its way to the throne room, where I was.”

“It wasn’t in the dam anymore? How could that happen?” Link asked, bewildered. You shook your head.

“I don’t know. I only saw it coming towards me, and then it-“ You held onto your neck, pressing into your muscles to ease the tension. “It fired it’s laser- the one it shot at Ganon. I think I- I might’ve died, there.”

Zelda clapped a hand over her mouth. The scalding hot feeling faded back into your chest where Vah Ruta had aimed, and you cleared your throat.

“Then, when the world went dark, I was a part of the malice. I saw it corrupting the inside of Vah Ruta before Mipha pulled me out and healed me. She said she could no longer rein in the Beast, I think she’s been struggling for a while. Then-“ You looked up at Link, who met your gaze with an intense expression.

“Then she told me to find her brother. I don’t know why, but when the Zora ambassador talked about Malice pools growing, that’s what shot me into the vision. I think- I think she’s right. I was a part of the Malice after Vah Ruta shot me, so that means-“

“Others might be too.” Zelda finished. “Those who were slain might have gotten sucked into the Malice and developed with it, that’s why it’s getting stronger.” She faced away for a moment, lost in thought. “This is… worrying, to say the least.” You nodded, and rubbed your face.

“I’m so sorry, I wish I knew more.”

“No, you’ve done so much.” Zelda reassured, taking your hands away from your face. “Without you, we wouldn’t know this was even happening. Now,” She pressed a kiss to your forehead and helped you stand. “Go and rest, I’ll talk with the captain of the guard and the ambassadors. Link,” She turned to him. “Don’t let anyone stop you on your way. Make sure they get to their room safe.” Link nodded in return and took your arm. Zelda waved, and turned to a guardsman not too far off.

Link walked with you, slower than his usual pace to match yours. He brought his arm away from yours for a moment to sign something to you.

“We can’t both use the travel gates at once, so we’ll be going on horseback. It won’t be an incredibly long journey, but I would bring clothes you would be comfortable riding in.” He explained.

“Shouldn’t we leave now? We would get there by noon tomorrow if we went straight there.” You spoke softly, and Link thought for a moment.

“I’m not sure about that. We’ll have to go through a lot of diplomacy as soon as we arrive, you need to be well rested and recovered after what happened.” He said, a frown creasing in his face. “What if you have another vision at the Domain? You’d be exhausted.”

“Link, please.” You took his hand, and moved your veil to look at him directly. Your hair fell from under your hood, and a slight flush moved it’s way up to Link’s ears. You never took off the veil and hood, it was a sign of protection from false guidance or spirits. He’s never seen your face without it. “I won’t be able to sleep even if we wait, let alone rest. I’ll go mad knowing we waited any longer than needed- people are going to die, Link.” You pleaded, and you felt his resolve begin to crumble. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“...fine. Fine, alright. But we’ll be taking one horse so you can sleep on the way, pack only what you truly need. We can get food there during the journey.” You smile up at him, full of gratitude. You lift your hood back up and your face and rush forward to hug him tightly. The feeling is foreign to both you and him, Link not being incredibly touchy and you really weren’t supposed to touch people at all- keeping yourself pure and without too deep attachments that could risk severing your connection to the goddess and spirits.

“Thank you.” You murmur into his chest, and let go afterwards. You adjust your robes, unable to meet his eye. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes, where should I meet you?”

“I’ll come gather you. I don’t think you know where the stables are.” He said, a bit of snark on his face. He was right, you didn’t, but he didn’t have to be smart about it. You shove him off and race to your quarters as well as one can when wearing floor length robes that draped and flowed nearly everywhere.

As soon as you closed your door, you went to your wardrobe. You pulled a pair of trousers that weren’t so loose on you and set them on your mattress, as well as a warm tunic and a pair of gloves. You grabbed a pair of opal earrings Link had given to you a while back, he said they had some sort of magical property hidden within that made it easier to swim and climb in the rain. All of your clothes were some form of white or cream color to symbolize your purity and power, but in instances like this it made it more difficult to have proper outdoors attire. Well, you guess that many people when thinking of an Oracle don’t think of horseback riding and trudging through rough terrain.

You removed your hood and veil once more, stripping off your robe and shirt underneath before your boots and pants. You pulled on the outfit you laid out, replacing your silk gloves with the leather ones and putting the earrings through. Your hood and veil were returned and you got on your knees to reach under your bed.

You honestly had no reason to hide this anymore, you knew only Zelda, Link and the only maid you’ve spoken to were allowed in your room and they wouldn’t judge or criticize you for it, but old habits die hard. You pull the small wooden box into your lap and unlatch it, smiling fondly at what laid inside.

It was a simple necklace on a thin chain and didn’t have much design. You didn’t wear much jewelry, and if you did it wasn’t often, but you almost never wear this for a completely different reason. You’d probably keel over and die on the spot if you lost it, or it was broken. The pendant that lay on the chain was in the shape of a star, four points that thinned out as they went with a small quartz stone in the center. The back of the pendant had your name engraved, followed by “Forever in our sky”. It had been a gift from your mother before you left to begin your training and honing your ability. The teachers and guides had tried to take it from you, saying that you must leave everything behind to serve your greater purpose, but you hid it. You figured your family wouldn’t keep you from serving the goddess and you were right. You clipped it on and slid it beneath your tunic before standing and grabbing your satchel that you came here with.

In it you slid a pouch of rupees, two Hasty Elixirs (Link insisted on you taking them, in case you ever needed to run away from a battle.) and your spare set of prayer robes in case you would need them. You walked over to where your altar table was laid out and gathered the few gemstones that laid out in the corners, as well as the small crystal sphere you would roll between your palms to aid with smaller visions. You looked out over your room to confirm you weren’t missing anything, and slid your boots back onto your feet. You opened the door and was met with Link reaching to knock. You sniggered, and stepped aside. He sat on the bed and you shut the door.

“Got everything?” He asked, and you nodded. He had changed out of his Champion’s tunic and into a red and black one you haven't seen before. A full quiver of arrows and a black bow rested above the darkness-sealing sword. He had a satchel as well, presumably for more arrows or weapons. He always liked to be prepared.

“I left a note for Zelda for when she comes looking for us in the morning. Hopefully she won’t be too angry.”

“She will live on.” You said, mimicking her words from earlier which got a smirk out of Link. He turned and pointed to a trapdoor on your ceiling that you hadn’t noticed until this moment.

“We’ll go through the attic and jump down onto the walkway beneath. There’s an old railroad system beneath the castle that will take us to the main gate and out.” He signed, hands moving almost quicker than you can read. “It won’t be easy.”

“Then let’s get going.” Your voice was full of determination, and you moved a bedside table underneath the trapdoor. “You go up first and then help me, you’re taller.”

“Man, I knew I liked you.”

You clung onto Link’s waist as he urged his horse on over the bridge and into the woods. You looked over the night sky and the dwindling candlelight through the castle windows. “I’m sorry, Zelda,” You whispered, “But I can’t wait any longer.” You put your head on Link’s shoulder and closed your eyes, hoping to catch some sleep before hell broke loose.

taglist:

#loz #loz fanfic #prince sidon #prince sidon x reader #link x reader #botw #botw fanfic #breath of the wild #legend of zelda #prince sidon x reader x link #gender neutral reader #BAMF reader #the oracle

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merakiui · 4 years

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My brain is rotting rn. Albedo loves his S/O in a healthy way, all fluffs and Woodland Dreams. Maybe the reason why he was studying the sword Festering Desire was to stop his own corruption? Maybe it's a gradual thing and that's why he said "When the day comes, where i destroy mondstadt... destroy everything..". He KNOWS that he'll turn and ofc S/O doesn't know cause he doesn't want them to worry.

What if his research failed and he couldn't stop himself from turning into something dark like Durin? He would turn into something feral, something delusional, like how Durin described its battle with Dvalin and Barbatos as a "dance with a lovely bard and a beautiful bejeweled dragon" before the dark dragon fell in dragonspine to its death. Albedo would lose himself, lose the humanity that he had learned to acquire in Mondstadt, be delusional enough to think that "As a Chief Alchemist, I am trying to save Mondstadt and the world.... by purging all impurities and leaving only chalk to remain."

That's when his Yandere Side manifests itself. Being the only one who was able to truly capture Albedo's attention and heart, the S/O is in some really deep trouble. This is a reality where the Traveler failed to stop Albedo and he did destroy everything. His darling went back to Mondstadt only to see Corrupted Albedo laughing maniacally, saying that his research is reaching fruitition with people dying and crying in fear.

He spots his poor terrified darling and goes near them. His darling is the only perfect thing he sees other than Chalk and Gold so he takes them with him. Darling is ofc scared as hell and is trying to resist. Corrupted Albedo, the delusional bastard he is, with his hand covered in red and black tendrils, continue to forcefully drag them along to show them his "work". He preaches of perfection, of a new world that he wishes to create, seeing possibilities and life and the everchanging course of living.... Him and his darling would rule this New World built from corpses and decay.

His darling is crying now, but to this Delusional Corrupted Albedo, those are tears of happiness for a new beginning, a new opportunity, a new life. His fond smirk just widens.

"Ahh~ Life truly is beautiful."

-Vibin' Anon

OMG WHOA!! That was so haunting, especially at the end where Albedo is not himself anymore. He just loses it. I love that because 1) it’s Albedo and he’s normally always so composed and 2) it means that this newfound corruption has changed not only his physical appearance but his mentality as well. Can you imagine how terrified his darling would be when they learn of just how far gone their once caring lover is? You’re probably shaking like a leaf whenever he gets near you and Albedo just doesn’t understand. He might’ve lost all form of human emotions and cognitive thinking, but one thing remains and that’s his attachment to you. He knows you’re special and that he’s meant to keep you for himself.

Albedo’s moral compass is nowhere to be found and as a result of that it’s going to be far more dangerous to escape him. He mistakes your shouting and crying as a good thing, assuming that you simply can’t wait to spend life with him in this new world. Where you see ruin and destruction, Albedo sees improvement and a foundation for imperfect things to become perfect with a little tinkering. It’s a horrifying reality; you’ve lost friends and family members who once resided in Mondstadt. Even the Traveler, who was loved by all, perished in an attempt to stop Albedo before he brought great ruin to the City of Freedom.

It’s ironic now that you’re stuck with a monster in a city that should be the very image of freedom. And yet you aren’t free. You feel so trapped, far too scared to think of a coherent escape plan. It’s not like you would get all that far anyways, as Albedo’s stronger and faster than you in many ways. You’ll be snatched by your ankle if you so much as move towards the exit, with Albedo claiming that you need to stay because his research is still ongoing. In an effort to find every answer in the most perfect way, he studies you. You’re perfect in his eyes, so that must mean you’re his missing piece.

Escaping normal Albedo was hard, but Corrupted Albedo is on another level. It feels impossible and you’re almost certain it is, having tried one too many times for his liking. But humans are creatures of habit and you’ve got quite the habit of escaping. Perhaps that is one flaw of yours; it would seem as though you aren’t as perfect as he once thought.

No matter. Albedo can fix that.

#chit chat #vibin' anon #this was an amazing read!!!!#i beg of you my lovely anons #never stop brain rotting with me #orz please your ideas are so epic #now we need to talk about corrupted albedo and corrupted venti #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere albedo x reader #yandere albedo #albedo #genshin impact albedo

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listentothelittlebird · 3 years

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This was a first draft to Protect Our Own, from my Code Bat series on Ao3! It’s a reimagining of Jason Todd breaking into Titans tower, in a world where Robin is a myth and Tim Drake goes by Alvin, unnamed vigilante, with the Titans. Enjoy!

Shit. Jason was screwed.

Even as he held the tablet in his hands, watching the very concerning stalker-level footage that the League had gathered, he knew. He knew without a doubt that he was watching the new Robin. The target chosen for him was, of all the options the world could give him, Robin.

“This boy is a member of a group of young superheroes known as Young Justice. They recently went under the mentorship of older superheroes, to become the newest team of Teen Titans,” Talia Al Ghul explained passively, and Jason did not like the gleam in her eyes as she watched the young boy fight, “Lady Shiva met the boy, once, and agreed to train him. Even she is unaware of who his previous mentors were.”

Thank goodness for small mercies.

Then Talia turned to Jason. “You have done an admirable job of controlling your Pit Madness,” she smiled sharply, and Jason was reminded of all the deaths he had caused, all the people who had taught him and were murdered by him, using their own tactics, “And you have learnt fast. As promised, you will complete one contracted kill, and you will be released to exact your own revenge.”

Jason gave himself a mental pat on the shoulder, because even in the early days of crazed anger, not once had he given proper clues towards the fact that his killer - the one he wanted to exact his revenge upon - was the Joker himself. “White-faced asshole” could just be a white man, and “fucking green-haired piece of shit” could still just apply to anyone with green hair.

The Robin secret was still safe, surprisingly. Code Bat was still safe.

The assassin base was in the middle of nowhere, but there was still a little town nearby, with enough reception to surf the internet on a phone he had nicked from a particularly rich-looking traveller.

Talia did not control what he knew, the League did not control what he knew, so even while he learnt of the Joker still being alive, he also learnt about the helicopter crash, how Batman had purposefully fled empty-handed. Truthfully, he still wanted the Joker dead - but he recognised that there was a chance that no matter how many times they tried, the bastard would come back. He would rather not try than to get stuck in a never-ending loop, something that B- that Bruce must have realised.

There were other stories he found. Jason could not deny destroying several rooms in the base when he read the kid’s story. All the money in the world, and his very-much-alive parents could care less than Jason’s own barely-there mother had.

He had not known if the boy had taken up the mantle after him, but he was unsurprised at the confirmation in front of him. Robin was as much a part of the Wayne family as champagne, fancy suits and camera smiles.

“The boy is young, and already he is excelling in combat, research, and investigation. In a few years, he will be a real threat to the League. This is your final assignment. Kill the boy, and we will let you go.”

Well, fuck.

Jason carefully controlled his reaction, turning to meet Talia’s eye with his blue-green eyes. “You want me to kill a minor,” Jason spoke slowly, allowing his incredulity and a tinge of anger to slip into his voice.

“Either you take the job, or you will continue training, until another opportunity arises,” Talia replied evenly. Which meant anything from a week later to never.

Jason gritted his teeth, sucked in a deep breath, and pushed it all out at once. “When are we leaving?” he questioned. Talia’s grin was sharp, like a predator before their strike.

Double shit. This just got way more complicated.

Jason had bargained with Talia for a week of preparation work - a week to scout out the Titans tower, as if he had not memorised the layout of the old one. As if they had not built the new tower in the exact way as the old one had been.

“We will have League members surrounding the building,” Talia announced, a day after they had landed in the city. Jason raised an eyebrow at her.

“We are curious as to who has trained this boy,” Talia explained, “Subdue the boy’s teammates, and make him vulnerable. Don’t block radio transmissions. If the boy has maintained contact with his mentor, they would come running at their call.”

Jason cursed inwardly, keeping his face carefully blank as he nodded his assent.

He had to play this right.

“I don’t trust this,” Bruce rumbled for the fourth time, in full Batman mode despite being in a casual sweater and sweatpants.

Dick hummed along, casting a concerned glance Tim’s way.

On the table was a note, delivered through an unassuming envelope.

It stated a date and specific hour, and, Don’t call the Code.

“The code,” Tim mumbled, “Like, Code Bat? There’s no way they’d know that, though, right?”

The note was written on red paper, flecked with green and yellow. Tim’s tone was wavering, lacking its usual confidence. He was always so sure when it came to cases, but this?

“What’s happening at this time?” Dick wondered. Bruce pulled up his own schedule for the following week, and Tim mentally went through his own plans. Nothing of note, but-

“I’ll be in Titans tower,” Tim stated aloud, and there were gears turning in his brain. Wild gears that were nearly off their hinges, but they were the same gears that had made the Batman-is-Bruce-Wayne connection, and he had learnt to trust them.

“Is someone trying to warn us?” Tim voiced, “I get a lot of speculation from the public, about what my official superhero name is, but also where I came from, who I trained with. What if it’s not just the internet wondering?”

Bruce pursed his lips in thought. He turned to Tim, his eyes hard and determined in that certain manner that meant he was being overprotective.

“No,” Tim blurted, “I’m not staying at the Manor during that specific timeframe.” Bruce shut his mouth and blinked down at his adopted son.

“Whoever this is, they risk being found out if I don’t show up,” Tim gestured to the note, “It might just escalate from there, anyway, if we prolong whatever is supposed to happen.”

“It could be a trap,” Dick pointed out, and now he too had taken up the overprotective undertones of discomfort. Tim squared his shoulders and smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be fine,” he promised, “I’ll stay in the tower. Besides, all my teammates will be there. If anything happens, they’re right there.”

Bruce and Dick exchanged worried glances, but eventually Bruce sighed and clasped a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Code Bat has always been for your safety,” Bruce stated firmly, “I don’t care if our enemies find out about us - if it gets out of hand, if it looks like a trap, call us.”

The morning of the date stated on the note, Tim found another one in his Teen Titans bedroom.

They want you dead. Play along.

What jolted Tim was the symbol at the bottom right corner of the note - it was one of the made-up symbols that Dick had taught him. The symbol on the note meant “burn after reading”.

The handwriting was not Dick’s, nor was it Bruce’s. It was cursive, almost like Alfred’s, but it was also much more scrawled and uneven, like someone still unpractised in writing.

The gears in Tim’s brain must have really come unhinged this time, because the only name it could conjure was Jason. Jason was dead.

Tim was quietly uptight right until the hour came. He almost did not realise his teammates were being picked off, meticulously, skillfully, one by one. Almost.

Tim still had yet to press his emergency beacon. He had not activated Code Bat. He wanted to see where this went, before anything else.

Then the mysterious attacker descended on him, a blur of black and the smallest glimpse of white, and Tim was fighting for his life.

The man moved like an assassin - Tim had met some League of Assassins members, back when he had trained with Lady Shiva. He moved like them, but there was also something else to his movements.

Tim dodged a hit, and that was too short to be aiming for his throat, that would have been a non-lethal hit-

The man was not aiming to kill. He fought like Batman. He fought like one of them.

Tim opened his mouth, made to say something, although he was unsure what. He was swept off his feet before he got the chance.

“Who trained you, kid?” the voice growled, and it was a deep voice that should have unnerved him, but something struck him as familiar. The drawl, the barely-there accent.

Jason, his brain screamed.

Real answers, please, Tim pleaded.

The man pulled him by his tunic collar, and he shifted to pull him towards his face. There was a glint of metal on the man’s uniform - a recording device.

“Who are you?” he growled again, with Tim pulled close.

Tim got a good look at the man’s face, and while he instinctively bantered back, he was internally reeling. Looks like his gears were working, after all.

“Just a kid with a dream,” Tim smirked, a crooked smile already leaking some blood.

Jason - because this man was Jason, somehow, how was Jason alive - interrogated Tim while punching him out. His blows hurt for sure, but Tim swore that he was aiming for the areas that would cause the least injuries. He swore that when he grunted as a rib was broken, Jason had paused minutely, cringing slightly, before he barreled on.

Something was placed on his chest.

“Say goodnight, kid,” Jason sing-songed, and there was the sound of a gun cocking. Tim barely registered that when the gun shot, it had shot at him. There was the hard thump of something near his chest, just above his chest, but it had barely touched his tunic.

Jason tapped a finger-signal, a “stay low and don’t move”, and Tim remained where he was. He waited as footsteps receded, waited for several minutes, with a bag of fake blood leaking from his chest, bruises and other injuries blooming in pain underneath his uniform.

He felt rather than heard the presence appear beside him. The looming figure crouched down and gingerly maneuvered Tim into a firm grasp.

His “assassin” stared down at him. He had switched out his black assassin get-up for casual clothing. He was… tall. Built like Bruce. His eyes were different, too, and he had a white lock of hair curling just above his eyebrows. Yet…

“Jason?” Tim croaked out, and Jason Todd smirked. Tim knew that smirk - Robin wore it a lot, when he watched him. “You better be damn glad no one can hear you, anymore,” Jason gruffed, and started moving with Tim in his grasp, “Let’s go somewhere else, though, for good measure.”

They ended up in Tim’s room - sound-proofed, and therefore the safest location in the tower for this conversation.

“You’re alive,” Tim blurted out, as Jason dressed his wounds. His hands stuttered before resuming their work. “I died,” Jason stated flatly, “And I dug myself out of my own grave. Talia found me, and threw me into a Lazarus Pit.”

Jason raised his eyes to meet Tim’s, and Tim could see the eerie green glow in his eyes.

“Don’t tell Bruce about me,” Jason rushed out, and Tim immediately jumped to object, but Jason was faster, “Don’t. Listen, I-” Jason breathed deeply, “I’ve killed, alright? I’ve broken his big rule and all that jazz. I might still find myself going back to the streets of Gotham, but to the Manor? I’m not ready to face that shit.”

Jason paused for real this time, having finished taking care of Tim’s more visible injuries. He cringed.

“You should get Alfie to check you out, just in case you have internal bleeding or whatever the fuck I gave you,” Jason waved his hand around uselessly, “Lie low for a few days, alright? I need to make myself scarce. They’ll find out I didn’t follow through with the deal, and I’ll need to have disappeared, by then.”

Tim was silent for a few long moments. “Will I see you again?” Tim finally asked, his eyes wide and hopeful, “They miss you, you know? We miss you. We all do.”

Jason swallowed, and blinked back the water gathering in his eyes. “How can you miss me?” he chose to ask, “S’not like you knew me very well, before… well, before.”

Tim grinned, bright and eager.

“You once snuck out for patrol on your own,” Tim informed him, “And got stuck on a rooftop that you flipped onto with your grappling hook, because the other buildings around you were all too far away to grapple towards. You had to slide down the water pipes and run across an empty street to make your way back home.”

Jason sputtered, because that had happened, he did remember that, but when the heck did he hear about it?

“How the hell do you know that?” Jason asked, unable to keep his dismay from leaking into his voice.

“I’ll tell you when I next see you,” Tim smiled cheekily. Smartass.

Jason checked the time. “Your Superboy buddy will be waking up soon,” Jason reported, “Don’t come looking for me, alright? I’ll… I’ll return to Gotham soon. I just have to make sure the League’s off my back.”

Jason got up and hesitated. “When I return to Gotham,” he warned, “I’ll come in guns blazing. There’ll be deaths. It won’t be pretty. Just- just stay out of my way.”

It would have been more convincing, if Jason had not spent the last thirty minutes treating Tim’s wounds.

“Who are you?” Tim called abruptly, Jason hovering at the door, “You come in and take us all out, one by one. They’d want a name. Who are you?”

Jason smirked sharply.

“Red Hood,” he droned, “Call me Red Hood.”

He slinked away, and like a true Bat, was out of the tower in seconds.

#Jason Todd #Tim Drake #bruce wayne #dick grayson #talia al ghul #fanfic #BatFam #straight from the trash doc #I seriously hyperfixated on this series for three months and haven't wrote anything since

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sorcerersofnyc · 3 years

Text

The Last Thing Left (Zemo x F!Reader) 2/9

If it wasn’t so painfully ironic (and hilarious to watch,) Helmut would find the relationship between Sam and James a little sad.

Ghosts weren’t enough to hold two people together.

Chapter 2: While they wait for Torres to locate Donya Madani, Zemo brings Sam and Bucky to the home you shared.

Slow burn, previous relationships, angst, various mentions of death & mourning. You both lost your spouse. You're a regular civilian person. Zemo's wife's name is Heike because of comics. The reader likes waffles (this is a non-negotiable fact)

Did I set this whole story in Spain because of Daniel Brühl? Yes, I did. The most impactful dialog has been translated.

Note: Main Character is neutral in most regards but the story was written with my own cultural background in mind. (In other words, I won't say what she looks like but I envision her as being black.)

First Chapter | Previous

***

The plane lands mid-morning near the Bay of Biscay.

Thin clouds give form to the blue sky above them, gathering to shield the world from the worst of the heat. It’s a lovely day , Helmut thinks, even as the smell of jet fuel lingers pungently in the air.

As he drapes his coat across his forearm and Sam and James stretch their limbs. But as a middle-aged woman struts. across the airfield to greet them, they’re attentive, alert.

“¡Hola señor. Es bueno verte otra vez.” She gives Helmut’s hand a gentle squeeze, her voice heavy with relief.

“Hola vieja amiga. ¿Recibiste los artículos que pedí?”

“Sí Sí. Las flores y los gofe se enviaban antes de su llegada.” She nods and sends a knowing glance his way before adding, “Y tu coche te está esperando.”

“Muchas gracias,” Helmut replies.

The woman takes a step back to acknowledge his company. Sam gives the woman a polite smile and James acknowledges her presence with a nod.

“There’s a car waiting for us,” Helmut tells them. “Come with me.”

“Man, how many people work for you anyway?” Sam asks, looking back at the plane, watching as Oeznik descends the stairwell and the woman waves over the maintenance crew.

“Very few really,” Helmut says. James scoffs at his reply.

But true to his word, a car waits on the street; a dark classic model, freshly polished with wide leather seats.

“Gentleman,” Helmut gestures toward the car you sent, “our carriage awaits.”

It was hardly discreet, but that was the point.

You did exactly as he asked.

***

When he promised to take care of you, you rejected out of a sense of humility. Humility, however, could not ensure your survival, let alone your well-being.

Simply put, you had nowhere else to go. The long shadows cast by the sunset cast over your face, highlighting all of your tired, tear-streaked features. But when you looked at him, there was recognition in your gaze, an acknowledgment of the grief that sat between you like a weight.

“I… I appreciate it, thank you.” You sniffed, “And I… I’ll be there for you too.”

He guided you away from your husband’s grave a moment later, vowing he would find you a better tomorrow.

There was no helping Sokovia; war and dissension plagued its streets long before Ultron. So Helmut gathered what he could from the rubble of his father’s home and made arrangements for a jet to be ready at the nearest functioning airport.

The airport was a dome of steel. Its once white titles were scuffed and crowded with people taking shelter and vying for seats on commercial flights.

You were quiet, your eyes glued to the broadcast showing on nearly every TV. There was a video playing, some newly uncovered camera footage of Novi Grad being lifted in the air.

“Come on,” he told you, leading you away with his hand upon your shoulder. You didn’t have much, not physically, just a duffle of what you salvaged from your home and the letter Dominik carried.

Oeznik was waiting in front of the plane, and it relieved Helmut to see him. His faithful butler had been on vacation in Belgium with his family, but once he saw what became of Novi Grad, he came back early.

“It’s glad to see you in good health, Sir.” He said.

“Thank you, Old Friend.”

They kissed cheeks and Helmut escorted you inside the plane, which carried the distinctive smell of cleaning supplies though neither said a word about it.

It wasn’t until you reached the cloudless blue sky that you spoke of what you saw.

“I was in the city that day,” you told him. “I was saved but… I don’t remember how I reached the boat to the helicarrier.” Confusion colored your expression, entangled with sorrow and relief.

Your eyes met his and flickered away just as quickly as guilt—survivors’ guilt—overtook you. He’s seen that look on far too many times on the faces of the soldiers he commanded not to know what that look was. “It happened so suddenly,” You continued, “I was on the ground and then… I was there. It was like someone picked me up and… I was just...there, on the boat with the others.”

“You were rescued by one of the Avengers?” Helmut leaned forward in his seat. “Thor maybe?”

“It must have been, but I don’t recall him being capable of such a thing.” You looked down at your feet.

“We didn’t think them capable of many things.” If there was an edge to his voice, you didn’t seem to notice or care. He continued. “The very idea of the Avengers has always been troubling; they’ve become idols, icons, something more than human. We are meant to forget their flaws and the destruction left in their wake. Remember New York? London? Washington D.C? Did we not watch the Hulk rampage through Johannesburg mere days before Sokovia was destroyed? It was always a mistake, allowing them to act freely.”

You looked at him then, your head tilted to the side in contemplation, taking in all he had to say.

“Has anyone said where Ultron came from yet? No one seems to know if he is an alien or some sort of rogue government experiment.”

“No. But one thing is clear; so long as the Avengers exist, someone will rise to challenge them; They will fight, and Sokovia will not be the last place they bring to ruin.”

You nodded, consciously or not he didn’t know, but on some level, you agreed.

***

Helmut’s thoughts are interrupted when the car turns onto a street lined with elegant townhomes with low-pitched roofs.

James breaks the silence that settled between the three.

“Where are we going?”

“My home.” He announces as the car stops before a large house made of grand arched windows and a sand-colored stone.

“Is this where you lived when you were plotting against us?” Sam sends him an incredulous look, as though the idea of stepping into his home offended him somehow.

“My home in Sokovia was destroyed, Sam. I needed to live somewhere—but yes,” Helmut shrugs, “you’re exactly right.”

“Oh great,” James mutters, but Helmut pays him little mind.

Two columns embrace the grand archway that sits above the ornately carved wooden door.

Upon it he knocks loudly, ignoring the questioning looks he gains.

He waits.

The air is dry and his attention drifts toward a fallen leaf on the pavement; it��s deep green and browning at the edges, its middle eaten through by an insect. The leaf skitters away when the door flies open and he’s forced to confront his worry.

He looks at you. You stare at him in disbelief. The world falls away into nothing.

“Helmut,” you finally say, breathing his name out in relief. “Estás de vuelta.” You’re back.

Your hands are trembling as they reach for him, as your thumbs brush across the curve of his cheek.

For so long your face was but a fragmented memory, your voice the chorus of a song. Only now, as you stand before him, are you complete. You smile.

“Sí, estoy en casa ahora mi amiga.” Yes, I’m home now my friend.

He touches his hand to your own, basking in the simple joy of your touch.

But then you glance behind him, your eyes narrow and the moment ends.

“Helmut! “You hiss. “¿Has traído a los Avengers a mi casa? ¡Por qué!”

Sam and James exchange glances. Whether either spoke Spanish is a matter of speculation, but they surely recognized the name of their allies.

“I’ll explain everything once we settle in.” He raises his palms in surrender to you, looking for all the world like a man abdicating his control.

You don’t move.

“I would like to see the paintings you mentioned in your letters.”

Your scowl deepens, your stare sharpening to a knifes-edge.

“I promise to have a good explanation.”

Finally, you step aside, ‘come in’ you say, and Helmut leads Sam and James further inside. The two have been quiet so far, observant of their new surroundings. He can’t be sure what they assume is happening, but Sam thanks you as he passes. James nods but says nothing.

The house is just as lovely as he remembers it to be; tall white walls, polished tile, an overabundance of lamps, and a painting on every wall. He never agreed with your sense of design but the home was undoubtedly welcoming.

“Make yourself at home,” you lead them inside, into the parlor where a fresh bouquet of thick-stemmed roses sits in a vase beside the entryway.

The rest of the room is familiar to him; red cushioned seats and glass-top tables, and rugs that sit just so beside the bookcase.

He briefly wonders where Anežka, your young housekeeper, is. The paper cranes she’s so fond of sit artfully on the shelves but there’s no evidence of her presence there.

You must have given her leave in anticipation of your meeting, he reasons.

You wanted to be alone with him.

His heart swells at the thought of what you might have done together.

Unfortunately, he sighs, Helmut isn’t alone with you. So instead of the immeasurable amount of fun his mind conjured, he watches you look between your guests—Sam, then James, then Sam again.

“I believe introductions are in order,” He finally announces, draping his coat across the back of his favorite chair.

“Yeah. That would be nice,” Sam retorts. He lingers near the entryway, unsure of the space. “Is this really your house?”

“It is. Well, it was. It now belongs to my lovely associate, gifted to her before I left on my mission.”

“Your mission,” James scoffs. He leans back against the wall near the bookcase, fixing him with a heavy stare.

You skirt the moving to stand at Helmut’s side as you wait for his promised explanation.

“Sam, James,” He calls for their attention, “This is my partner,” he tells them, introducing you by name.

***

Thanks for Reading!

I debated the ending for quite a while. It changes the initial trajectory of the story but it provides for a dramatic ending. Next time, we'll see how your relationship with Zemo changed from persons with mutual friends to 'partners.'

There's a deleted scene that I'll post as a special chapter soon!

Taglist:

@actuallyanita

@fillechatoyante!

Previous | Next

#baron zemo #helmut zemo #zemo #zemo x reader #I understand and read Spanish much better than I speak and write it #I did everything I could but I fear it's very academic

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

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Kurtbastian - “Always and Forever” Chapter 2

After the death of their daughter Grace, Kurt and Sebastian drift apart. Kurt wraps himself up in his grief so tightly he starts to push Sebastian away, and Sebastian, feeling himself shoved aside when he needs Kurt most, cheats. They make the decision to start over, to leave New York City and their pain behind, and start over again in a house Upstate. Sebastian buys Kurt a "fixer upper" and gives him free reign. While redecorating the room that will be his studio, Kurt comes across something interesting underneath the wallpaper. It starts to become an obsession for Kurt - an obsession that begins to replace Kurt's love for his husband, which Sebastian is holding on to by a thread. Can Kurt and Sebastian break through the pain and the hurt and find a way to fall in love again?

Read on AO3

Chapter 2 (5061 words)

The first evening in their new house becomes a long, exhaustive dance of unpacking and cleaning in preparation for the movers to arrive in the morning. What, in the past, would have been an upbeat two-step of flirting in the hallways while lugging in suitcases, punctuated by the occasional stop, dip, and smooch, is now a formal, boxy waltz, with Sebastian giving Kurt a wide-berth whenever he hears his husband coming, and Kurt pausing in doorways, eyes darting elsewhere when Sebastian passes by.

The rush to clear the dirt away and make things suitable for the furniture they chose to bring with them affords Kurt ample opportunities to send Sebastian on a host of errands, ensuring him stretches of time that he can spend alone to reflect and think.

Consider the past and plan for the future.

Even after the furniture arrives, they should have tons of space left. They had decided not to bring everything they own with them. They aren’t selling their penthouse. Keeping it furnished for the odd trip back seems like the practical thing to do. So, they only packed those things that they absolutely could not live without.

They didn’t bring any of the furniture from Grace's room. That Kurt donated to the Salvation Army with the exception of one item – a Winnie the Pooh lamp that he had found in mint condition, ironically, at the Salvation Army, on the day he and Sebastian found out their surrogate was pregnant. It's ceramic, hand-painted, with Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh sitting back to back as the base, each holding a handful of balloons. One red balloon, larger than the rest, contains the bulb, the colored plastic lending a rosy tint to its glow. Along the bottom edge are written the words: “If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.”

Kurt’s mother had read him Winnie the Pooh books his entire childhood. He could recite most of A. A. Milne’s writings by the time he turned eight.

The year his mother passed away.

He'd read those same books to his daughter. She’d had them mostly memorized, too.

Seven hours of scrubbing, sanitizing, and (for Sebastian) racing around town wipe the two of them out, to the point where falling asleep is simply a matter of inflating an air mattress and putting heads down on pillows. They had picked up a Queen size one at a JCPenney along the way. It’s nowhere near as luxurious as the custom-made King size bed currently stuck in the back of an Allied Moving Truck, waiting to take a journey on the 495. This mattress is a tighter fit than they’re used to. It doesn’t help that the thing sinks in the middle whenever one of them rolls over. With the both of them measuring six-foot-plus tall, they have to lie in the fetal position to fit comfortably, which would require them to spoon. But Kurt finds a way to keep himself out of his husband’s arms.

The material the mattress is made out of seems perpetually ice-cold, not warming up a touch with their combined body heat, which Kurt didn’t anticipate. They have the gas and electricity switched on, but there’s something wrong with the central heating. They don’t have the requisite amount of blankets to keep from freezing, which adds to the misery. Despite being pissed at Sebastian, Kurt doesn’t have the heart to send him out at one a.m. to the 24-hour Walmart, so he closes his eyes and resigns himself to suffering until dawn.

For the next five hours, Kurt’s mind stays blank. No noise, no dreams, and no flashbacks, thank God. It’s not restful, but it’s the best he could have hoped for. The last half a year has not been conducive to dreaming. The nightmares keep coming, one after the other, the next one worse than the last, shaking him to his core until he jars awake with a pain in his chest like someone had tried, in steel boots, to stomp him into the dirt. But waking up doesn’t solve the problem. He doesn’t know what he hates worse – waking up weeping in his husband’s arms or waking up weeping alone.

Kurt’s feelings for Sebastian are complicated when he thinks they shouldn’t be. Kurt should either love him and forgive him or hate him and move on. But he loves him and hates him. His hands itch to hold him, but a second later, he wants to shove him away. He wants to go, but he can’t imagine leaving.

As much as it sucks, Kurt can’t imagine living without him.

He would prefer to go back to being shamelessly and hopelessly in love with him. Hating him has become a crutch. But it’s enough to get him through. Regardless of that fact, which should tie up the loose ends, mend the hurts and cool the hate, it doesn’t, because Kurt can’t find a way to forgive him.

A well-meaning Facebook friend had told Kurt over Messenger that the problem was Kurt’s pride had been hurt by Sebastian cheating. Push the pride aside and get over it. Ultimately, the marriage is more important. Then he said something about Kurt putting on his “big boy” pants, mentioned God, and quoted the Bible.

A minute later, Kurt blocked him.

That’s another blessing of moving - leaving behind the get over it already crowd. He hates them more than the forever sorry folks. The people who tell him to move on, to get over it, to put it behind him, don’t really care about him. They want him to stop complaining, as if they’re obligated to follow him on social media, and that puts the burden on him, in turn, to make them feel comfortable.

Maybe some of them do care, but not enough to put themselves in his shoes and understand that it’s just not that easy. Being on the outside of the swamp and looking in at a man who’s drowning, yelling at him to grab a branch and pull himself free, is different than being the man stuck hip-deep in mud that feels like cement and losing a fight that’s beyond his control.

Sometimes, as a matter of self-preservation, you simply give up.

Kurt doesn’t know who Sebastian slept with. He has his suspicions, but he doesn’t know for sure, and Sebastian won’t confirm. He says it’s because he wants to put it behind him, forget it ever happened, and that infuriates Kurt. If sleeping with another man was something Sebastian would need to put behind him, why even do it? Or (and Kurt hates himself for thinking like this), if Sebastian didn’t want Kurt to dwell on it, why not take steps to ensure that Kurt wouldn’t find out? Sebastian, of all people, should have known that this would eat Kurt up inside. It’s the kind of thing he’d never let go of. Yes, Kurt would be devastated if he discovered the cheating and the cover-up years after the fact, but he’d be in a better place to mourn his marriage apart from mourning his daughter.

What Sebastian did was selfish on so many levels.

Kurt knows that sex isn’t love, but he can't help wondering – was there a moment in the middle of all of it, caught up in the kissing and the fucking, where it felt like love?

Kurt met Sebastian in high school. Kurt wasn’t just a virgin back then. Oh, no. He had created his own category of virgin for which he could have had a cape and costume custom made – Captain Super Prude. Sex was a taboo topic for him, so much so that his high school’s chastity club hated him.

Apparently, he set the bar too high, made them look loose in comparison.

As much as he had fantasized about finding a special someone who would sweep him off his feet, gently usher him into manhood by making soulful but passionate love to him, he preferred not to think about it too often or too in-depth. The "talk” between him and his father was a mortifying experience.

There were pamphlets involved.

He still has some of them.

When it came to finding a boyfriend, Sebastian wasn’t what Kurt had planned on at all. Where Kurt was attracted to debonair, old-school, gentlemanly types a few years older than himself, Sebastian was crass, rude, explicit, and a year younger. On top of that, he was (to coin a phrase stolen from one of Kurt’s best friends, Quinn) the biggest French whore of them all. Sebastian didn’t care for romance and he didn’t attach emotions to sex, but he definitely had a way of making men fall in love with him. Kurt Hummel and Sebastian Smythe were the two people in the world least likely to fall in love with one another. But according to Sebastian, he fell in love with Kurt long before Kurt fell in love with him.

Sebastian claimed that Kurt was the first man he had ever fallen in love with, and at first sight, no less.

He whispered those words in Kurt’s ear the first time they made love.

He said those exact words during his toast at their wedding.

He wrote them in every birthday, Christmas, and anniversary card he ever gave to Kurt.

He said them over Grace’s crib the night they brought her home.

“Look at this little thing, Kurt,” Sebastian had sighed, reaching out to stroke Grace’s cheek. “Our daughter. Is it ridiculous that I’ve only known her for two days and I’m already in love with her?

“Technically, nine months and two days. But, no. It’s not ridiculous.”

“I never thought I could fall so fast in love with another human being before I met you.”

“Really?”

“A-ha.” Sebastian smiled when Grace yawned, her whole mouth moving in a complete circle before she settled down again. “I fell in love with you the second I laid eyes on you. And then, well, it was all over for me.”

Those words, the memory of that happiness, breaks Kurt’s heart. Could it be possible that, after close to twenty years of marriage, after reciting those words so many times, they didn’t mean anything anymore? Had Sebastian found someone else he could fall in love with?

Kurt has asked, but Sebastian won’t answer that question. He says it’s insulting.

Whatever the answer, he probably thinks he’s doing his husband a kindness. What he’s really doing is prolonging the torture, not giving Kurt the information he needs to make a decision that he can stand behind. Every time Kurt looks at his husband, he sees touches on his skin that don’t belong to him, kisses on his lips that he didn’t put there.

Kurt doesn’t know how to make himself see past them.

Instead, he looks away.

The second Kurt feels sunlight on his face, he’s out of bed. He grabs his messenger bag and pads down the hall to his studio before Sebastian can stir.

The room looks different with blurry morning sunlight bleeding through the windows. Kurt didn’t put black-out curtains up, and the sheer curtains that came with the house let fingers of light poke through, bouncing off the wallpaper and brightening the floor.

Yikes.

Kurt examines the floor now that he sees it clearly. It’s a mess - the wood warped as if someone had paced it incessantly. It had been varnished at one time. Spots of resin dot the boards like oily puddles. The wood itself (some variety of walnut, Kurt suspects) has blackened to a morbid pitch with age. It sucks up the light and gives little back.

“Oh, yeah,” Kurt murmurs, pressing around the brittle edge of one spot with his toe, watching it crackle into shards. “This has to be completely redone.”

He gets stuck on the idea that this room could have been his daughter’s if she were still alive. He and Sebastian had talked about raising Grace in a suburban environment, and as much as he regrets not giving her a house with a yard and room to grow, Kurt leaned heavily on the side of staying in the city. Some of his motives were selfish. He loved Manhattan. It had been his lifelong dream to end up there. He wanted his daughter to grow up with all of the things he didn’t – culture, diversity, theaters and libraries and museums a train ride away. He didn’t want her raised around the closed, narrow minds of small-town folk. He wanted her to be an independent thinker – liberated, rational, intelligent. But he also wanted her to be compassionate and kind. He wanted her to know the world, its wonders and its failings, the way it truly was, not the way it looked on a movie screen, and long to change it for the better. They participated in fundraisers, gathered donations for the homeless, and volunteered in soup kitchens.

Grace was a pure light, a driving force that, at her age, Kurt didn’t get the chance to be.

So in honor of her, he wants his workroom to be bright and colorful - a mixture of his vintage aesthetic and her fun-loving personality. He’ll paint the walls her favorite colors, put homages to her in the details, choose the furnishings she would have preferred.

Since this will be the room he spends most of his time in, he wants it to be everything about his daughter that he adored.

He opens his bag and pulls out his phone, checking the time. 6:08. The movers are supposed to arrive between eight a.m. and ten. But movers, electricians, plumbers, and cable guys never arrive on time. He fishes out his sketchbook, sits on the floor, and gets to work jotting down a layout. First things first, he decides where his drafting table will go, where he’ll store his bolts, where he’ll put his sewing machine, a spot for a work chair, marking places here and there for personal touches like his mother’s vanity, his first-ever dress form, a few of his awards...

And photographs. Lots and lots of photographs.

He didn’t keep photographs in his studio at Vogue. He had an obsession with keeping his private life private, which he doesn’t apologize for. Since he met clients there, he liked to keep that space impersonal. Nothing to get in the way, spark a conversation that might derail the job at hand.

Unlike Sebastian, who hung candids galore. He stuffed the most Godawful photographs from their high school and college years into collage frames and nailed them to every wall of his office, squeezing things like his degrees and diplomas into far corners so that those pictures could be prominently displayed. He said that people knew the Smythes by name and reputation. If anyone wanted to see his credentials, they could Google them. But when people walked into his office, he wanted them to know that first and foremost, he was a family man.

Sebastian knew from childhood that he would become a lawyer. He never dreamed he would be a father.

Or a husband.

Those were the two accomplishments he seemed the proudest of.

Kurt regrets not having more pictures of Grace hanging on his studio walls, her smiling face to look at every hour of every day, watching his meetings, overseeing his layouts. She was his good-luck charm, his missing puzzle piece. She deserved a place of honor.

Now, he’ll give her one.

His stomach growls as he works. A smell from somewhere tickles his nose, and he groans. Just a few more seconds of sketching on the hard ground, and he’ll grab a bite to eat… maybe. With his ass numb, he doesn’t see a reason to get up, and bedsides, he’s on a roll. Car doors closing and constant banging echo in, and he winces, his head throbbing from lack of sleep. Dammit! If it would just stop till he finishes! It’s hard enough to concentrate as is! He hopes this is a one-time-only thing. He’d hate to wake up to that cacophony every morning. If he ever decides to go outside and meet the neighbors, he’ll have to find a polite way of asking them not to do whatever that is before he has his morning coffee.

Of course, soundproofing is also an option.

“Kurt? Kurt, are you… ?”

Kurt shifts his legs underneath him. He lifts a hand to massage his shoulders. That mattress must have killed his back. His arms ache something fierce. Sitting on this floor doesn’t help, the uneven boards digging into his legs, but it’s not an impetus for him to stop.

Just one more minute.

One more minute of sketching out this room, and he’ll join the world. One more minute to get his thoughts straight. One more minute to brush aside the things that like to torture him. Forget that his mother died when he was eight, his stepbrother when he was eighteen. Forget that his father passed away three years ago and his daughter six months ago.

Not too long after, his husband cheated.

Five.

That’s how many things he had loved in this world more than himself.

Those are the things that he’d lost.

They were the things he needed to forget in order to make it through till the evening.

He’ll replace the insulation and the drywall, smother everything in a noise-proofing compound, then paint the walls in swirls of pink and gold. He’ll do the ceiling in shades of blue, indigo, and violet, like the sky at night, and cover it in crystals to represent stars the way Grace had wanted to do with her bedroom. Kurt had promised her he would the second everything was over, when they could risk her being around the debris and the fumes.

He has never broken a promise to Grace. He isn’t about to start.

He scribbles those notes in sloppy script in the margin of his paper, wipes tears with the back of his shaking hand. He tries to focus on specifics to bring himself back from the brink of a breakdown. He needs a good cry, but he doesn’t want the comforting that will go with it if Sebastian hears him. He can’t right now. Sebastian comforting Kurt turns into Kurt comforting him back, and Kurt only has the strength to handle one outburst.

“Kurt? Did you want to… ?”

Kurt waves a hand to shoo away the buzzing beside his ear, relieved when it doesn’t take much more than that.

In order to paint the walls, he’ll have to take the wallpaper down.

That brings to mind the corner of torn paper over by the window and the word written underneath.

Darling.

That corner offends him. Kurt keeps entertaining the thought that that word has nothing to do with Sebastian, that there is another layer of wallpaper underneath festooned with line art of flowers, along with quotes from various love poems sprinkled throughout, circa 1800s. But then that would make that one tear and that one word an incredible coincidence since darling is the pet name Sebastian has called Kurt since day one. When he started doing it, every time he said it, Kurt had an urge to sock him on the jaw.

He was a pain in the ass, even back then.

Did Sebastian actually think Kurt would fall for writing darling on the wall? After the things he said? After what he did?

Kurt’s hand trembles so badly, he smudges the ink on his page. He stops writing, takes a deep breath, and counts to ten. He closes his eyes and concentrates on the sun warming his face. It’s gone now when it was there a second ago, which is disconcerting, but he has to ignore that and calm down.

He has to relax.

He promised he’d give this marriage a chance, that he’d try to make this work. Sebastian, so far, has held up his part of the bargain. He’s given Kurt space. He’s listened to him vent uncontested. He’s let Kurt keep tabs on him – where he goes, when he’ll be back, with photo texts in between to prove that he is where he said he would be. Kurt has to give him the benefit of the doubt. If Sebastian extends an olive branch, Kurt should take it.

But did he want to?

“I didn’t hear you when you got up this morning.” Sebastian’s voice starts Kurt’s hand up again. He wants to look busy. He doesn’t want to be caught in a position where he has to give his husband his full attention.

He hasn’t forgotten everything yet.

“Well, you were dead to the world,” Kurt replies, distracted.

“I’m just saying, see? You won’t disturb me. You don’t need to put a bed in here.”

Kurt bobs his head back and forth, adding a place in his layout for a foldout out of spite. “We’ll see. It’s only been the one day.”

“That’s true.” The way Sebastian says it, it sounds like a challenge. A tired challenge. Like Sebastian knows he’s already lost. “So, you like the room?”

“Yeah. I think I do.”

“And what about the rest of the house?”

He doesn’t know why Sebastian sounds like he’s asking. It’s a done deal. They both agreed on a new house. Sebastian found one he thought Kurt would like and bought it. What? Are they going to back out now and magically move somewhere else?

Will moving around from house to house solve what’s wrong between them?

“It’s fine, I guess. I don’t know. I think it’s hard for me to visualize without taking the grand tour. I’ll be able to tell better when I get started decorating.”

“Are you gonna hire that guru guy to help you with the yin and yang stuff?” Sebastian jokes cautiously. “That Kung Fu guy… what’s his name… ?” Sebastian snaps his fingers as if he’s seriously trying to remember.

“He’s a Feng shui practitioner, and his name is Carl.”

“His name's Carl?” Sebastian laughs. “No no no, his name is not Carl. Carl is the name of a dentist. He’s not a guy you call to Wang Chung your house.”

“Feng shui,” Kurt corrects again. “I hired him to help me create balance in our home.” He chuckles despite the fact he doesn’t want to find Sebastian funny. He doesn’t want Sebastian to affect him. But he’s right. The man’s name irked Kurt, too, when Isabelle referred him. “Ridiculous name or not, he seemed like a knowledgeable guy.”

“Do you think that Shaolin stuff could work here?”

Kurt pauses to give the matter some thought, and that kills the moment. The levity becomes saturated by the pain hanging in the room, and Kurt coils further into his sketch.

“That remains to be seen. But I think I’m going to try doing it for myself this time. Of course, the overall effect is going to be completely thrown to heck when you hire whoever never to decorate your office.” Kurt throws a derisive scowl over his shoulder. It misses its mark when Kurt won’t look Sebastian in the eyes.

Sebastian swallows Kurt’s scowl without thinking of a comeback. They’ve had that argument before when Kurt redecorated their penthouse. Kurt felt the need to redecorate whenever something big happened in their lives, but Sebastian’s office was off-limits, so it stayed the same. Kurt tried to find one or two things to put into his design scheme that would bring a theme from Sebastian’s office out so that the penthouse would blend, but whatever the thing he chose was – a print, a vase, an ottoman, or a coffee table – it stuck out like a sore thumb, until Kurt tried less and less.

“Can’t fight City Hall,” he’d say, returning to the business of finishing the rest of the space. Things changed around them, and yet, in Sebastian’s carefully curated world, life stood still. The last time Kurt redecorated was before Grace was born. Nothing in the penthouse matched Sebastian’s office after that.

“I want you to do it.”

Kurt stops scribbling. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

Kurt almost looks back to see if Sebastian is serious. He stares at the paper in front of him, the surface more ink than white. “Are you… are you sure? You always said that we need our separate spaces.”

“That’s only because you’re a little heavy-handed with the pastels. I trust you. Just don’t go making it all shabby chic.”

Kurt is speechless. This is the opportunity he has been waiting for their entire marriage – to decorate Sebastian’s office. Once upon a time, he saw it as the ultimate gesture of trust.

Back when he was naïve and fairly stupid.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” Kurt debates standing up and giving Sebastian a hug or a handshake. This seems like a time that would warrant it. But when he rolls an inch to his knees, his entire body screams with pain. God, he feels old. How can he be this stiff after just half an hour?

Kurt returns to his planning. Even though he doesn’t feel prepared to leave his sanctuary, he fixes on that solid mask he’s been wearing for weeks around Sebastian. Just one more minute. One more minute, and he’ll go downstairs. He thinks he says it out loud. He expects Sebastian to go back to their room and get ready for the day, but he stays in place like a statue, watching Kurt draw, huddled over his sketchbook with his back turned to him and the door.

Kurt waits to hear the sound of footsteps retreat the way they came, but they don’t. His pencil stops above a square drawn in the corner meant to represent his stereo. He can’t continue his drawing with his husband watching, so he bites the bullet.

“Was there something else you needed?” he asks.

“They’ve… uh… got the bed in,” Sebastian says. “And the TV.”

Kurt scrunches his nose and lifts his head. What does he mean? The bed and the TV are on the moving truck. Kurt looks at his phone, resting on the floor by his knee.

“What are you talking about?” Kurt scoffs. “The movers haven’t even arrived yet. It’s only 7:15.”

“That’s right.” Sebastian speaks slowly, the way he does when he’s explaining something to Kurt that he thinks Kurt might explode over. He leans forward like he wants to come in but doesn’t without an invitation. “It is 7:15. In the evening.”

Kurt's head snaps up, eyes rolling because Sebastian is crazy.

There’s no way.

He's ready to object, but with his gaze away from his page, he notices something different about the light in the room. Instead of a soft, diffused blue, it has become a thicker yellow. Shadows stretch across the floor that weren’t there before. The room is warmer than he remembers, and the skin of his left shin, folded over his right, feels hot and irritated, like he might have gotten a sunburn.

“Evening?” Kurt shakes his head. “How can it… ? But… why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you come get me?”

“I tried. I told you when the movers arrived. I asked you what you wanted for lunch. I brought you the portable heater and put a lamp in here when it started to get dark.”

Kurt looks around. In the emptiness of the room, they’re easy to see - a plug-in heater behind him, and, in the corner of the room to the left of the door, standing straight and tall like a structural support beam, a brass lamp without a shade, filling the room with artificial light.

The first two pieces of furniture in his new studio, and Sebastian put them there.

Kurt doesn’t want them. He’d rather be cold and alone in the dark.

“We don’t have WiFi or cable yet, but I set up the Blu-ray player,” Sebastian continues. “I thought I could go get some take-out, and we could have a picnic dinner on the bed. Maybe watch a movie?”

Kurt does a 180 on his sore ass and looks at his husband (which is to say he looks at a spot over Sebastian’s head) with a mildly confused expression. He’s not really thinking about the bed or the movie or dinner at all. Even though he was hungry earlier, apparently hours earlier, he’s not hungry now. He couldn’t be less hungry. His desire to eat simply evaporated. It's been waning for weeks. Sometimes he forgets to eat until Sebastian sticks a sandwich in his face. Sebastian has become devoted to keeping Kurt's stomach full. He knows better than to comment on his weight loss, but he keeps a stock of temptable foods on hand.

He’s keeping Kurt on life support.

Sebastian stuck a spear into the heart of what they had together. Now he’s keeping Kurt alive to help him fix it.

Kurt hates that he didn’t see it that way until just now.

“Kurt? Please?”

Here’s the olive branch, Kurt thinks. He has to decide whether he’s going to take it or toss it aside.

He had promised Sebastian he’d try, and Kurt has never broken a promise to Sebastian.

No matter how much he hurts, he’s not going to start tonight.

His father always said that a man is only as good as his word.

Kurt closes his sketchbook. “Alright. I’m coming.” He tries to unfold his legs, but his knees lock up on him, and he rushes to massage the beginnings of a cramp. Sebastian looks like he’s about to spring in and help, but Kurt puts up a hand. “I’ll be a minute.”

Nodding, Sebastian takes a step back. Even with that rejection, he looks happier, more hopeful. He takes his phone out of his pocket and leaves the room. The grateful smile on his lips should fill Kurt with warmth. It used to.

But it doesn’t.

After a meal of Szechuan from a questionable establishment (not questionably clean, just questionably Chinese) and The Devil Wears Prada (a movie Sebastian swore up and down he’d never watch again), Sebastian falls asleep with his head on Kurt’s chest. And Kurt lets him, even if he himself barely gets a minute of peace.

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #sebastian smythe #Kurt Hummel

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luminescencefics · 4 years

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you feel like home - part three

He’s smiling then, and Jackson takes that as his cue to continue snuggling Luna into his lap. Ryan’s eyes shift from her new small friend to his father leaning against his doorframe wearing slouchy grey joggers and a graphic t-shirt that shows off his decorated toned arms that she can’t seem to stop looking at.

“Is this our new thing? Meeting up in hallways?” Harry asks, and Ryan can feel the butterflies take flight in her stomach, stretching their wings along her ribcage and floating up through her body, leaving her feeling far too many things all at once.

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***

Luna’s Great Escape

It’s been two days since Ryan last saw Harry in her doorway, and she’s grateful for the rainstorm that’s been plaguing north central London ever since he left her heart racing that afternoon. The rain hasn’t stopped roaring, presumably ruining Jackson’s playtime in the park, allowing Ryan a short period of time to catch her breath.

She’s spent the past two days in a bit of a drunken stupor. After Harry uttered those words to her in the hallway before entering his own flat, Ryan ripped open the parcel and finished her work for the day, sending over her inspections and adjustments to her supervisor in a daze before the clock struck five. Afterward, she tore off her flannel pajama bottoms and shoved them into the depths of her drawer to hopefully never be seen again, traipsing into her bathroom to turn the tub on, a few bottles of Carlsberg nestled tightly under her armpit.

It’s not that Ryan was avoiding her feelings, because she truly didn’t understand them. After two beers, she came to the conclusion that the bubbling in her gut and the warmth on her cheeks, the fluttering of her heart and the pinch in her breath—was all due to the fact that she found Harry annoyingly attractive.

Ryan’s no stranger to attractive men. Her awkwardness practically disappears after a few shots of tequila have settled into her bloodstream, allowing her to hold a conversation with a handsome man without the overwhelming urge to stutter over her words or shift in her heeled boots from nervousness. Most times, in her debilitated state, she’s gotten lucky with a quick shag and a fumbling exit hidden under the darkness of the night. But now, as she sits in her bathtub nursing her fourth beer, a Kiehl’s face mask hardened over her skin, she’s not sure how much alcohol she would need to consume in order to appear seemingly normal in front of Harry.

That was last night. Now, as her hangover starts to settle in, Ryan’s decided that she needs advice. The brutally honest kind that usually fell unapologetically from the lips of her best mate Fiona.

“So let me get this straight, your new neighbor just so happens to be fit as all hell, and you’ve had a handful of conversations with him without making a complete fool of yourself, and you still haven’t shagged him? What am I missing here, Ry?” Fiona’s voice calls out from Ryan’s mobile that’s leaning against her porcelain fruit bowl, the camera angle allowing her to be able to see Fiona while attempting to cook some sort of pasta dish to cure the throbbing in her head.

“Fee, I got fucking rug burn on my knee from tripping over my own bloody feet the first time I met him!” Ryan recalls, the memory causing her head to shake aggressively, trying her hardest to expel it from her brain.

“Well, I did say complete fool,” Fiona retorts, causing Ryan to roll her eyes as she tries her hardest to follow the vodka sauce recipe she found on Pinterest. She’s eyeing the heavy cream she just added to the saucepan, wondering if the color should be pinker.

“I think it’s for the best if I just continue avoiding him for the rest of my life,” Ryan says, opening the box of ziti and throwing it into the boiling pot on the back left burner.

She can hear Fiona laugh over the hiss of the water. “Stop with the dramatics! You’re starting to sound like me.”

Ryan just ignores her friend, stirring the sauce that’s starting to smell. She instantly reaches for the parmesan cheese, adding more aimlessly to change the viscosity into something that doesn’t resemble broth.

“This could be great for you, Ry,” Fiona says through the screen once Ryan’s reappeared in front of her.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Ryan asks, a bit distracted with the way the saucepan on the hob begins to gurgle inconspicuously.

“Because he’s fit. And he literally lives right next door. This is fantastic news! You can get laid without even leaving your building! Especially during quarantine with the entire city on lockdown!” While Ryan loves her friend, she hates the way Fiona says certain words, her voice level rising with each stressed syllable. She’s speaking so loudly that Ryan thinks back to how Harry referred to hearing Mrs. Bingsley banging about in the kitchen when she used to live in this unit, and immediately Ryan lowers the volume on her mobile, grabbing it from its spot against the fruit bowl and turning into her living room to be as far away from the thin walls as possible.

“I’m not sleeping with him, Fiona. I literally just met him,” Ryan says, sitting on the arm rail of her couch, watching Luna in her periphery continue sleeping soundly against the throw pillows.

“But you want to.”

Ryan stays silent, wondering if that’s what the bubbling and fluttering and pinching of all her insides means. Wondering if all of these feelings can simply be associated to sexual attraction.

“Why don’t you knock on his door and ask for a plunger or something?” Fiona says, breaking the silence. Ryan instantly disagrees, her eyes widening in fear.

“No, that’s a terrible idea! I don’t want him to think I’ve clogged up my fucking toilet,” Ryan shrieks, knowing that move would definitely work on a girl like Fiona—confident, unrelenting, and fearless. But for a girl like Ryan, whose cheeks turn red whenever a boy like Harry even looks in her direction, she knows there’s no way she can handle that.

Fiona sighs. “You’re probably right.”

Before Ryan can respond, the blaring sound of the smoke detector going off from the kitchen interrupts her thoughts. “Shit!” she screeches, jumping up from her seated position and running into the kitchen, her mobile clutched in her fist as she approaches the stovetop. The saucepan with the once pinkish-red sauce has now turned black, the edges burnt to a crisp, smoke rising from the top because Ryan forgot to lower the heat to a simmer. The pot with the pasta has boiled over, water falling onto the burner with a loud fizzle. “Fuck!”

“Christ, Ryan! Only you can burn fucking pasta!” Fiona shouts through her mobile, and Ryan immediately discards the device on the countertop, flicking the burners off. She reaches for the dishtowel near the sink, waving it under the smoke detector to make the incessant noise cease.

“It won’t fucking stop!” Ryan bellows, switching the towel to her left arm. If Harry didn’t hear her before, he definitely heard her now, and the thought is enough to make her wave her arms frantically, praying for the smoke detector to shut off.

“Open the front door, get some airflow in the flat, you twit! Twenty-seven and still can’t cook a bloody meal, it’s a shock how you’ve survived this long on your own—”

Ryan doesn’t stay in the kitchen long enough to hear the rest of Fiona’s comment. Instead, she’s spinning on her heels towards her front door, opening it up partly in hope to get the smell of burnt food out of her flat.

Just as she walks back into the kitchen, the beeping finally stops, and Ryan feels as if she can finally breathe again. Her cheeks are stained red from the exertion of flailing her arms about, the stray hairs from her low ponytail sticking to the nape of her neck uncomfortably. She takes in the state of her kitchen, annoyed with herself that she got too preoccupied with Fiona’s ramblings instead of focusing on cooking her pathetic meal.

“Have you died?” The sound echoes from the countertop where Ryan left her mobile, and for a moment Ryan forgets that Fiona was waiting for her. She saunters over slowly, leaning her mobile on the toaster oven so that she can rest her bent elbows on the countertop, her hands falling over her cheeks in embarrassment.

“Knew I should��ve gone with the boxed mac and cheese,” Ryan mumbles, catching her breath.

Fiona laughs. “I appreciate the attempt, Jamie Oliver. You’ve probably scared Luna half to death, poor thing.”

At the mention of her kitten’s name, Ryan immediately swivels her head around to the living room, eyes falling to the spot on the couch her white British Shorthair was just occupying. But when she looks closer, she realizes that Luna is gone.

She quickly stands up straight, telling Fiona she’ll call her back before ending the FaceTime call, entering the living room to search every nook and cranny for her kitten. Luna’s small body is nowhere near the couch or armchairs, her cat tree is empty, and when Ryan takes a look in her bedroom and finds absolutely nothing, she’s suddenly filled with fear at the fact that her kitten has disappeared.

Before Ryan can have a full-blown meltdown at the loss of her meal and kitten in the span of ten minutes, she hears the faint echo of a meow from the other side of her front door. A tiny giggle follows after, and suddenly Ryan’s head is peering out into the hallway, falling on the sight of Luna laying on the carpet with her tummy up in the air, and Jackson’s small hands rubbing soothing circles in her fur.

“What would your dad say about you leaving the flat without him?” Ryan calls out from her doorframe, watching the way Jackson’s face lights up when he realizes it is her speaking to him.

“Daddy will probably be mad. But I heard the kitty outside when I was playing! I didn’t know you had one!” He’s smiling so wide it causes Ryan to immediately do the same, despite her borderline breakdown a few moments prior. She trots over towards the pair, crouching down in front of them and balancing on the heels of her socked-clad heels, watching the way Luna purrs at Jackson’s soft strokes.

“I do. This is Luna,” Ryan answers, grinning when Jackson begins cooing at the tiny animal.

“Hi Luna, I’m Jackson. You’re so soft.” He’s whispering to her and Ryan isn’t quite sure why, and when Luna suddenly flips over and sits on Jackson’s lap, Ryan feels her heart swell at the sight of two tiny things cuddling up to one another.

The silence is broken by a gruff, frustrated voice. “Jackson! You can’t keep runnin’ off—oh.”

Three pairs of different colored eyes look up at the intrusion, and suddenly Harry’s anger dissipates at the sight of his son holding a cute kitten in his lap. A cute kitten that just so happens to belong to his even cuter neighbor who he seemingly can’t stop thinking about.

Ryan just smiles shyly, swallowing harshly when Harry crosses his arms over his broad chest, his large palms cupping his bulging biceps under the thin material of his shirt. She coughs into her fist, realizing now that she probably should stand up from her crouched position so that she’s no longer staring up at him underneath the cover of her eyelashes.

“Daddy look! Ryan has a kitty!” Jackson squeals, his cheek squished against Luna’s tiny face as he pets behind her ears, causing her whole body to vibrate with a deep purr.

Harry looks between Luna and Ryan, that slow smirk grazing his lips that causes Ryan’s cheeks to burn with a deep blush. “I can see that, Bubs.” His voice is so deep Ryan can feel it settle into her bones, and suddenly she wishes her hair wasn’t tied behind her head in a ponytail so that she could hide her reddened cheeks under the deep brown tendrils.

Before she can speak, a loud whistle from Harry’s flat breaks the silence. His upper body shifts away from the doorframe so that he’s standing straight, arms falling back to his sides as he peers behind the entranceway to ensure that the steam is blowing from the spout of the kettle on the hob.

“Fancy some tea, Ryan?” Harry asks once he’s turned back in her direction.

Ryan quickly stumbles to stand upright, wiping her sweaty palms on her cotton biker shorts. An oversized band tee she stole from her ex-boyfriend swishes with her hasty movements, and she can feel her head shaking before her mouth can say no.

“Uh, I’m okay. Don’t want to impose or anything,” she stutters, the sound of her thick woolen mid-calf socks scuffling against the carpeting with her incessant shuffling due to the influx of nerves that begin creeping up her spine.

“Please, Ryan? I can play with Luna! I’m a great sitter,” Jackson proclaims loudly from his seated position behind her. Once again, Ryan finds herself struggling to say no to her new friend with just one look into his beady green eyes. With nothing but a small smile, Ryan’s nodding in Jackson’s direction, her grin growing larger when he scoops up Luna in his little arms, ducking past his father and entering the flat.

Harry chuckles, holding the door open a bit wider so that Ryan can follow him inside.

She’s watching as he ducks into the kitchen, shutting off the burner so that the whistling kettle can quiet down. Ryan watches Jackson plop Luna on the soft emerald rug, laying on his stomach so that he can observe her every move. After guaranteeing that her kitten is in good hands, Ryan enters the kitchen, settling on one of the dark leather barstools and watching Harry grab two tea mugs from the cabinet above the sink.

As his arm extends to reach the top shelf, Ryan can’t help but take note of the contrast between his right and left arm. His left arm was ornamented with various black etchings, flowing across his skin in a strange way that somehow looked beautiful. When Ryan watches his right arm reach out to grab the tea bags, the untouched skin practically blinding against the harsh overhead lights, she feels her throat suddenly dry up—and she’s left wondering if she should add this to her growing list of symptoms she feels whenever she’s around Harry.

“Sugar? Milk?” Harry asks, his back still to her as he rummages around the drawers to prepare their tea.

“Sure.” She’s distracted by the way his thin t-shirt practically hides nothing, the ebb and flow of his back muscles constricting with each gentle movement he makes as he grasps the sugar from the counter and grips the milk from the fridge.

When he turns to meet her at the kitchen island, he clutches both mugs in one hand, the other holding both the sugar jar and milk carton. Ryan’s forced to look away, her mind completely fogging over at the site.

The sound of the ceramic mugs clinking against the granite counter causes Ryan to look up, smiling softly when he pushes the tea in her direction. Just before her hands can clasp around the handle, she regards the black script tattoo above the crook of his elbow, the words Jackson in lowercase lettering make her breath hitch in her throat.

“How have you been, all right?” Harry asks from across the island, reaching for the milk and adding a generous amount to the murky tea. His eyes are busy focusing on the task at hand, and Ryan can finally feel herself calm down a bit.

“Yeah, been okay. You?” she responds, blowing a bit on her tea before bringing the mug to her lips, swallowing deeply and reveling in the taste of the brew. Harry’s eyebrows arch when he notices that she takes her tea black, but he doesn’t make a comment about it, choosing instead to rest his forearms on the counter, pushing his mug a bit closer towards Ryan’s as he leans against the island, infiltrating her personal space just the tiniest bit.

“Yeah, okay. Bit shit with the weather, though. Jackson’s been going crazy,” he comments, his mouth far too distracting when he licks the spilled over tea on his lower lip. Ryan flicks her head over in Jackson’s direction, thankful that she can look at something other than Harry’s stupidly good-looking face.

Ryan hums in agreement, bringing the tea back to her lips as she swivels back in her stool, her eyes back on Harry’s.

“That cat of yours will give him another reason to talk about you for hours,” Harry says with a grin.

“If it weren’t for his knack of sneaking out of your flat, Luna probably would have ended up on the seventh floor. Guess I owe him a proper thank you,” Ryan counters, smiling at the fact that she made Harry laugh.

“Little shit never listens to me,” Harry says lightly, and Ryan suddenly wonders if he has any help looking after Jackson.

She starts to look around the kitchen for any hints of a feminine touch. The state of his flat is disgustingly clean, and when she observes the fridge to see if there are any photographs of Jackson’s mum, she’s found that there’s nothing but artwork most likely done by the hands of a four-year-old.

When she shifts her head to the other side of the room, where the kitchen flows into the living room, she doesn’t really find anything new. The walls are still filled with records, the instruments are still lining the walls, the couch is still void of throw pillows. Ryan tries to visualize the entranceway, trying her hardest to remember if she noticed any heeled boots or women’s jackets on the coat rack.

She hasn’t known Harry long, barely a month at this point, and in that short period of time she’s never heard him speak about a woman before. Ryan’s not stupid—she knows that both sexes are needed to produce a child—but she’s truly never seen a woman enter or exit Harry’s flat.

Granted, it’s only been a month. And she isn’t really sure if she can call him her friend yet, therefore she feels a bit odd in asking. Ryan’s come to the conclusion that maybe Jackson’s mum is an essential worker, a nurse perhaps, a profession in which she has the luxury of leaving her home to go to work.

“Ryan?” Harry’s oaky voice breaks Ryan out of her headspace, and suddenly she’s blinking in Harry’s direction, embarrassed at the fact that she wasn’t listening to anything he had just said to her in the last few minutes.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” she responds lamely, bringing the mug to her lips with the goal of hiding the lower half of her flushed cheeks.

Harry just laughs, cocking his head to the side to observe her intently. “Doesn’t matter. Lost you for a minute in there.”

“Right. Sorry about that,” Ryan responds, wishing Harry would stop looking at her as if she were the most fascinating creature on the planet.

“Does that happen a lot?” Harry asks quietly, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to know every little thing about her.

Ryan’s eyes squint in confusion. “Does what happen?”

“That,” Harry starts, taking a sip of his tea without tearing his eyes away from Ryan’s. “You getting lost in your own head.”

Ryan quietly contemplates Harry’s comment, watching the way he watches her with intrigue. As a serial overthinker, Ryan knows that she retreats sometimes, mulling over her words intensely before speaking. Unlike Fiona who blurts every thought that runs through her head, Ryan’s always been more critical, obsessing over every detail before verbalizing. It’s the only thing that helps subdue her social anxiety.

But she’s found that whenever she’s around Harry, she can’t bring herself to think about anything, really. It’s as if her mind is blank, encouraging her to speak what she truly feels, without all the thinking that usually comes along with it.

She’s not quite sure what that all means.

So she just shrugs, sipping softly. “Sometimes, yeah.”

Harry nods before changing the subject, which makes Ryan feel relieved. “So, my quiet, reclusive neighbor is also a cat lady? It’s far too fitting, Ryan.” He’s teasing her a bit and it’s enough to make Ryan giggle, the sound practically causing Harry to splutter his tea over the rim of his mug.

“I’m all about clichés, clearly,” Ryan responds, her eyes zeroing in on the hollow dimples that appear around his mouth whenever he laughs. She finds herself enjoying the sight very much.

“She’s cute,” Harry says, his eyes shifting from Luna to the woman sitting across from him. Ryan assumes he’s talking about her kitten, and she smiles, swiveling around in her chair to watch Jackson giggle whenever Luna’s paws graze his arms. But when she feels Harry’s gaze on her cheek, she’s wondering if he’s talking about something else, too.

“He’s good with her,” Ryan acknowledges, impressed with how gentle Jackson was with Luna. Most toddlers his age were too handsy with her, scaring her off before she even got the chance to get used to them. But Jackson is proving to be a natural, allowing Luna to grow comfortable around him before he started playing with her.

Harry finally looks over to his son, smiling at the sight in the living room. “Yeah, he’s a good kid.”

Ryan turns round to face Harry again. “He really is. Guess he has you to thank for that. And his mum, I suppose.”

Harry’s face suddenly loses its grin, and Ryan’s wondering if she’s said too much. His eyes have lost their shine, and the granite countertop seems to be more interesting than Ryan’s face. Before she can say anything, an apology or some version of one, the computer in the corner of the living room begins to ring loudly, causing Harry to stand upright and peer at the clock on the microwave screen.

“Shit. Forgot I had a four o’clock meeting,” he says quickly, gathering his mug in one hand and crossing the threshold so that he’s entering the living room space. Ryan stands up, frowning down at her half-emptied cup of tea, wondering what blend Harry uses because it’s just that good, and she’s a bit sad to leave it unfinished.

Harry turns around, catching the frown on Ryan’s face. “You can finish it at yours if you’d like,” he offers with a small smile.

“Oh, no it’s okay, I wouldn’t want to—”

“—Ryan,” Harry says, cutting her off and walking towards her so that he’s fully in her line of vision, “It’s fine. ‘S not like I don’t know where you live.” The smirk is back on his face and the blush is back coating Ryan’s cheeks, and suddenly the balance has been restored in their small universe.

Ryan nods, clutching the mug tightly in her hands and side-stepping Harry in order to reach Jackson and Luna on the living room floor. “‘M sorry, champ, but Luna and I have got to go.”

“Really?” Jackson says, tearing his eyes away from Luna and onto the two adults standing in front of him. He’s frowning and Ryan instantly feels bad.

“Yeah, Bubs, daddy’s got work to do. I’m sure you can see Luna again very soon, if Ryan’s okay with it,” Harry says, causing two pairs of green eyes to fall onto her frame.

She nods quickly, crouching down in front of her small friend and grabbing Luna in her unoccupied hand. “Of course, champ. We’ll schedule a playdate.”

Jackson grins enthusiastically, wiggling on the floor with excitement. Before Ryan can respond, Harry appears in front of her, a small smile on his face.

“I’ll see you later, Ryan,” he mutters in a low timbre.

“Bye, Harry. Thanks again for the tea,” she responds, heading towards the doorway in her socks and leaving the confines of his flat, trying her hardest to catch her breath in the silence of the empty hallway.

It’s only once she’s back in her own flat, her sad attempt of dinner disposed of in the bin and in its place an oversized bowl of cereal in one hand, with Harry’s mug in the other, Ryan comes to a startling realization.

Harry’s tea mug was a far better alternative than the fucking plunger.

*** A/N: Hi guys, here’s part three of you feel like home! I hope you enjoyed it. Part four will be posted on Thursday November 19, so feel free to chat with me in the meantime! This was a submission for the 1DFF Quarantine Challenge, which has other amazing writers participating as well, so feel free to check out the page! x

taglist: @stylishmuser @vikki1220 @greatestview @verorax @cronias13 @adoremp3 @ilovegolden @taintedwonder @stepping-into-the-light @onlyphysicallypresent @dontwanttobealone @justsaying20 @elemayox @awomanindeniall @ihearthemcallingforyou @halloweenniall @live-at-the-forum @kakayam @harryinsweatersandbandanas @hopelessly-harry @ficnarry @morethanamelodyy @niallgolden @harryswinterberries @caramello-styles

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #hs #harry styles x ofc #harry styles x reader #harry x ofc #1dff #1dffupdates #fic: home #1dffquarantine

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judediangelo75 · 3 years

Text

Claws To Wings

Welcome one and all~

I did say I was going to be working on the Talith lore, so here’s another installment of that. So I did some tweaking to the storyline that Jam City had. So the first Valentine’s Day happened in 4th year instead of 5th (because you can unlock I think both Valentine’s Day TLSQs in the same year and it didn’t make too much sense to me).

Plus there are future true events that happen in 6th year, if you’re already familiar with the Without You/The Man Behind the Necklace series than you already know. During that time, Judith and Talbott are together and have been for quite some time. But before that, they have been pining after each other for years.

In my first story, “The Scent of Love to the Heart of a Loner Poet”, Talbott is coming to realizing how deep his feelings were for Judith (whose been crushing on him since 3rd year). Between then and now, those feelings have grown and they’ve been dancing around each other.

There’s gonna be some details here that are definitely gonna be new (because it’s part of a super old character reference I created for her when I first started posting about HPHM content here).

Anyway, enough rambling. On with the story! Enjoy! 💛

MC friend: David Willows ( @that-scouse-wizard )

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

Talbott stood before his mirror, readjusting his tie for probably the fifth time.

He was trying to soothe his nerves. Why you may ask?

Because of the Ball.

The Valentine’s Day Ball.

In his right mind, he would avoid such social gatherings like the plague. But it’s fair to say he hasn’t been much of his right mind ever since he met her.

Judith Harris.

A Hufflepuff witch with pale gold eyes and a heart of gold to match.

He met her alongside her best friend, David Willows, early third year. When they came to him seeking help on becoming Animagi. He was quick to shut both of them down. While David glared and protested, Judith eased the bullheaded Hufflepuff and gave him a shy sad expression along with an apology for disturbing him.

At the time, he wasn’t sure why he suddenly changed his mind to help the two. But as he got older, he did realize it was because of her.

Something about Judith was familiar. And…

He didn’t like the sad look into those bright eyes…

After the two achieved their forms and helped him find his feather necklace, Judith and Talbott became closer. Even to the point where he followed her out to the cemetery and learned about her dead father, Kendrick, on the anniversary of his death.

That’s when he learned that she was a part of his past.

That single day of his childhood where he made a friend. And developed a bond on a girl who he thought was unique with her long pretty locs and Caribbean accent.

With it being their 5th year, Talbott has gone on two dates with her. Their very first date out by the Black Lake and last year on Valentine’s Day when he learned that he has deeper feelings for her outside of a friendship.

He can still remember the sweet blush on her face after he shyly gave her a kiss on the cheek after gifting her with a heart statue.

Giving her a physical representation of his heart.

He fiddled with the ring she gifted him that day. He always remembers seeing it on a black chain around her neck on occasion. Judith was a person who cares about sentimental value so it’s very likely she gifted him something that has a level importance to her. But he was so stunned when she slipped it onto his finger, and that it fitted perfectly, while announcing that it was her Valentine’s Day gift to him that he forgot to ask…

Maybe today he will. After all, after the Ball, he had a special surprise for her.

Of course, there had to be some last minute changes when he realized a certain Slytherin witch ALSO planned on using the Library and two fairies also got into a squabble. He had at least a day to make the arrangement work and the “Most Powerful Witch at Hogwarts” actually might of done him a favor.

It would be nice to revisit where their tale began.

Talbott sighed, looking over his appearance once more before turning on his heel and leaving his room.

‘I hope she likes what I planned. She’s the only who deserves to see this side of me,’ he thought as he made his way to the Great Hall.

——————

“C’mon Little Tigress! We’re gonna be late,” David huffed, knocking insistently on his best mate’s door.

“I look ridiculous! I’m not going anymore!” Came the stubborn reply from the other side. David rolled his eyes at Judith’s behavior.

They’ve been busting their asses to save the Valentine’s Day Ball from a lonely Madam Pince by using a pining Mr. Filch. However, due to all the planning and finally asking out Merula and Talbott (after Judith finally got over her initial shyness), they didn’t have time to style an outfit for themselves. So they went to the resident Style Wizard for help.

David’s pick was easy.

Judith however… not so much.

It was fair to say that Judith was more than disgruntled as she looked in the reflection for the suit Andre put together.

“You lost your damn mind Egwu if you think I’m going to the Ball like this. I look like a mom in her mid-30s looking to speak to your manager to file a complaint.”

David was on the floor in tears when he saw the offended look on the Ravenclaw wizard’s face. To be fair, the suit plus the pixie cut that Andre magically put together wasn’t doing his best mate any favors.

However, she didn’t step out to show the dress to them. She tried it on, switch back into her normal clothes, and left without much of another word.

Now David was curious to what could be wrong with Andre’s design for her to believe she looked “ridiculous”.

“C’mon Judith. What’s wrong with it? Surely it can’t be as bad as that suit Andre design,” David coaxed.

“…It’s… a lot…” David wasn’t sure what to make of that and they’re gonna be late if Judith kept this up.

“Judith, it’s either you open the door willingly to show me what you’re talking about or I break into your room to see for myself. We don’t have time for this right now,” David huffed. He didn’t want to late with for his dance with Merula.

Silence ensued and David was half considering going through with his threat when the tell tale sound of the door unlocking hit his eyes. David turned the knob and walked in.

He paused when he took in the sight of his little friend.

Judith was wearing a short black dress decorated with pink and red roses. A small slit can be found on her right leg. White 3-inch open toe heels were on her feet. Her usual ear accessories and earrings were present. A familiar dark red lipstick, dark eyeshadow, and black eyeliner made an appearance on her face. Her hair was out from its normal twists, curls and coils tumbling down her back and a bang swept over her right eye.

“David,” Judith mumbled awkwardly as her friend stared at her. That seemed to have broke the spell on the wizard as he shook his head to recollect himself.

“Well I’ll be damned… you look far from ridiculous, Judith. You look beautiful,” David said with a smile. Judith blushed and rubbed the back of her neck.

“You sure? It’s kind of revealing, don’t you think,” she asked. David cocked his head to the side, rescanning the girl from head to toe.

He could see her point, but it wasn’t as bad she probably thought it was.

The dress fitted her like glove, revealing the curves she was developing as a young woman. While the dress did show quite a bit of skin, it was still respectable.

“No, not really. To Bill and Orion, possibly but they’re big brothers who naturally want to keep every perverted wizard away from you. Hell, I may end up breaking someone’s teeth in if they think they can disrespect you like that. But you look beautiful Little Tigress, don’t think otherwise. Talbott would definitely agree with me,” David stated, watching his fellow Hufflepuff blushed at the name of the boy she’s been crushing on since third year.

David has been watching the two dance around each other since Judith admitted that she fancied the Ravenclaw wizard in the Charms classroom when practicing the Memory Charm. He was waiting for the two to finally get together already.

“If you’re done worrying, we still have a Ball to get to,” David said with a raised brow.

“But-EEP!” David already saw the protest in her eyes was quick to walk across the room and throw Judith over his shoulder. He only resorted to such measures when she was be difficult, and she was definitely being difficult.

“C’mon Little Tigress, your bird boy is waiting for you,” he said as he made his way out of her room. Judith spluttered over her words, mainly out of embarrassment at both what he said and the unnecessary position David has put her in.

“DAVID! Put me down, you brute! I’m in a dress for Merlin’s sake,” she protested loudly, wriggling in David’s unforgiving grip.

‘Damn demon lineage...’ she thought with a grimace.

“I'm well aware, we can clean you up when we're there with a spell, I not missing my chance to dance with Merula,” David said breezily. Judith gave up, allowing herself to be carried off like a sack of potatoes.

“Bloody sap... stupid dance,” she grumbled under her breath. David chuckled at her disgruntled mood.

“You’ll thank me for it by the end of the night, trust me,” he said. Judith pouted.

‘Assuming I don’t hide in a dark corner somewhere first...’

“Do that and I'm casting Lumos Maxima so there's nowhere for you to hide,” David said suddenly, nearly scaring the girl half to death. Judith mentally slapped her forehead out of exasperation.

She should know better not to think aloud around David, seeing how they’re both Legilmens.

Damn it...

“Fine,” she huffed. Luckily for her, they finally arrived near the entrance of the Great Hall. David finally set her down, and casting a spell that made her look presentable again.

David offered his arm to her.

“Shall we, Little Tigress?” Judith felt her cheeks heating up at the thought of the person waiting on her inside the Great Hall before letting out a sigh. She took her best mate’s arm.

“I guess we shall...”

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

Talbott was chatting alongside with Merula, twirling a red rose between his hands when he heard a whistle. Both turned to make out the figures of their dates not too far from them.

David separated himself from his fellow Hufflepuff to walk up to the two. David gave Talbott a smirk and nodded over in Judith’s direction before stealing Merula away.

Talbott only raised a brow at the Hufflepuff wizard’s behavior before walking up to his date for the night. As he stood in front of her, any words that he was going to say to her, died at the tip of his tongue.

Talbott stared at his date, heart racing with a blush on the high points of his cheekbones as he looked at her from her curls to her high heeled shoes. The silence was starting to unnerve the Hufflepuff witch as her long time love interest stared at her without saying anything.

“Y-you clean up quite nicely, Talbott,” she blurted. She mentally smack herself immediately afterwards.

‘When did I become this awkward, goodness…’

However, seem to have done the trick and snapped Talbott back to reality.

“S-sorry, little bird. I-I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I-It’s just that…” Talbott shook his head, trying to focus.

“It’s just that,” Judith echoed slowly, biting her bottom lip. She was worried that David might’ve been wrong and she looked like a fool in front of the boy she had feelings for.

Talbott stepped closer to her, tilting her head up by her chin so she could look at him. He offered a shy smile.

“You look beautiful, Judith. More lovely and temperate than a summer’s day,” He said softly, placing the rose he had behind her left ear. Judith blushed as she felt her heart race at his barely there touch.

“I-I… thank you, Talbott…” The Ravenclaw wizard smiled at the shy response. Behind them the instruments started seemed to be warming up to play the first song.

“May I have this dance,” Talbott asked, mock bowing to the girl. Judith giggled behind a red manicured hand.

“You may…” Taking her hand Talbott led Judith close to the center of the dance floor, with David and Merula standing not too far from them. The fairies that were lighting up the room swirled around the students, leaving them in awe at the magical moment. In the midst of this, David gave his friend a wink, who in turned returned it with an unimpressed glare. Judith returned her attention back to her date once she felt him take one of her hands

“I’m not usually one who likes public displays, but… I quite like this one… almost as much as I like you,” Talbott quietly admitted as he looked into pale gold eyes.

‘Is it possibly to pass out from blushing so much? Because I think I’m close…’ Judith thought as she ducked her head with a smile. Talbott was being so sweet and kind to her, she wanted to be wrapped up in his arms and dance the night away.

Judith looked back up at him with a teasing grin.

“I hope you like dancing too, because it’s our time to shine…”

————————

Talbott was smiling at the laughing girl in his arms as he spun her around. The two have been in their own little bubble ever since the dance started.

Their shy exteriors melted away leaving behind something much warmer and intimate. Anyone with eyes can see that they were clearly smitten with each other. Which were plenty watching them on occasion.

Red eyes darted around the Great Hall, finding the person he was looking for. He gave the Headmaster a subtle nod which he returned with a knowing smile. Talbott stepped back from Judith to clear his throat with a smile.

“All this dancing is making me thirsty, I think I’m gonna get a refreshment,” he said. Judith smiled at him, making his heart stutter in a lovestruck sigh.

“A refreshment sounds great, actually! I’ll go with you-”

“N-no need! I-I’ll get one for you! Just... stay right there,” Talbott stuttered before taking off. Judith’s brows furrowed in confused as she watch Talbott disappear in the darkness.

Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning, she saw the cheery smile of David.

“Cheers, Little Tigress! I see that I was right about you enjoying yourself,” he said with a grin. Judith glared and punched his arm.

“Cheeky bastard,” she growled. David laughed good naturedly while rubbing his arm.

“I’m surprised you’re not with Synde. Seeing how eager you were to get here and be with her,” she retorted. David shrugged.

“Mer said she going to get refreshments for the both of us. She actually suggest I go find you to see how your night was so far,” David replied. Gold eyes narrow out of suspicion.

“That’s a little odd. Talbott just let to do the same thing...”

“Was it? I found it very typical of Miss Synde and Mr. Winger,” a third voice said. David and Judith turned to see the amused face of their Headmaster.

The pair chatted with Professor Dumbledore for a while when Judith noticed something was amiss.

“It’s bit awhile since Merula and Talbott went to get refreshments. Surely it can’t take that long,” Judith pondered out loud. Dumbledore smiled.

“Clever eye, Miss Harris. That’s because they’re no longer here and they personally asked me to distract you,” he chuckled. David and Judith glanced at each other before looking back up at Dumbledore.

“Professor,” David asked warily. Dumbledore chuckled.

“Mr. Willows, you can head to the library. Miss Harris... while Mr. Winger wasn’t explicit with the location for you to go to, he did say ‘Remember our first date’ as a clue. Enjoy the rest of your storybook fairytale night, you two. You deserve it,” Professor Dumbledore informed the pair with a knowing smile.

Judith blushed walking out of the Great Hall with David. The two said their goodbyes as Judith made her way outside. Transforming into her Black Sparrowhawk, she couldn’t help but wonder what Talbott had planned at the Black Lake...

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

Judith landed on the shore and transformed back, only to be surprised to find who was waiting for her.

“Lily,” she asked as the little fairy flew around her, buzzing out of excitement.

What was her little friend doing all the way out here?

The magical creature took ahold of her hand, tugging her to the Boat house.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming. Just slow down, I am wearing heels after all,” she laughed gently. Judith followed the excited fairy inside only to freeze at the door way.

Standing inside was Talbott. The place looked to have been cleaned out. Numerous fairies including her own lit up the Boathouse in a soft glow. Rose petals scattered the floor, along with some candles. A large heart made up of different colored roses was hung up behind the Ravenclaw wizard. A small table with some chairs of some of the food and drinks form the Ball sat in a corner. Somewhere in the background, there was soft music playing as well.

Talbott walked up to the stunned Hufflepuff witch and took her hand.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, little bird,” he spoke softly. Judith shook her head out of disbelief.

“W-what is all this, Talbott,” she asked. The young man bit his lip.

“I-I... I may have been planning this while I was at the Owlery... I wanted to surprise you. While I did originally plan to do this in the Library, someone else had the same idea... So I’d figured the Black Lake was the next best thing. I did have some help putting this together,” Talbott admitted.

Lily buzzed, as if she was giggling at the two. Judith rose a brow at her Fairy’s cheeky behavior before chuckling.

“I just thought that... after everything you’ve done for Hogwarts, for me, you deserved a storybook romance,” Talbott said. Judith rescanned the room before offering a smile.

“I had no idea that you could be such a romantic, Talbott. But clearly you are.” Talbott blushed, scratching the back of his neck.

“I guess all that poetry paid off...”

--------

The pair sat and ate, chatting in between. Talbott giving going as far to feed Judith a bit of a cupcake. He ended blushing when he felt her lips touch his fingers tips as she let out a pleased moan.

Currently they were slow dancing in the middle of the room, listening to the music softly playing in the background.

“This is really amazing, Talbott,” Judith spoke up, daring to look up at red eyes that reminded her of rubies.

“You’re the amazing one, Judith. I was simply following my heart,” Talbott replied, squeezing her closer. That foreign yet familiar scent that clung onto the Hufflepuff filled his nose.

“O-Oh stop it. I am not,” Judith insisted with a nervous laugh. Having Talbott so close to her was causing her heart to beat faster than normal. Talbott stopped dancing in favor of holding her hands. His gaze was unwavering.

“I mean it, little bird. You made this Valentine’s Day perfect for everyone, even Flich and Pince... And especially for me,” Talbott confessed. Pearly whites flashed at him.

“All I wanted was a magical Valentine’s Day with my date,” Judith started, glancing down for a quick moment to gather herself before looking back up at Talbott through her lashes.

“...And... And I’m so happy that date is you...” And she was. Truly.

Talbott was the picture perfect gentleman. And the fact he went through great lengths to make Valentine’s Day memorable for her reminded her of happier times from her childhood. Except now it was with someone who likes her for her.

She hasn’t felt this special in years...

Talbott urged his heart to calm down as he reached for his wand.

“I feel the same way, Judith. And I... made something for you...” Stepping back, Talbott casted a spell, causing a book to appear. Judith blinked out of surprise at the book that hovered between them. Carefully reaching for it, she opened it to a random page somewhere in the beginning.

“...The loner poet listened to the Howler professed the words he wasn’t aware that lived in his heart. Speaking of a deep longing for a girl with otherworldly pale gold eyes. To never leave him because when he looks into her unique irises, he can see future. A future where he would wake up to them every morning. A future where he would look at child with the same eyes as her. A future that would lead to forever together.

He felt his heart stall in his chest, itching to cast a spell to light the Howler ablaze to prevent its words being heard by unwanted ears. It was then he smelled her before he heard her.

A hint of sea breeze that made him feel like he was standing so close the never-ending ocean. Chocolate that reminded him of her skin tone. A variety of fainter sweet scents, most he couldn’t name but the one he could pick out was honey.

Her melodious low voice sung to his eardrums:

“Hey, what did your Valentine Howler say?” He swiftly turned to find pale gold eyes curiously looking up at him. He could feel his heart speed up when he connected the dots.

It was her.

She was the one his heart longed for.

Everything that has transpired that day and this revelation became too much for the loner poet to take. He was quick to deny that his Howler hasn’t said anything, using the opportunity their teacher has created to leave the classroom.

He needed time. Time to think of what to do next...”

Judith was so engrossed in words written on the page that she didn’t realize that Talbott was now standing behind her.

“It’s not finished, more so of a... work in progress for an ongoing story...” Judith jumped a little when she felt his breath ghost over her visible ear.

“This is about you,” she whispered, releasing the book to float again. She turned to find Talbott staring down at her with half lid eyes.

“It’s about you and me, little bird,” he whispered, cupping one of her cheeks. Judith closed her eyes, leaning into his warm touch.

There was a shift in the air and she nervous but secretly excited to where this could lead...

Talbott withdrew for a moment forcing Judith to open her eyes again. She notice a heart shaped key necklace in his hand.

“What’s that,” she asked quietly.

“This is the key that unlocks the book. I made it be this way so you can wear it like a necklace. So our story would always be with you,” Talbott answered, carefully placing the it around her neck. A full body shiver raked Judith’s body when she felt the tips of his finger ghost over the sensitive skin.

“I... I never had someone put this much effort for me. To bare your feelings like this, Talbott... I... I don’t know what to say,” Judith confessed quietly. She could barely hear her own voice over the roar of blood rushing to her face combined with the sound of her heartbeat pounding against her eardrums.

Talbott caressed her cheek again.

“I don’t expect an answer from you right away little bird. I’m more than happy to do this for you. You’re the only one who deserves to see this side of me...” Talbott leaned closer aiming to place a kiss on her cheek. Much like he did last year.

What Judith did next surprised both of them.

Turning her head ever so slightly, she caught Talbott’s lips with her own. This stunned the pair, both remaining motionlessly for a few moments. Just as the Ravenclaw wizard was about to pull back, Judith held him there by his tie, pressing against him. Her painted lips moved against his unresponsive ones slowly, testing the waters and his resolve.

After a moment of deliberation, Talbott gave in and returned the unexpected kiss. With one hand cupping her face, its twin finding refuge on her lower back, pushing her closer still. Judith released his tie in favor of wrapping her arms around his neck, melting in his embrace. Both of them were placed under a cloudy haze as their lips continued to move against one another.

The pair broke apart for air, foreheads resting against one another. Talbott silently licked his lips, picking up the taste of vanilla.

‘She tastes just as sweet as she looks. Good Gods help me...’ came the helpless thought as he found himself at the end of Judith’s sultry stare.

‘What are you doing to me, Talbott? Why do I feel this way towards you...’

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Talbott,” Judith whispered, placing a soft kiss against the corner of his lips. Talbott shivered at the sound of her voice, which has dipped down an octave. Her accent came out, loud and clear. His hands, which has migrated to her waist, squeezed down on the curve for a few seconds.

He could listen to her speak to him like this for hours...

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Judith... Thank you for being my valentine...” Judith let out soft chuckle, pulling him in for another kiss.

In the midst of this an involuntary thought passed through her mind. One which would shatter the Hufflepuff witch later on.

‘I love you, Talbott...’

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

Some time has passed since the Valentine’s Day Ball. Judith more or less went back to her life as per usual.

With occasional outing with Talbott when classes and working for Rakepick became too much for her.

It was late at night and she was at the shore of the Black Lake, practicing her spellwork. She always wanted to remain sharp on her skills and it was a way for her to prepare for the upcoming O.W.L.S., which was approaching fast.

She decided to practice the Patronus Charm, seeing how she hasn’t casted it in awhile.

“Expecto Patronum!”

What came out of the tip of her wand shocked her.

Instead of her usual Siberian Tiger was a-

“G-Golden E-Eagle?!” Her eyes watched as the avian predator flew above her before disappearing.

She shocked her head, not believing what she just saw.

Over and over again, she casted the spell, waiting to see her beloved tiger. Only to watch the animal that came out soar its wings above her.

Her legs gave out from beneath her.

“No, no, no! How can this be happening?! Patronuses don’t change,” she panicked. A vague memory came resurfaced in her mind.

“Though I have heard of Patronuses changing forms after falling in love...” Judith’s eyes widen.

That voice belonged to Tonks when they were dealing with the Dementor threat from last year.

Another memory surfaced, however, much older...

“Gift this ring to the one your heart desires above all others. It will only fit and accept that one person, anyone else, it’ll reject and return to you...” Tears ran down her cheeks. When she realized what memory it was.

“Gran-Gran...” came the broken whisper. Her grandmother gifted her a magical blue and silver ring before she died. The same ring she gave to Talbott just a year prior. She didn’t remember her dear grandmother’s words when she gave it to him.

Now that she thought about it, the ring never returned to her. And it was on Talbott’s left ring finger the night of the Ball.

Even as she kissed him, those three words that haunted her since childhood has crossed her flowery dazed mind.

She couldn’t do anything but face the truth. To speak the words that haunted her in form of a Boggart from third year.

“I love Talbott Winger...”

And she was secretly terrified.

Because she knew if he were to confess the same, she was done for.

Her heart would be his.

And risk breaking if he were to ever leave...

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petri808 · 4 years

Text

Secret Santa fic for @fawn-eyed-girl enemies to lovers trope. Happy Holidays :)

Helping others was something Kagome Higurashi really enjoyed doing on her time off. There were so many people in need in their city with its large homeless population, it was an easy decision to join a local organization that did things for them. From food drives to holiday meals, they’d visit shelters, or scouted the back alleyways looking for anyone that was struggling. Especially the children, oh those broke her heart and fueled her desire to do what she could year after year. Of course, there were dangers when going into the seedier areas because they weren’t just full of homeless people. Drug users, thieves, gamblers, prostitution. Most steered clear of people like Kagome, but on occasion her pepper spray came into use.

On a summers night as she made her rounds near a bar, two drunkards with a loss of inhibition saw a pretty young woman and decided she’d make for a great way to end their evening festivities. Kagome tried to be nice at first, noting the heavy stench of liquor on their breaths. It wasn’t the first time she’d dealt with men like this. But talking was getting nowhere and before she could pull out the pepper spray from her pocket, one of them grabbed her from behind. If it had just been one man she could have fought back, but not two. Kagome screamed for help, praying that someone from the bar would hear her.

“Stop being such a bitch!” the man who held her growled as she fought fiercely in his hold.

The second male grabbed her face and squeezed her cheeks to silence her screaming. “Behave or this’ll only get worse.”

At that moment, a flash of white ripped the man facing her away and her eyes widened as the guy is flung against the building 10 feet away. Next, the one holding her suddenly let go and took off running, but he doesn’t get far and is tossed through the air into the darkness of the night. Kagome stood there frozen, heart racing, just watching her white-haired savior. She’d never seen him before in the area and assumed he must have been a bar patron.

“Are, you okay?” The white-haired male questioned Kagome.

“Yes. T-Thank you, sir.”

“Good, but what kind of stupid woman are you to be in this kind of area late at night alone?! You got a death wish?! If I hadn’t heard ya screamin’, they would’a made you their bitch!”

Kagome was taken aback by this strangers outburst. He wasn’t wrong, but did he have to be an asshole about it? “I’m not stupid okay!” She crossed her arms, “I’m here doing something important.”

“Keh! Picking up idiots at the bar? You don’t look like a pro.”

“Cause I’m not a pro! I help homeless people. And what do you do sir? Bouncer at the bar cause you have no education?”

“For your information I’m a thief. You know, like Robin Hood.”

“Pfft, I doubt that. You’re a common criminal who’s just as bad as the other nasty elements I deal with, so get off your high horse in berating me and look in a mirror!”

“Look wench,” the man towered over Kagome. “Criminal or not I coulda just let them kidnap you!”

But unafraid, Kagome stood on the balls of her feet and glared right back. “And I said thank you!”

The man seemed shocked by her attitude because he stepped back while still pointing a finger angrily. “J-Just, stop being so reckless!”

He then literally jumped away, scaling the building next to them. Well, at least it was over. Kagome huffed and let out a long sigh. Good riddance! Sure, she was happy to be okay but geez, he was so mean! She hoped to never see him again!

Over the course of the next two years, her wish never came true. Which confused Kagome. Before their first encounter, she’d never seen him in the area, but after, she couldn’t go a month without running into the guy. So, after six months had passed, she’d had a friend in the police department search their records to see if this stranger had a record. Kagome never got the man’s name, but his appearance was very distinctive. Long white hair and dog ears perched atop his head. Sure, enough he was in their system. Inuyasha Taisho. Mostly petty theft, nothing major, a few fights, but often ruled defensive. Okay so he didn’t start fights, but he ended them. Even more curious is who Inuyasha’s parents were. Kagome expected to learn he had grown up in a poor area or something that lead him into thievery, but it turned out the family was wealthy.

The rest of their encounters weren’t as explosive as the first one had been, but still as irritating as ever. Someone would start to harass Kagome and Inuyasha would scare them off. He’d snap at her for being reckless, then jump away as she screamed at his fleeting back. In a few strange incidences, Kagome suspected he was nearby because she’d hear footsteps following behind her and suddenly, they would disappear. She didn’t know if he was following her or had stopped someone else from doing so, but the alleyway would always be empty when she turned around.

Don’t get her wrong, she appreciated his protection. But what had she done to illicit it in the first place? Kagome suspected Inuyasha stole things out of boredom, so was watching her his new line of amusement? And fine, since he’d never done anything to hurt her, she could tolerate his knight in white armor routine if he wasn’t such an asshole when he spoke to her!

It was maybe around the first year mark that Kagome had noticed a change in some of the activities. The amount of people bothering her had slowed, left mostly to the more foolish elements who were hell bent on trouble. Certain crowds fully stayed clear of her, especially organized elements like gangs. She wondered if word was traveling through the underground to leave her alone or face his consequences. Kagome had to admit the thought brought a flutter to her chest. Because okay, he was an ornery asshole, but he must have a heart to protect a woman... not to mention he wasn’t exactly ugly. Quite the opposite in fact...

“Yeah Sango, I just got here,” Kagome balanced the phone on her shoulder as she turned her car off. “I’m gonna unload the gifts for the kids Christmas party. Oh... okay, see you soon.”

She clicked off her phone and got out of her car, popping open her trunk before pocketing the phone. There was a lot to do before the small holiday dinner they had prepared at the community center for homeless families in the area. Gifts for the children, food, a Santa Claus was coming, tables to set up, games and decorations. As she leaned into her trunk to grab gifts, Kagome ran down her to-do list in her head.

“Don’t move.”

A chill runs down her spine at the deep voice right behind her and something poking into her back. Kagome’s body stiffened up instantly as all the blood drained from her face.

“Don’t turn around, don’t make any sudden movements if you wanna live.” The hard object pressed deeper into her side. It was cold like the muzzle of a gun. “I know money is kept in the office to pay vendors, so you’re gonna get it for me,” the male voice instructed.

Kagome whimpered. “Okay, I’ll get you whatever you want, just please d-don’t hurt me.”

The man forced her away from her car towards the building, keeping constant pressure to remind her he could fire off his weapon at any time. This was the first time since the night she’d met Inuyasha that Kagome had felt true fear. So many things were running through her mind, her family, friends… What if this man killed her and left her for dead and the children saw it? Those kids had it hard enough. They don’t need to be traumatized further. All she could do was pray in her head to be spared.

She fumbled with the keys to open up the side door, but Kagome’s hands were shaking so badly, she drops them. “S-sorry!”

“Stupid bitch!”

“I’m sorry!” Kagome cried out and braced for some kind of backlash, but instead is greeted with the most demonic sounding growl she’d ever heard. In seconds, she’s knocked to the ground, pushed out of the way as white hair flies past her vision. It was Inuyasha fighting with the robber! She scrambled away, pressing herself against the building as the two men battled on the ground. Inuyasha was trying to wrestle the gun away and strike at the same time. But unlike the other attacks, this stranger was much, much stronger. She covered her ears to the growls and curses, the sounds of her own screams ringing in her ears but couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Until a loud boom, followed by a flash of light made Kagome’s scream cut off. She instantly shielded herself in reaction and all noise was replaced by a buzzing sound. The gun had gone off! Inuyasha let out a guttural roar at the impact, but it didn’t stop him, only made him ten times angrier. She watched in a mixture of horror and intrigue as his eyes turned red and purple markings appeared on his cheeks. He slashed deep into the strange males chest and abdomen, once... twice... not to stop but to kill. At the third raising of his arm, Kagome cried out, snapping Inuyasha back to reality. He stopped, hand raised, staring down at the man who was semi-conscious, and fatally injured without immediate medical treatment.

Kagome stumbled and rushed over to Inuyasha, ripping her jacket off in the meantime. “Oh, my god you’ve been shot!” Tears are clouded her vision and her hands shook, but she pressed her jacket against the wound in his stomach. “Keep the pressure,” she instructed while pulling her phone out. “I need to call 911, y-you need to get to a hospital.”

“Tch, don’t worry about me. I’ll live.”

His nonchalant response made her stop what she was doing and sent Kagome to such a level of anger, it took Inuyasha completely by surprise. The tears that clouded her vision now freely poured down as she rapidly punched his shoulder as hard as she could. “You asshole! You asshole! You asshole!! You’re not invincible! You just got shot because of me! Why?! Why would you go this far to protect me?!”

More sounds appeared around them. A car, running footsteps. Her friend Sango’s voice, talking, yelling about hurry and emergency. But all Kagome and Inuyasha could do was stare at each other oblivious to it, he wide-eyed, and her crying and shrieking.

“Tell me!” Kagome beat his chest one last time before slumping from exhaustion. “Why do you keep protecting me?”

Inuyasha turned his head away in embarrassment, cheeks the color of a tomato and ears pinned down. He mumbled, “Because I like you,” then braced himself to be cussed out and/or completely rejected.

What he gets in return is a snorting laughter from the woman who quickly grabbed his face and kissed him hard on the lips.

“You dumbass!” Kagome snapped at him through smiling tears. “All you had to do was talk nice to me and ask me out!”

“I’m not good with women, and besides I didn’t think you’d like a guy like me.”

Kagome is moved to the side when the EMT and police arrived to treat Inuyasha, but it doesn’t halt the conversation. “Well, you will need to behave yourself if you wanna go out with me, but that doesn’t mean I won’t give you a chance.”

Inuyashas ears perked back up. “You’re serious?!”

Kagome smiled. “I believe that everyone deserves a second chance, why else do you think I do the things I do?”

“So, when I get out of the hospital, can I take you out for dinner?”

“It’s a date.”

#inusecretsanta #inukag #inuyasha #inuyasha secret santa #Kagome higurashi #modern au #enemies to lovers #inukag fan fic #inukag fan fiction #in the spirit of christmas

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badgerhuan · 4 years

Text

Until the End of Their Time

Or, the one where they let things fall naturally.

Prompt was Fake Married au.

Merry Christmas, @supergeekytoon. I'm so sorry this is late, and a bit on the short side. I truly have no excuse, but I hope you and everyone else reading this will enjoy it. <3

Read on AO3.

------

Benji has lost count of how many times he and Ethan had been married.

There was a first time, a more elaborate one where the mission depended on the mark believing that Ethan and Benji were madly in love newly weds. Back then, having to sell being in love while pretending to not actually be in love with Ethan was torture.

He remembers when they rehearsed their backstory and practiced the level of intimacy they should be at with each other. He told himself it’s strictly professional. He pulled out every ounce of acting he had in him. He could do this. He was good at this. He knew he was.

He remembers Ethan being so tentatively careful. Hands that would fall on him in a display of public affection, but never wandering further than the boundaries they had discussed prior. Pulling him close, but always with just enough space left that Benji could easily maneuver away if he wanted to.

Benji was the same way back. Calculated touches that never linger more than they should. Practiced ease in their lack of personal space in which he never allowed himself to relax. No one could tell looking at them, of course, but they knew. They were all but too aware.

Ethan had never felt more out of reach than in those agonizing hours trying to get the mark to take interest in them.

Then the mission went wrong, because it always does, and they escape the mansion the party was held at by the skin of their teeth.

Maybe it was the euphoria of being alive, maybe it was the wine that he admittedly drank more than he should’ve, but sitting there, huddled at an abandoned bus stop with Ethan, finally out of danger and waiting for Luther to pick them up, the simple wedding band on his finger was suddenly the most hysterical thing Benji had ever seen in his entire life.

He laughed, and he couldn’t stop. Ethan looked at him in amusement, and soon he was laughing, too. The absurdity of that instance, of two grown man laughing themselves silly in the middle of nowhere, only added to the fire of Benji’s mirth. He felt himself relax, and felt the tension leave Ethan’s body next to him.

By the time Luther showed up, they were leaning into each other, sharing knowing looks as they kept giggling, and both shrugged in answer to Luther’s raised eyebrow.

---

They didn’t talk about it.

But things shifted after that, somehow.

It’s their go-to cover story now. They know each other well enough to pretend to be married. Shared enough near death experiences and trauma and memories that most married couples do. Know the comfort level the other has to never cross the line. It’s practical.

A pet name thrown out when the museum staff catches them where they shouldn’t be.

An arm tossed over the other’s shoulder to pull into a close embrace when the target they’re tailing looks their way.

A hand taking the other’s as they bluff their way up to the guard they’re going to incapacitate.

A kiss, not on the lips, never on the lips, but just close enough to look real to the child who isn’t supposed to be there, who they’re going to have to figure out a way to get to safety without exposing their identities.

Sometimes it’s Ethan. Sometimes it’s Benji. They’re both dancing on the line until the line had somehow disappeared.

Until Benji finds himself reaching for Ethan’s hand in the quiet darkness of their hiding spot, alone together, and Ethan doesn’t pull away.

Until Ethan plops himself down next to him on a couch in a safehouse, not bothering to keep any distance from Benji, and Benji leans into him in response.

Until standing in close proximity to each other feels like the most common thing in the world, where once upon a time Benji’s heart might have beaten itself out of his throat.

Until……until. Until.

---

It’s early morning, and Benji is standing on the rooftop of some hotel in Budapest. It’s the fifth one this month, and he aches for home.

But it’s not so bad, he supposes. All the more so when a familiar presence takes its spot next to him.

Ethan touches his shoulder to Benji’s. Benji lets himself place a hand on Ethan’s arm. They stand in silence as they watch the city wake up beneath them.

For once there’s no urgency to start the day. The mission is behind them and their plane isn’t due until noon. There’s something very calming about choosing to wake up early instead of being forced to. The colors of the sky brightens with each passing minute, and Benji takes a deep breath.

He feels a hand over his. He turns his head and sees Ethan looking at him, a small smile on his lips. Ethan’s thumb rubs gentle circles into the back of his hand. Benji smiles back.

In the end, leaning forward and kissing Ethan is the easiest thing he’s ever done.

He pulls back, but Ethan chases after him, and they’re kissing again. Deeper. Longer. Words that Benji never said swirling at the tip of his tongue as he drinks in the silent promises spilling from Ethan’s mouth. It’s earth shattering in that it’s mundane. It’s extraordinary in that it’s plain.

Of course they ended up here, Benji thinks. It’s the natural progress of things. Two marbles thrown into a basin that were always destined to meet in the middle.

Inevitable.

They break apart for breath. Benji beams at Ethan, and allows himself a second to lock the look of pure joy on Ethan’s face into his memories. He plants another quick kiss on Ethan’s cheek, then steps away from the metal fence lining the edge of the roof. Ethan follows, and they leave the city skyline behind, hand in hand.

They’re dancing together now and will be until the end of their time. Benji knows it in his soul.

------

There it is! A slightly Different take on the fake married trope. As much as I love fics where they build romantic tension until it all explodes in a much anticipated confession, I also love the idea of them just...growing close, together. So I wanted to explore that. I hope this wasn't to purple prose-y haha.

Happy holidays to all!!

#mission: impossible #benthan #benji dunn #ethan hunt #roch writes #god it's been A While #i'm glad i've finally written something i feel confident enough to post :')

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miaouerie · 4 years

Text

whumptober 2020 ------ day 30. wound reveal

@whumptober2020 Rebelcaptain Hunger Games AU: Cassian is Jyn’s mentor in the 70th Hunger Games. After being crowned victor at fifteen years old, Cassian is all-too-familiar with what it takes to bring a tribute home, and what becoming a victor really means.

content warnings: none

previous: day 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24 / 25 / 26 / 27 / 28 / 29 / → read on AO3

“And remember, Jyn: one fighter with a sharp stick and nothing to lose…”

“Can take the day,” Jyn finishes reciting faithfully.

Saw looks at her with pride, before lowering his voice. “It is my hope you’ll have more than a sharp stick in the Arena. Your mentor will be whom you rely on to improve your odds; impress him and he can get you what you need to survive. I’ve taught you plenty—but how far you get won’t be based on your fighting skills alone.”

Jyn frowns; he can only be talking about Cassian Andor. “He hasn’t brought back any of his tributes. How can I trust him to help me?”

Saw lowers his voice even further. “You can’t. He’s been in the eyes of the Capitol for too long. But he’s your only hope in the Arena. Therefore, your only hope to get out.”

Saw’s words rattle around in her head as Jyn lies in her bunk. The way the train car gently sways on its tracks as it speeds its way towards the Capitol could almost be soothing, except for the fact that they’re hurtling their way to near-certain death.

…no, she can’t think like that. She tells herself it’s only a reflexive fear, borne of the circumstances that she’s been forced into of all the sheer, rotten luck in Panem. If only she hadn’t gotten reaped, she and Saw would have been able to complete their mission, then abscond out of District 5 as planned. She could have been seeing her mother again in a week’s time. If only…

Well, no use in dwelling on it now. She turns onto her side facing the bulkhead, determined to get some shut-eye before the morning brings with it the next day.

And with the next day will come the next time she sees Cassian. What transpired a few hours ago comes to mind unbidden—she had thought herself clever for kissing him to quiet his words (was he really so foolish to not think about the train being bugged?), but after he spotted the Peacekeeper approaching he reacted in kind. Taking her into his arms in a false display of intimacy like that. And it worked; the Peacekeeper quickly left them alone.

But then there was that kiss before they bid each other goodnight. He didn’t have to kiss her then, did he?

Jyn forces herself to stop thinking so she can go to sleep.

The morning of their first full day in the Capitol has Jyn waking up to three sharp knocks on her door.

“Jyn Erso. Breakfast is in the dining room.” That Capitol accent can only belong to Davits Draven, their escort. “I’d advise you to eat before you have your meeting with your stylist.”

The stylist. Kay. She had met them and the other stylist for Joule last night when they were prepared for the Opening Ceremony. But she already knew who they were in the way that most people in the districts, from the Games’ mandatory viewing, were familiar with the faces of stylists and mentors and victors and commentators amidst the ever-changing pool of tributes. Kay’s surgical augmentations were distinctive compared to the Capitol trends that ranged between somewhat natural and grotesque; his body was covered with a matte chrome synth skin, save for his face and hands which were kept as—presumably—his own pale skin tone. His eyes shone with a luminescence in the viewing stands that she could see from the chariot as the horses pulled to a stop around the City Circle during last night’s Opening Ceremony.

Jyn gets out of bed, selects a normal-looking outfit from the closet, and joins the rest of the party in the dining room. Joule is talking to Cassian, probably for the first time since he went catatonic at the reaping. But at the sound of the glass doors sliding open, their attention is turned to her.

“Good morning Jyn,” Cassian says, his tone perfectly placid. “Care for some breakfast?”

She sits there and eats quietly while the conversation flows around her. Compared to the intensity that radiated off of him last night, his conversation with Joule gives off the feeling of being polite yet distant; she vaguely wonders if he wrote off her district partner as she already has.

At the conclusion of their breakfast and after Draven comes to collect Joule first for the meeting with his stylist, Cassian crosses over to her side of the table and sits down next to her. “He’s pleasant enough,” he says about Joule, “but I’m not convinced he has a chance to make it out of the bloodbath if he freezes up like that again.” He gives her a wry look. “I trust that I don’t have to worry about that with you?”

Jyn knows he’s thinking about the way she slammed the cabin door shut on the train and then tried to fight her way through a squadron of Peacekeepers; she recalls the memory with a grin. “Trust goes both ways, right? I’ll show you what I’ve got in the Training Center.”

Draven brings the three of them down to the level that houses the enormous gymnasium they’re to train in for the next three days and leaves them there. Joule seems at a loss for what to do but Cassian offers to point out some of the more useful, rudimentary survival skill stations, so Jyn decides to take her own tour around the periphery.

There’s the weapon stations, of course: swords, spears, knife-throwing and the like. Then there’s the skill stations, like knot tying and snares and camouflage. Then she sees there are trainers available for hand-to-hand combat.

Her hands have been itching to come to blows with someone since that Peacekeeper held a gun to her head and Draven informed her, in his gratingly crisp Capitol accent, that there was no escaping the fate decided for her the moment her name was drawn in the reaping. She decided right then and there she was going to change it in her favor.

So she goes to the combat station and easily spars with a Capitol attendant there. It’s just like sparring with Uncle Saw, so with a few words and a jerk of her head she has the other trainers that were supposed to be available for other tributes join in; first, as two against her, and then she takes on all three. The sparring match finally ends when she’s knocked to the ground and a foot is planted firmly on her chest, but the grin the trainer’s giving her doesn’t seem mean-spirited as they help her back up. It’s only while she takes a moment to fix her bun and catch her breath that she sees what an audience she’s gathered, including attention from the Gamemakers, and that’s when the lunch session is called.

Disappointingly, Cassian is nowhere to be seen when she quickly scans the people who had been watching her. But she does accept the invitation from the Career pack to sit at their table for lunch.

Jyn doesn’t see Cassian again until that evening after Draven comes to collect them back up to their floor in the Tower. He’s sitting in the dining room with Kay, in different clothes than she saw him in that morning. Not that she noticed.

“I heard you impressed quite a few people in training today,” Cassian says as they eat their dinner. “How was she, Joule?”

Joule has gone quiet again. He fleetingly makes eye contact between her and Cassian before he nods his head, once.

Jyn decides to save them from the awkward pause that’ll follow. “If you stuck around, perhaps you would’ve seen it.”

A look of surprise crosses his face before Cassian lets out a short laugh. “I would’ve loved to see you sweep three trainers, but I’ll have to wait and see you in the Games. It’s up to you if you want to team up with the Careers or not but you’ve certainly got their attention, both as a potential ally and an enemy; take care to remember that. I want the both of you to check out all the weapons stations to get an idea of what will be available in the Arena but make sure you spend enough time learning survival skills. And Joule…”

The stricken sixteen-year-old boy looks up.

Cassian softens his tone. “I’m doing my best to secure sponsors for both of you. It’ll pay off in the Arena but I need you to survive for that to happen, so make the best of the next two training days and then we’ll go over final interview strategy with Draven. Alright?”

Surely he must know that Joule doesn’t stand a chance, Jyn thinks. But there’s something in the set of his shoulders, giving her the impression that he’s giving himself a pep talk as much as he is to them.

The evening following their private sessions with the Gamemakers is when the tributes’ evaluation scores are released. For the gamblers the scores dictated the odds to bet on in macabre betting pools; for the tributes, each score was a sign of who’s a threat and who can be ignored or—for the Careers—who will be easy pickings. When Jyn’s picture is shown on the screen followed by a 11, the others congratulate her and she smiles her thanks as she thinks about Saw. Is he watching her on national broadcast? He has to be, if he’s still in District 5. Would he feel proud of her so far?

But then she has an upsetting thought: what if he’s already left the district? What if he was able to complete the mission without her and he’s already gone off to the rendezvous? What if he’s already written her off as good as dead?

She can’t afford to think about that. After dinner she goes to the roof, wanting to get some air and privacy without locking herself up in her room. This will be the only time she’ll let herself cry, and then it’s game on. Tomorrow is the last day before the Games begin, and she’ll be spending the entirety of it with Draven and Cassian.

She finds a bench to sit down on, draws her knees up to her chest and hugs her face to her thighs. It takes a moment for the tears to come, as unused to crying as she is, but she lets out the sobs and sniffles as much as she’s able to without letting herself dwelling too much on her doubts.

When someone sits down next to her she somehow already knows it’s Cassian. He lightly touches her shoulder as if to ask permission, and when she finally peeks at him from the shelter of her arms he scoots a little closer and carefully wraps a comforting arm around her back.

They stay like that for a while until Jyn’s sure the tears have dried up. Then she asks, “Why’d you follow me up here?”

“I’m your mentor. You’re my tribute,” he says with amusement, as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “But… I wanted make sure you’re alright. You’ve held up strong so far, Jyn. I know you’re committed to winning this thing.”

“I am, it’s just…” Jyn bites her lip. “I can’t help being nervous.”

“Nobody can.”

“I keep thinking about the worst.”

“…Do you want help getting your mind off of it?”

Jyn can’t help how her lips quirk up at that. “Why, are you offering?”

Cassian doesn’t hesitate. “Whatever you need. I said it on the first night; I want to help you in any way possible.”

She knows there’s suggestive intent in his words. But the way that he says it expresses a pure, earnest wish to help.

So, she doesn’t feel bad when she leans in to kiss him.

She can’t help but think about that last kiss and the make-out session that followed each time a silver parachute comes to her in the Arena. She’s received ten so far; in the past Games Jyn’s watched, it’s the Careers who receive the most gifts from sponsors eager to help their favored tributes win. While there were some morally repugnant people in the districts who were betting on the same tributes, ultimately only those in the Capitol could impact the odds; nobody in the districts had that much spare money to frittle away gambling on the deaths of children.

As the Games continued on, the price of sending gifts and aid increased. Even in the Capitol there was a hierarchy to sponsorship, with only the wealthiest sponsors holding sway in the endgame. The Games commentators often interviewed those uber philanthropists on the public broadcast of the Games and so Jyn even knew some of their names: Laertes Crake, Cygnus Vondel, Trimalchio Plena. Having made it this far, she wonders if any of the boons she’s received were sponsored by any of them.

It’s nighttime in the Arena. Jyn rests in the shadows of a ruined entryway, taking care to remain concealed. An unnaturally full moon illuminates the ruins of the game field; the Gamemakers made it so that each night alternated between bright moonlight and the darkness of a new moon. With each night, instead of resting, the tributes found themselves playing a deadly game of moving shadows and evasion and hunts in the dark.

Jyn wouldn’t have gotten this far in the Games without Cassian’s help; he had sent her heat vision goggles early on. The gift enabled her to evade the other tributes until more death cannons were fired, and when it came time to go on the offensive she had a frightening advantage.

But that boy from the Career pack must have gotten his hands on a pair too, because how else could he have known she was going to ambush them? He’d cut her with his blade, poisoning her with a paralytic, and she had genuinely believed she was going to die that very night. But true to her mentor’s word, the sight of a silver parachute some hours into the darkness of a new moon cut through her panic; inside was a sweet syrup that faded away the worsening stiffness in her body and left her feeling rejuvenated. She was able to get some good, actual rest for once that night.

This night hopefully she will, too. Tomorrow will be the day she has to attack the alliance stronghold, otherwise the Gamemakers might decide to set muttations on them or create some other disaster to force them into action. As she starts to doze she thinks about him. Cassian.

Going into the Games she knew she had an advantage not even the Career tributes could fathom, by virtue of being secretly trained in insurgent and resistance tactics by her uncle. But she had also known that what Saw said in their last words to each other was right: she wouldn’t make it far without help from her mentor. She would make it past the bloodbath and survive maybe a few days, but when the real challenges began she’d get killed by something or other, and there’d go any chance of her making it back to District 5 to complete the mission and get away with Saw.

While Jyn knew she must have earned some sponsors with her score from the Gamemakers’ evaluations, Cassian was ultimately the one in charge of handling them and dispensing gifts to her in the Arena. He might even have marshalled for her cause when she was in dire straits, such as when she got poisoned by that blade. Back in the Capitol he must be doing a lot for her and she can’t even begin to grasp what all of that could possibly entail; she owed him more than she could put words to.

And better still yet, after each night and day of fighting to stay alive, it felt nice and reassuring to be cared for. To know that somewhere beyond the Arena there was somebody from back home who was doing everything they could to help you. Because they believed in you. If she died in the ensuing struggle tomorrow she could at least die knowing that.

But if… when she wins, it wouldn’t be a lie to say she’s looking forward to seeing him again. To thank him. To let him know he sustained her both physically and emotionally throughout the Games. That just thinking of their last kiss on the rooftop did something to help to temper her fears, soothe her nerves after the stress of each day, and feel more ready to face the world about to kill her.

She thinks about these things, tucks them into the warm recesses of her heart. She might be facing certain death tomorrow but she won’t let his help be in vain.

And then disaster strikes with the earthquake.

Time is moving too erratically for Jyn to keep up.

It had seemed immeasurably long when the earth and the Arena shook beneath her feet, sifting the crumbling ruins to dust and debris on top and around her. It was a miracle that she was still alive, that the collapse of ruins she was by had pinned her leg to the ground beneath two walls that fell to support each other. Her heart beat in absolute terror, loudly and wildly out of her chest, as she waited for the dust to settle and for any possible aftershocks to finally strike her dead.

But time sped up once more once she had freed herself and made it to the general location that the alliance hideout formerly was. One moment she was emerging from her almost-tomb and in the next moment she’s leaning against the remains of a doorway to catch her breath, hardly knowing how many tributes she could take on or how many even survived.

When that dust-covered hand grabbed her ankle she had fallen in slow motion; after the eternity of one long second she was on her back, coughing as the wind was knocked out of her. Then it took several minutes to dig out her last foe—slitting her throat had only taken a second—and longer minutes still for her to bleed out and die.

Then a hovercraft whisks her away from the Arena faster than she could blink. But when it touches down and she disembarks in a stumble, the first person she sees is Cassian.

He looked as beautiful as anyone Jyn had ever known; time slows down in the beat of two seconds but she doesn’t even make it into his arms before she feels a prick and her vision suddenly tunnels out. But she still saw him, and when she sees him still in the strange, continual twilight the sedatives keep her under she’s comforted.

He’s there when she wakes up.

It takes a while for the disorientation to wear off, but when it does she realizes that the warmth in her left hand is his hand holding hers, gently. Her vision’s still blurry but she doesn’t need to wait for it to clear to know that it’s Cassian sitting next to her, just like she knew it was him that night on the roof. Aside from his genuine smile he looks so flawlessly styled—manufactured—as all things were in the Capitol. She had liked the scruff on his jawline and the stubble heading down his throat from when they had boarded the train, but after they arrived Kay had personally made sure Cassian’s facial hair was meticulously groomed. Not a hair where it needn’t be.

She wonders how long it will take to grow back once they’re back in District 5. Back home in District 5…

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“How long have I been out for?”

“Five days. The poison that Career used to paralyze you came from a muttation; they had to detoxify your blood and run a lot of tests to make sure that it was all gone. Now, how are you feeling?”

Jyn tries to answer, but the way Cassian is looking at her makes her feel a little floaty, a little warm; like maybe the sedatives haven’t fully worn off yet. But she does manage to say, “I’m feeling okay. Thank you. Really. For taking care of me in there.”

Cassian’s gaze softens to something less intense, but still profound. He looked at her the same way after their make-out session on the rooftop, so she isn’t surprised when he leans in to kiss her.

He has to prop one arm on the other side of the bed to steady himself as their lips meet. It’s soft, chaste; they meet again, and again, and then he leans in close to her ear.

“Do you remember our first kiss on the train?”

Of course she does. “I do; why?”

“Can you pretend like that for me again? Once we’re out of here?”

It’s said like a flirt, but his words snap Jyn back to full awareness of their situation: she has just won the 70th Hunger Games. She had been resting and unconscious for the past few days but once she’s discharged Kay and the prep team are going to prepare her for the Closing Ceremony. To be paraded in front of the Capitol on Panem’s national broadcast as the newest victor, with her stylist, prep team, escort, and mentor. And then she will be crowned by President Snow.

Her mind flits over all of their conversations. Are they in trouble? They had talked about treasonous things, but that was under the sound of a thousand tinkling wind chimes; she’s sure that Cassian wouldn’t have brought her there for a private talk to be eavesdropped on.

Or by ‘pretend’, does he mean how they faked a passionate moment to deflect suspicion?

That must be it; she can read in his face the plea for her to understand. With him this close to her, she notices there’s a tension to his body that belies the playfulness of his words.

Jyn nods before reaching to pull him closer to her and kiss him again. For now she wants to ease his worry; Cassian will tell her in due time, and then they can face it together. After the last two weeks Jyn is confident they can.

#whumptober2020 #no.30 #wound reveal #rogue one #the hunger games #fic #sacchi writes #cassian andor #jyn erso #rebelcaptain #we finally got here lads #no warnings except if you've been keeping up with this story expect a boatload of dramatic irony angst #word count: 3.6k

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anotherdirtylaferte · 3 years

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- Chapter - 1 -

Zane took a quick right off the main road, his shoes a soft pattering on the cobble-stoned road.

He was caught in the dark, again; the gas lamps along the main thoroughfare didn't reach back this far into the alley.

In the distance, Zane could hear the City Bell Tower donging off the chimes sounding the approach of the Curfew. He knew that once the chimes stopped, he would only have about ten minutes before the first of the fog settled. Zane wasn’t going to make it home before then; he was still at least twenty minutes away from home.

The air had a steely chill to it. It was early October but already he could see his breath as it escaped his mouth. Each new inhale of life was followed by the exhale of a silver ghost. It appeared as if his soul were trying to free itself from his body’s clutch.

Another ice-cold gust picked up. Leaves whirled in little cyclones ahead of him.

Zane tightened the old, leather jacket around his frame as a wave of shivers traversed his entire being. He picked up his step. The light breeze tugged at his hair.

It was bad enough that he was breaking Curfew by being out this late, but there were more pressing matters on his mind. The Sickness had taken his friend, Jonathan, and he had gone to see the young man’s parents. Zane had stayed too long.

He also knew what was waiting for him once he reached home; a lecture on responsibility and maybe even a small beating for his indifference of authority. He didn’t like doing it, but it had to be done… he just had to know what happened to his friend.

The lies about his plans were unavoidable Zane tried to convince himself.

'You know the rules, Zane-Allister!’ his mother would say, ‘the Council has set the Curfew for a reason, and by being out past Light, you are in direct violation of the Council’s Mandate. This is not up for discussion and I don’t want to hear any more of your nonsense. I’m sick and tired of your constant disregard for rules.” Zane would then brace for the usual slap across the head and she would continue, ‘now, if I were you, I would not do anything foolish….. Strange things have been happening.' The lecture was nothing new to him.

Zane's footsteps continued their soft pattering upon the cobblestones, as he rapidly walked deeper into the back alley. The faint echo of each step bounced off of the brick walls on either side of him. The rhythm was eerie and sounded as though there were other people with him. As he walked, small whirlwinds of leaves and debris from the alley continued to form along the ground and then died as they ran into walls and barriers. He was coming to the alley's end when another sound became audible; the unmistakable click of another pair of boots.

He threw a quick glance over his shoulder.

The alley was bare.

Zane turned onto the adjacent street.

The tall, steep roofs of the tightly packed buildings on either side of him cast ominous shadows along the street. The wind was a little stronger out in the open road, so he ducked down and quickly crossed over to another alley on the other side. Zane had just ducked into the shadows of the back street when the clicking of boots could be heard again. They were without a doubt closer now.

Zane's thoughts began racing.

He had heard the stories; of the things that happen to those out after Curfew. He quickened his stride. The sound of footsteps got louder, as though the person or thing to which they belonged had also quickened their or its pace. A wave of dread raced over Zane.

He was being followed...

Zane looked over his shoulder again. The alley was still empty. The heavy feeling of being watched was unmistakable as he rushed from one alley, across a main street, and back into another alley.

He was being stalked...

Again, he quickened his pace, now almost a scampering jog.

The footsteps behind him sped up. Zane came out of the alley, his breathing coming in short gasps. The street lamps were a nice comfort but did little to settle the panic that had come over him.

The footsteps were still coming closer.

He was being hunted...

Zane ducked into the next narrow passage between a bakery and a barber shop. He threw himself behind several barrels of potatoes and tried to hide completely in their shadows. He could smell the earthy scent coming from the barrels around him. The smell took him back to days, as a young boy, on his Uncle’s farm. The night’s air seemed to grow thicker around Zane. He was nowhere near to his physical limit, but he was starting to have trouble breathing. The air was growing thick and stung his lungs with cold. He couldn't stay there, he had to keep moving.

His legs had become numb as Zane tried to get up, to make a dash for it. Pins and needles shot through his legs; they were asleep.

His thoughts were racing frantically. His brother had been right; he shouldn't have come, not alone at least. His vision was getting blurry and Zane's surroundings began to lose their features. Panic swept over him in undulating waves. The night was dark, but now it was getting darker. A cold sweat gathered on his skin as a deeper panic began to set in.

‘Is this Death?’ thought Zane, an odd sensation coming over him.

Suddenly, a deep, furnace-like pain began in Zane's chest. As though a hot iron had been placed near his chest, he felt his skin burn. Zane was so surprised by the sudden onset of internal heat that he let out a muffled scream. Adrenaline surged through his veins and the night instantly got brighter. His vision became much clearer and his hearing grew to levels of intensity he had never experienced before. Each star in the night sky grew exponentially brighter as he looked up in alarm, and the night took on a pre-dusk light. Another scream almost escaped his mouth as all of the night's sounds came rushing in like a deafening roar. Dogs barking off in the distance now sounded to be only yards away. The beat of his own heart was a thunderous thumping in his chest and head. A frosty breeze blew by and Zane could smell the night. The leaves and debris around him had a dry, earthy scent. And on top of that, he could smell his own body odor. So surprised by the sudden heightened senses, he poised himself to jump up and face whatever or whomever was following him. If he was about to go, then so be it.

A chill went up Zane's spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The footsteps were mere yards away. His heart was a drum growing steadily in loudness.

He jumped up and spun around to face the threat and froze in his tracks.

“What the…?” he let out as a whisper.

The narrow alley was completely empty.

Zane thought his mind was playing tricks on him. He released a nervous chuckle. He rebuked himself for how worked up he had gotten. It would be ridiculous for anyone else to be out this late. He shouldn't even be out this late. With the Curfew and other Mandates in effect, everyone was too scared to come out after Light.

His Uncle Charles had told him stories of a dystopian past where the world’s current condition was to be the only outcome; the Council would rise up and the world would be gripped in fear. He had warned Zane of the reign of the Upyr and how it would no longer be just a legend. The night would no longer be safe. 'Fear, my boy; Fear is Death itself.' he would say. 'Never fear the night.' He would get a hazy look in his eyes and his mind would then drift back to his days during The War.

Then, two years ago, he, Uncle Charles that is, had mysteriously disappeared.

Zane's thoughts were interrupted by a movement at the edge of his vision.

A grey mist had begun to form just a few feet in front of him. It was incredibly mesmerizing. The mist had form. It had substance. As though a group of smokers had just exhaled their smoke into the same area, the mist came from the night itself. As Zane gazed into its depths, it struck him queer that the apparition moved not as a mist but with purpose and with intent. Greys, purples, blues, and whites all swirled within the cloud with a beauty and splendor that made Zane unknowingly inch a little closer. The mist grew in density as well as in size as he neared it. A soft, warm, and pulsating vibration began coursing through his body. In the distance, it seemed to Zane that he could hear soft music; it was strangely soothing and familiar. His thoughts seemed hazy, almost as though he had been drinking too much goose-nog.

Zane stumbled over a cobblestone and fell to his knees. The sharp, sudden fall and pain caused him to yell out.

As though a curtain were being snatched from over him, Zane came to his senses.

He had been edging closer and closer towards the mist in a daze. A wave of uncontrollable panic came over him again and Zane leapt up to his feet, ignoring the shooting pain that ensued and he began running. Raising his arms over his face, he moved directly through the mist. Zane could have sworn that, as he passed through the mist, he could hear multiple children crying somewhere. He looked to his right, while in the mist, and was perplexed to see how slowly he was moving through it, almost as though at slow motion. He suddenly got nauseous. He exited the mist and the world around him seemed to resume its normal speed. Thrown off by the sudden change in physics, he almost tripped as he turned the corner, bursting out into the next street.

He began sprinting.

Panting, Zane made his way up the street. Sweating, he turned left onto another. He saw spots in his vision. A sharp pain began in his side. He skirted past a pile of garbage outside of a shop and took a quick right into another dark alley. He kept moving.

The cold night's air turned up the intensity of the situation by burning and searing Zane's lungs. As though a hundred ants were trying to gnaw their way out of his lungs, it became difficult for him to breathe. Zane lost his sense of direction. He froze at an intersection. “Shit!” he cursed himself for not paying attention. He looked around trying to get his bearings. He put down his head and began sprinting along the corridor to his left.

He had only been running a few moments when Zane ran right into someone else!

Both bodies dropped to the ground with muffled THUDS and shouts of alarm.

Trying to get reoriented, Zane looked up at the newcomer.

His older brother, by twelve years, Miguel, was on the ground in front of him and looked to be saying something. Zane could only hear ringing in his ears. A few seconds passed and his hearing returned.

”...man, what is your deal? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” Miguel got to his feet and extended an arm down to Zane. He was a big guy and lean muscle covered most of his body. Zane got to his feet and exchanged a quick handshake with his brother. He grabbed Miguel by the arm and shoulder and hastily led him to the shadows of the nearest shop. Pushing down on him, Zane and his brother went down to a crouch in the shadows.

"How long have you been out here?" Zane asked in a worried, hushed whisper.

“Like two minutes, man. Come on, what's your issue? Zee, the parents know you're gone” he said with a stern look. Zane motioned for him to keep his voice low. He quickly but tentatively glanced around the corner of the building.

“Yeah, I figured as much." Zane said in a hushed voice and let out a nervous chuckle. "How much trouble am I in?” Miguel rolled his eyes at Zane.

"You should be more worried about how much longer you have to live." They both let out hushed laughs. "No, but seriously, they are really upset with you this time. I had to sneak out to come find you, so I'm in trouble now too. And why the heck are you so sweaty? And Holy Trinity, Zane. It is four hours past Curfew." Miguel's face had gone grim. Zane looked around as though making sure there was nobody else around and brought Miguel up to speed with what had just happened including the mist. He then continued,

“I went to see Jonathan’s parents tonight.” Zane dropped his head and lowered his voice so that Miguel had to lean in to hear him clearly. They were both quiet.

“How are they doing?” Miguel asked in the same hushed tone Zane had instigated.

“They think he might have turned.”

"That is not good. Do you think it’s The Sickness?" Miguel rose to his feet.

“His folks aren’t quite sure, but they said the Collectors had come and taken him to The Clinic.”

"I'm sorry to hear about John and I don't know what to make of the whole mist incident, but we really need to get home.” Miguel turned and headed towards the alley’s entrance. He looked back over his shoulder at Zane, “You know nobody ever comes back from The Clinic, right?” His voice drifted off.

“Yea man, I know.” They both got quiet.

Their journey home was hushed and hurried.

#my writing #writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #poetsandwriters #aestehtic #short story #collection #original story

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wherevermyway · 4 years

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step out! do what you want (chapter ten)

pairings: reader/bang chan/han jisung, bang chan/han jisung side pairing: seo changbin/lee minho (referenced) rating: explicit | 18+ warnings (read please!): big fat warning for ambiguous HINTS of suicidal ideation, character deaths, mental instability, post-traumatic stress, profanity, use of firearms, graphic depictions of violence (fist fight, gunfight), blood, lots of smoking this chapter, mentions of sex, mentions of drug use, angst, drug dealer!au/organized crime!au. also, don’t drive this fast on the highway. word count: about 9,300 also on my ao3 here chapter/series navigation

chapter ten: je vois la fin avant le début | i see the end before it starts

recommended tracks: black swan by bts, can’t you see me? by tomorrow x together we go by stray kids, 777 by joji, the end/undead by hollywood undead and zero 9:36, simon says by nct 127, turn back time by wayv, begin by bts, tôt ou tard by eli rose, ew by joji, another day by stray kids. playlist can be found here.

note: I can’t believe this is almost done (thank god). I’m gonna warn you one more time: this story is dark as fuck and, if you thought chapter nine was bad, ten is also bad, and eleven is worse. eleven is going to have really triggering content (very explicitly labelled in several places) in it so please don’t hate me. I’m also turning off taglists for these last two chapters because I’m not comfortable tagging people due to the content.

disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

side note: for the love of minho’s cats, don’t mix party drugs or drugs with alcohol.

It would seem that, even though you’re back in the real world, returning to reality is proving to be difficult. Since returning to Christopher’s apartment, you’ve had a couple of panic attacks that you felt made both Christopher and Jisung questioned their relationship with you. Most of the time, things were fine, but there were moments and entire days where they treated you like you were a fragile piece of pottery with a big, neon warning label slapped on it that said “Danger! Will shatter if mishandled!” in fat, ugly, blocky, black characters.

After screaming and crying at your therapist for an hour and a half, you decided that you wanted to be alone and would take an alternative route home, sneaking out the back door so that Christopher didn’t see you as he waited out front in his car. You peeked through the glass front doors, seeing his car parked there, right on time. It was hard to make out details from so far away, but it looked like he was staring at his phone, mindlessly scrolling along.

Perfect.

You smiled to yourself as you turned away from the front door. The last time you were here, you recognized a service entrance towards the back of the building that appeared to be unlocked. Timidly, you make your way towards it and jiggle the handle. The door popped open with ease, and you walked through, quickly bolting through the alleyway and make your way towards the Mojeon bridge in Cheonggyecheon.

The walk to the bridge wasn’t very long, so you took the long way, weaving in and out of various backroads and alleyways. You loved taking in the environment of small shopping stalls and the scurrying of busy folk. What you had enjoyed the most was the ambient noises of the city life around you. It was night and day in comparison to the past five or so months had been like, trapped in the hospital, then trapped in Christopher’s apartment, leaving only to go to your thrice-weekly therapy appointments.

It made sense why you felt so lonely. Christopher had been keeping himself busy, constantly coming to bed not long before the sun came up. You knew he wasn’t purposefully avoiding you or Jisung, but something about it didn’t sit well with you, likely because it felt like he was just avoiding handling the loss of Changbin, now stuck with all of the stress of dealing with the family.

Jisung had to have been feeling it, too. Neither of them were going out on collection runs or handling deals; they had left it to Seungmin and Jeongin, as well as just sending jobs back to the hyung-nim. Jisung would occasionally spend a few late nights in the studio with Christopher, and he would always come back to bed more frustrated than he was before he went to go assist his superior.

There was one night a few weeks ago where you went to lay down early, settling into a book that you weren’t really committed to reading, but what the fuck else did you have to do, cramped up in this apartment? All three of you were tense from being cooped up inside, save for your therapy appointments. Jisung and Christopher were arguing about something, their voices travelling through the open studio door, bouncing around the open living room and kitchen, finally making its way in through the bedroom door.

It was impossible to completely make out what they were arguing about, but you really didn’t care at this point. Everything was all about hierarchy and other bureaucratic nonsense that had been completely upended with Changbin’s death. Jisung came angrily padding into the bedroom, a scowl on his face as he grumbled and flopped down on to the bed face-first. He let out a long, drawn out, frustrated groan into the blanket.

“You gonna be okay, Sungie?” You put your book on the nightstand, adjusting your position so that you’re able to run a calming hand through the younger man’s hair. “Sounded like you two were disagreeing about something again.”

Jisung huffs, then rolls over onto his back. “I'm never gonna be cut out to be a leader, am I?” He turns his head slightly to look up at you. “Chan-hyung has a hard enough time, and I never wanted to do this, but now I don’t have a choice.”

You roll your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp, and smile at him. “You would be a good leader if you wanted be, but I think this entire situation has been stressful on everyone.”

A scoff leaves Jisung’s lips as he turns to face you full-on. “You’re starting to sound like a therapist.”

“Go figure,” you sarcastically grumble as you roll your eyes.

“You’d be good at it,” Christopher’s voice travels through the doorway, startling both you and Jisung. He walks into the room and worms his way around both of you on the bed. “I’m sorry,” he sighs out, “I’ve been so stressed this week with all of the exchanges of power and sheer amount of work that needs to be done. Jisung,” he sits up on his heels, draping his face over his junior. “I’m sorry if I made it seem like I was mad at you. There’s no excuse for that kind of behaviour and I’m sorry.”

Jisung softly smiles, grabbing Christopher’s face with both of his hands. “You can be a real jerk sometimes,” he croons softly, “but I know you don’t mean it, that you’re not taking it out on me, y’know? It’s been a long, chaotic few months. We’ve all had our moments of panic, and you’re unfairly shouldered with handling the family almost completely by yourself. “

Christopher sighs, turning his head to look at you before he grabs you by the waist and pulls you into an embrace, both of you unceremoniously flopping onto your sides. “How about I ignore all of the stuff with the family tomorrow,” he says, pulling you up against him tightly with one arm, reaching out to Jisung with the other. “We can have a day with just the three of us. Get some bad takeout, watch horrible movies, just kind of have a lazy day around the house?”

“I like that idea,” Jisung excitedly nods, then turns to look at you. “What do you think, bunny?”

You were happy with the idea, but you couldn’t find yourself to share the same level of enthusiasm that Jisung did, like you would in the Before Time, as your therapist coined it. Before, you would have jumped at the thought, with both you and Jisung likely driving Christopher somewhat mad. But now, things were just muted and toned down. Mellowed down, like food you would eat when you had the stomach flu. Everything now just emotionally felt like lukewarm, runny juk, when you were used to explosions of flavour and texture on your emotional palette.

“You okay, baby?” Christopher sits up, turning to look down at you. The expressions on his face and Jisung’s face fall flat with concern and nervousness. “Are you going to that headspace again?”

Suddenly, you come back to your senses. You couldn’t have them worry about you, after all. There was already enough, much more important stuff for them to worry about. Honestly, you were just some woman who got strung along for a wild ride, and now had to deal with something a bit more difficult than a modelling shoot being cancelled. You could handle this.

“I’m fine,” you say with a fake smile plastered on your face. That was one good thing that came naturally to you because of modelling: faking emotions well enough, for a short period of time, faking it so well that anyone would believe you. “I just got distracted with thinking about what we could do.”

Jisung flushes, clearly misinterpreting your intention. “Oh yeah,” he breathes out, “it’s been a while since the three of us…” his voice trails off as he alternates looking at you and Christopher, the blush on his face deepening as he awkwardly shifts around.

The blond-haired man rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Yeah, but,” he sighs, “that’s okay. It’ll happen naturally when we’re ready for it to happen, right?”

Luckily for you that night, the three of you were able to share an intimate moment together for the first time in literal months. It was fine and was fun, albeit muted like everything else lately, nowhere near how chaotic it was at the beginning of your relationship. At least you could get them off of your back for a little while longer.

As you reached the touristy area of Cheonggyecheon (when did you get here?), your phone buzzed twice in your pocket and pulled you from your hazy daydream. Nervously, you pull the phone out of your pocket, giving it a quick glance. Nearly all of the texts on your phone are from Christopher, unsurprisingly. There was nobody else, only Christopher and Jisung. Those were the only people you had now; everyone else either abandoned you, hated you, were outside of Korea, or had died.

16:47 | Running late? Figured you’d be done by now. 16:58 | Where are you? it's been a half hour 17:05 | seriously baby where are you?

His texts start to seem more panicked, his texting habits clearly more frantic.

It’s been over an hour since your appointment ended, and your phone won’t stop buzzing. You jam it back into your hoodie’s pocket and continue to ignore the barrage of calls from Christopher. He clearly got a hold of Jisung, because you’ve also started receiving texts and phone calls from him. A smirk creeps up on your face as you reach the Mojeon bridge. You quietly pace up to the middle of the bridge and poke your head over the railing.

It happens without even thinking. Almost mechanically, you take your phone out of your pocket and drop it down into the stream below you. It was almost ironic, honestly, that this was right above the spot where you got shot during Changbin’s funeral. It was a good area for your phone to die alongside where your sanity did.

You can’t help but cackle at yourself, earning some choice stares from passersby. There was no rhyme or reason to why you were doing this, but it felt good. The rushing water beneath the bridge was oddly calming as you stared at it over the railing. There was always something about the water that helped you feel grounded and calm. With all of this chaos around you, you needed something to stay constant.

As crazy as it sounded, the thought of jumping into the stream and letting it carry you out to the Han river did pass through your brain, but you managed to talk yourself out of it. “No,” you say aloud to yourself, “I couldn’t do that.”

The screeching of tires from the street adjacent to the walkway pulls you out of your thoughts. You turn your head towards the noise and see Christopher jump out of his car, haphazardly parked halfway on the sidewalk. He runs to you, yelling your name a couple of times, a horror-stricken expression on his face.

Your heart is about to explode out of your chest as you see him running at you. Part of your brain is telling you to run, but it would appear that your muscles have forgotten how to operate themselves.

Christopher slams into you, causing you to take a couple of steps back as you narrowly avoid being knocked down on to the concrete. His arms wrap around you so tightly, you’re afraid he’s going to pop your lungs. “Oh my god,” he cries out, “oh my god, where the hell have you been?” He puts a hand on the back of your head, gripping your hair, lifting his head to kiss yours with several small pecks, and you can feel his body twitch as he starts to cry.

“A walk,” you manage to quietly squeak out, “I wanted to go for a walk.”

Christopher pulls back, releasing you from his embrace and taking a step backwards. “A walk?” His bloodshot, glossy eyes open wide, his face red as tears streak down his face, and he shakes his head. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I would have -“

“I’m smothered,” you flatly say, not really able to allow yourself to process any emotions. “You and Jisung both have both been treating me like I’m just going to fall apart if you even look at me.” Christopher stares at you in disbelief as the pedestrians around you pointedly avoid getting close.

“Lover’s quarrel?” A hushed whisper travels on the wind.

“Youth always out here with their petty drama,” another whisper follows.

You and Christopher stand there, staring at each other for a while. He eventually runs his hands through his hair, turning to look down the stream as he wipes the tears off of his face. “A walk,” he whispers, repeating back to himself. “Smothered.” He sighs heavily and turns back to you, his brows furrowed in frustration.

“I thought you had been kidnapped, or that you ended up dead somewhere. Do you not understand that there are people out there that want us to suffer or, god forbid, kill us? You were shot right here the last time we were here, for fuck’s sake.” The tears continue to fall down his face as he puts his hands on his hips. “I don’t want you to feel like this anymore. I don’t know how to help you with that, but,” he pauses, dropping his hands from his hips as he takes a step closer to you, “if I could take away all of your pain, I would do it in an instant, even if I had to take it all on myself.” He pulls you into his chest by your hips and wraps his arms around your waist, a bit more gently this time.

“I can’t do this without you. You, me, Jisung: we’ve all gone through so much shit in the past six months and we need each other.” His phone starts ringing, but both of you deliberately ignore it. “Once we’ve dealt with Minho and Hyunjin, Jisung and I are gonna leave the family. I’ve got some connections in Australia that would make it easy for us to move there. Nobody would know us. We can get out of all of this and leave this behind. How does that sound?”

A hint of a smile creeps up on the corner of your face. “It's a good idea, Christopher, but,” you say, staring at a confused police officer standing over Christopher’s car, “you’re about to get a ticket and you might wanna deal with that first.”

“What?” Christopher gasps, pulling away from your embrace as he grabs your wrist and turns to look at the scene unfolding. “Oh, goddammit,” he whines, pulling you along as he walks towards his car. “C’mon, let’s deal with this and go home.”

The encounter with the police officer is uneventful. Christopher uses his charming charisma to talk his way out of it, even name-dropping some high-level official that he knows. Once the two of you are back in the car, he makes his way to an open parking spot and parks, pulling out his phone. He taps the screen a couple of times, and Jisung’s voice comes through the speakers of the car.

“Did you find her?” Jisung panics over the speaker, sounding as if he was nearly crying. “She isn’t answering my calls or my texts and I’m worried and I haven’t seen anything out here and I -“

“Sungie,” Christopher says, calmly, interrupting Jisung’s panicked word-vomiting, “I’ve got her, it’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry, Sungie,” you say, not really sure if he can even hear you.

“Oh my god, bunny,” he exhales, “are you okay?”

You open your mouth to say something, but Christopher interjects. “She’ll be alright. Go back home, and we can talk about it when we get back. We’ve got some things we all need to discuss.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jisung says with a deep sigh. “I love you, both of you.”

“We love you too,” Christopher smiles as he says it. He presses a button on the steering wheel, hanging up the call, then turns to you. He embraces your hand with one hand and grabs your chin with the other. “Do I need to take you back to the hospital?”

You shake your head.

“Okay, but if that changes,” he pulls you closer to him, and he rests his forehead against yours, “I need you to tell me. I can’t lose you, too. Promise me that you’ll tell me.”

“I promise,” you speak with feigned confidence. Liar.

“Good,” he tilts your head up with his hand, then gently kisses you on the lips. A repetitive chime comes from the centre console of the car, startling both of you, and Christopher rolls his eyes, letting go of your jaw and reaching out to press another button on his steering wheel. “Jisung, I swear, we’re -“

“Hyung,” Felix’s voice comes through the car’s speakers, cutting Christopher off. “Minho-hyung knows where we are. I don’t know if he’s coming here, but he knows where we are and I know he’s found out about Hyunjin and he is beyond furious.”

“Shit.” Christopher’s expression instantaneously sours and his brows furrow. “Did you call the hyung-nim?”

“Yes, hyung. He’s the one that told me. Can’t spare any extra bodies to protect us, though.”

“Alright,” Christopher tightly grabs his face and runs his thumb against his jawline. “You’ve got enough gear there? I’ll pick up Jisung and bring Seungmin and Jeongin with. We’ll be there in a little over three hours.” He lets go of your hand to grasp the gear shift, shifting out of park and into drive, merging his way into traffic.

“I do.”

“Understood. Call me if he shows up before we get there. I know there’s another group connected to the family that’s somewhere in Daegu that can probably help you out, but it’ll be the nuclear option and I don’t want to do it unless we absolutely have to.” Christopher deeply sighs, looking into the rear view mirror for a moment before focusing back on the road. “Hyung-nim’s already mad enough at us as is, but I’m not losing another brother today.”

“Will do,” Felix says with confidence, then cuts the line.

Christopher has a serious look on his face as he focuses on the traffic. He pushes yet another button on the steering wheel and tells the AI of his car to call Jisung. The trilling of the connecting line fills the car and everything feels tense.

“Hey, baby, what’s up?” Jisung’s voice comes through the speakers.

“We’ve got a problem with Felix and Hyunjin,” Christopher says calmly, but clearly concerned. “Minho knows they’re in Daegu and I’m assuming he’s on the way there.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah,” Christopher grits his teeth and exhales with force. “I’m on the way to pick you up. Call Seungmin or Jeongin. Have them both meet us at the apartment, alright?”

“You got it.”

“I don’t want her to come with, but,” you hear Jisung whispering to Christopher in the studio as Jeongin and Seungmin grab a few things from the studio and bring them out to the kitchen counter.

“She ran off, Jisung,” Christopher quietly bites back, “I can’t spare any of us to stay out of this just to watch her. You know that Minho is -“

Jeongin interrupts your eavesdropping as he sits down next to you on the couch. “It’s a nice view, isn’t it?” Part of you is upset that you’re socially obligated to socialize now instead of eavesdropping, but at the same time, you didn’t want to know how much you were inconveniencing Jisung and Christopher.

“Yeah,” you honestly agree, turning your head to look out the window. “I’m not sure how Christopher managed to get a property out here, but it’s impressive.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve chatted with each other.” Jeongin turns to look at you, a slight frown tugging at his lips. “Hyung had mentioned you were having a hard time coming to terms with everything. I know we don’t really know each other well, but you can always reach out to either me or Seungmin if you need to talk to someone different for once.”

“It’s true,” Seungmin perks up from the kitchen, walking into the living room and popping a couple of grapes into his mouth before he sits on the chair opposite from you. “We’re more fun than them, anyways.”

You smile at their words, continuing to stare out at the skyline. How was it that they had gone through all of this and came out seemingly alright? Why was it just you that had difficulties coping with everything? Why did you have problems with every little thing lately, but everyone else was doing so much better than you?

Christopher and Jisung come out of the studio, both of them visibly frustrated, but Jisung at least tried to hide it as he walked into the living room. Christopher grumbles something under his breath, darting off through the kitchen and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

“Hey,” Jisung awkwardly says as the door slams, closing his eyes tightly and sighing. “Are you all ready to go? We’re running a bit behind, so Chan-hyung is a little frustrated.” You knew that was a lie, that Jisung was just trying to keep the peace.

Seungmin lifts his eyebrows and cocks his head towards Jisung. He smirks, almost like he wants to make some sort of comment, but he shakes his head. “Yeah, I think we’re fine.” He turns to look at both you and Jeongin, then looks back to Jisung. “Hyung gonna be alright, or…?”

Jisung rolls his eyes, waving his hand dismissively in the air. “Yeah, you know how he gets. He’s just,” his eyes subconsciously dart to you, then to the floor as he stumbles over his words, “he’s got a lot to deal with right now. You know?”

Jeongin turns to look at you, gently placing his hand on your knee. “Are you ready?” You take a second to catch your breath, then timidly nod your head and he stands up. “Alright. I think we can get out of here.”

A loud clattering comes from Christopher’s room. The four of you exchange panicked glances with each other, and Jisung takes a step toward the bedroom, stopping as the door flies open. Christopher steps out of the room, now wearing a button up shirt and a thin tie, both in black. You notice he has black gloves on as he adjusts his necktie. There’s also an unlit cigarette in between his teeth, which you knew was a bad sign. He doesn’t bother looking at anyone before he grabs his car keys off of the island in the kitchen and making his way to the front door, slipping on a pair of black loafers. “Grab the shit and let’s go.”

Christopher chain-smokes for nearly the entire way to Daegu. He specifically asked you to sit in the passenger seat next to him, and you believe it’s so he could anxiously hold your hand. For the first forty or so minutes, until you get past Icheon-si, the air is so tense, nobody says anything. The bright LED of the dashboard reflects on Christopher’s face, illuminating the panic he’s trying to suppress as he takes another drag off of his third cigarette.

152km/h. That’s what you see when you turn to look at the big, bold digital letters reflected on the console. It felt much faster than you anticipated, and now you knew why, since the speed limit was 100. “You’re speeding,” you quietly say without thinking.

“Felix needs us,” Christopher says, his voice terse. “I don’t give a fuck about the speed limit. Nobody’s on the road right now.”

“Chan-hyung,” Jisung perks up from the back seat, pulling himself up with your seat to be in between you and Christopher, “you should probably slow down a little, at least. 150 is really fast.”

“Not happening.”

“Hyung,” Seungmin chimes in, “I don’t mean to overstep, but Jisung is right. We’re going to be no help if we -“

“Would all of you shut up?” Christopher shouts, letting go of your hand, flicking the end of his cigarette out of his window as he grabs another one from the open pack and the lighter in the cupholder. The speedometer slowly ticks up to 160 km/h, and the numbers change from blueish-white to yellow. “Nobody else is dying today, not if I can help it. We’ve lost too many people already. One person was enough. Changbin was enough.”

He lifts the cigarette to his mouth and his hands tremble as he flicks the black lighter a couple of times before the flame comes to life. The cigarette smoke always smelled terrible at first, until you got used to it about a minute in, but it wasn’t something you were overly fond of. Maybe once all of this was over, you could convince Christopher to stop smoking for good.

His left hand takes the cigarette from his mouth and he leans his elbow against the door, nervously rubbing his fingertips against his forehead. “Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. There’s another awkward silence as you feel Jisung let go of your seat, relaxing back into his spot. Jeongin whispers something that you can’t quite make out, and Christopher holds down a button on his steering wheel. “Call Lee Felix,” he says as the AI chirps at him.

“Calling, please wait.” the AI responds.

175 km/h. The numbers are now orange.

Christopher grips the steering wheel harder and harder the longer it takes for the call to go through. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grumbles under his breath, eyes nervously darting between the centre console display and the road. “Fucking pick up, Felix.”

180 km/h.

“Yes, hyung?” Felix’s voice fills the car and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thank god, you picked up,” Christopher loosens his grip on the steering wheel just a bit, bringing the cigarette to his mouth and taking a drag from it. “Any word yet?”

“Not yet, hyung.”

“Good,” he exhales, and a cloud of smoke leaves his lips and is violently pulled out of the car through the window. “We’re on the way there, just drove past Icheon-si.”

“Icheon-si? Hyung, that’s…” Felix starts to say with a hint of concern in his voice.

“Don’t worry, I’ve been going a bit over the speed limit,” Christopher scoffs, “as it was kindly brought to my attention. Should be in Daegu in about two hours at this pace. Call me immediately if anything changes, understood?”

“Yes, hyung, but -“

“If you’re about to scold me, I highly advise against it.”

190 km/h.

There’s a momentary pause over the line. “Understood, hyung. My apologies for stepping out of line.” Felix’s voice sounds slightly dejected, but it’s barely noticeable.

“See you soon.” Christopher curtly ends the phone call by pressing the button on the steering wheel again.

200 km/h.

The display is bright red and there is a soft ding that brings Christopher’s attention to the dashboard. “Fucking shit,” he says, and the car slows back down as he moves his foot off the gas pedal. “I’ve never gone that fast before. Holy shit.”

You look at him, reaching a hand over to his hair, brushing it back behind his ear. It had gotten shaggier and curlier over the past few months, his dark roots starting to show more and more obviously as time went on, but it didn’t bother you. In fact, part of you was curious to see what his natural hair colour looked like.

“It’s going to be alright,” you softly whisper, rubbing your thumb against Christopher’s temple. He grabs your hand with his right hand and smiles.

“Thanks, baby,” he doesn’t look at you, but you know he genuinely appreciates the little ways you remind him that you care. He pulls your hand down from his face and gives it a quick kiss before he returns it to your lap, only letting go so he can hold the steering wheel when he ashes his cigarette.

145 km/h. That was tolerable.

It takes maybe an hour and a half to reach the safehouse in Daegu. The building is old, like it had been abandoned a while ago. Siding had started to peel off of the side of the building, making it look dilapidated.

“I recognize that vehicle,” Seungmin says with concern as Christopher parks the car.

“I do, too,” Jisung chimes in, and reaches for his phone. “Nothing. Have you heard from Felix?”

Christopher pulls out his phone, glancing at the screen as he turns the car off. “Shit,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening his door. “Minho just got here. Let’s go.” The five of you get out of the car, Christopher and Jisung out in front of you, hands on their pistols as Seungmin and Jeongin are on either side of you.

“Stay behind us,” Jeongin whispers as you go up the stairs of the building. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but Minho gets violent very quickly. He’s unpredictable; not to mention, he’s got to be exceptionally angry, given the severity of the situation. Both he and Hyunjin are good shots, so try to stay out of the way.”

You approach the top of the stairs, the sounds of shouting coming through the slightly ajar front door. Christopher throws his hand behind him, and everyone stops moving. He cranes his head around the doorframe, then walks in.

“Minho,” he says, as Jisung follows him inside. “You need to step back.” Seungmin and Jeongin follow their superiors inside, and you can’t help but poke your head into the doorway.

“Oh, of course,” Minho turns around at the sound of Christopher’s voice, laughing sarcastically. “Channie has to show up and save the day. What a hero, right? Or is it that maybe you wanted to have a little revenge on Hyunjin for taking away our Changbin?”

The way that Minho spoke made your stomach turn. Something about it made you feel like you were watching a dark psychological thriller film, like you needed to take a shower.

“We decide together,” Christopher calmly says. “Trust me, I understand how angry you are at him, I really do.” Minho takes a couple of steps towards Christopher and his eyes widen, almost like he’s ready to throw a punch at his superior. The three men around Christopher take their pistols and aim them directly at Minho as Christopher tucks his pistol back into its holster and lifts his hands up. “Changbin was my best friend. I’ve known him for almost half my life at this point. Trust me, I get it.”

Christopher turns his head, looking at Hyunjin, who wavers a bit where he stands. “I’d want to make him suffer, too,” he turns back to Minho, “but you know that Changbin wouldn’t want that.”

Minho scoffs, closing his eyes and shaking his head, tilting it down. “Yeah, I know. Changbin was always the level-headed one out of all of us when it came to the family.” He lifts his head back up and a dark expression covers his face. “Changbin isn’t here anymore, though. So, if you and the boys don’t mind,” he turns his head back towards Hyunjin, “I’m gonna get revenge with my fists.” He lifts one of his hands in the air, “Don’t shoot me, though, I’m just gonna beat some sense into him, mano a mano.”

Christopher sighs, turning his head a bit back towards the men behind him, waving his hand dismissively to indicate that the guys should holster their pistols. “Let him,” he simply says, then moves to adjust his necktie. “If it gets bad, we’ll step in.” A part of you didn’t believe that Christopher was being sincere. With how much he cared about Changbin, it was likely he wanted to see Hyunjin suffer, but didn’t want to be the one to deal with it.

“No the fuck you won’t,” Minho snaps as he walks towards Hyunjin. “Pretty boy is mine to deal with.” He grabs the collar of the younger man and shoves him up against the wall. Felix takes a couple of steps around the men, walking over to Christopher and whispering something unintelligible from this far away.

“You know this is your fault,” Hyunjin says with a cocky look on his face. “If you never fell for Changbin after Shanghai, you know we’d be at the top now.”

Minho takes one of his fists and brings it to Hyunjin’s cheek, it slamming against his cheekbone with a thump. “If you hadn’t gotten so goddamn cocky,” he grips the collar of Hyunjin’s shirt again, shoving him into the wall a little firmer, “we wouldn’t have fucked up that deal. The Triads were fucking pissed at you and that’s on you. I wouldn’t have gotten shot if it wasn’t for your shitty fucking bravado.”

Hyunjin scoffs, drawing his head back a bit and colliding it with Minho’s with a heavy thud. Minho lets go of Hyunjin’s collar and grabs his head, moaning out in pain. “Fucking hell,” he grumbles with a slight slur.

“You were such a coward. Still are,” Hyunjin says, grabbing his forehead as he knees Minho in the stomach. “Temporarily left the fucking family because your precious Binnie was so worried about you. You really thought you were just gonna leave, go somewhere and start a happy family?” He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “As if. No one makes it out of here sane or alive.”

Minho growls as he reorients himself upright. He draws his arm back and literally leaps at Hyunjin, his fist colliding against his face again. This time, however, they land on the floor and throw fists back and forth until their faces and knuckles are bloodied. “If you never got involved with that fucking Triad girl,” Minho spits blood down onto Hyunjin’s face in anger, “we would never be here. Changbin would still be alive, the two of us would be out, then you could have had it all. But you went and flew too close to the goddamn sun, you fucking traitor.” Minho pushes himself to his feet and reaches for his pistol.

A chill runs through the air as Hyunjin calmly stands up, drawing his pistol in response. “It’s not my fault,” he says coolly, then turns to glare at you. “If it wasn’t for her,” he nods in your direction, then turns back to Minho, “Changbin wouldn’t have died. All I wanted to do was to give him a little warning shot so Minji and I could get out of there. But, you know your precious Changbin. Always had to be the brave, strong hero.” He squints his eyes and cockily smirks. “You loved that about him and you know that.”

Christopher tenses, sensing the shift in tone, and he grabs his pistol, motioning for you to get back, but it’s clearly too late to intervene.

It happens in an instant, time slowing down like the time that Christopher got shot in front of you. You see Minho’s arms raise up, aiming his pistol at Hyunjin, who responds in kind by aiming his pistol at Minho. However, he’s a bit too slow.

Minho fires his gun once, square into Hyunjin’s shoulder. The younger man shrieks and recoils, but manages to fire a shot into Minho’s stomach before he collides into the ground. The older man falls forward, crashing into the floor like a rag doll. Blood flies everywhere, painting the room and the men in splatters of deep crimson.

Hyunjin weakly coughs a couple of times. “Idiot,” he groggily whispers before his head rolls away from you.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Minho coughs out, thick blood coming up from his throat. Felix immediately moves towards Minho, but the older man shakes his head once. “Let me fucking die.” The younger man stops in his tracks, nods, then moves to Hyunjin. He pores over the long-haired man, reaching up to his throat, letting out a deep sigh, shaking his head.

Minho lazily rolls onto his back, staring up to the ceiling. “I know you never would have wanted me to get revenge,” he scoffs, more blood coming up and spilling down his cheek, “but you knew me better than that. You were always the, ah,” he coughs a couple of times, “always the wiser one out of the two of us. I might have been older, but you were smarter.” He closes his eyes and lets out a shaky sigh. “I love you so much. You made me so much better. Sorry, baby. Hope you’re there on the other side. Heh. Hope there’s an other…”

A creaky groan comes from Minho, and that’s the last noise he makes. The room falls silent and nobody moves for a while. A few tears fall down your face. Minho may have been flighty and impossible to understand sometimes, but he showed you nothing but compassion and kindness when he first met you.

“Hi, I’m Lee Minho,” the memory of his introduction replays in your head. “Changbin’s probably talked about me by now.” You remember the way he softly smiled as he offered a slight bow to you. The way he looked at Changbin while he was half-drunk and high off of ecstasy, the way he whined at Changbin and pulled him into an embrace when he was half-asleep the next day. “Cuddle me and make it better.” There was no way he was truly a bad person, not by all of his interactions with you. He just loved Changbin and didn’t know how to appropriately act about it at times.

Your knees painfully collided into the ground and you just started sobbing. Sure, Minho had moments where he was absolutely insane, but the memories you had with him physically hurt as they passed through your head.

Daegu. You were in Daegu. You probably weren’t far away from where he and Changbin were for the Colourful Daegu Festival a long time ago. How happy they must have been when they were tripping on acid and listening to music. God, how much they must have loved each other. All of the happy memories they had, only to end in pain and misery and literal fucking death.

“Don’t let Channie intimidate you,” you remember him telling you the day that Christopher came home from the hospital, not long before Changbin brought him home. You were both on the couch, aimlessly talking about life as Jisung took a nap in the bedroom.

“What do you mean?” You had asked, turning to look at Minho.

“He’s a little intense sometimes,” he continued, folding his hands together and bringing them to the back of his head. “but he cares. Once he gets close to someone, he gets protective and it’s endearing. It’s usually just a bit intense at the beginning. I mean, you saw how he got when he found out you and Sungie had been together, but he cares. and just doesn’t know how to show it sometimes.”

You cocked your head to the side and mumbled in agreement.

“I remember when he found out that Changbin and I were dating. Wow,” Minho sighed as he rolled his head up to look at the ceiling. “Man, was he pissed. He yelled and yelled and totally reamed me. ‘First, you get shot for him,’ he said to me, ‘now you’re in love with him? With my best friend?’” Minho smiled at the memory. “That’s how I knew he really cared about Binnie. He wasn’t mad at me, he was just protective of his best friend.”

“Huh,” you mumbled out, then leaned back up against the couch, staring up at the ceiling with Minho.

“He gave me his blessing eventually,” Minho continued, “but he told me that if I ever broke Binnie’s heart, he’d break my kneecaps in two and make sure nobody found me at the bottom of the ocean.”

Your eyes widened and you turned to look at Minho in terror.

Minho tilted his head towards you and smiled. “Real charmer, ain’t he? Very endearing type. He falls fast. Probably loves you already, just doesn’t know how to say it. Be ready for it to come completely out of the blue.”

You run your hands through your hair, rocking back and forth as you sob so hard that your throat started to ache. Someone takes a few steps towards you, then bends down, pulling you into their arms. “It’s okay,” Jisung’s voice whispers in your ear, “it’s gonna be okay, bunny, I promise.”

Liar. Everyone was a fucking liar.

“I’ll take care of this,” Felix quietly says to Christopher as you and Jisung sit on the middle of the staircase. “Don’t worry about it, hyung.”

“You sure?” Christopher flatly questions, his voice devoid of emotion. “I can call the hyung-nim and -“

“Hyung,” Felix presses. “Do you know how many bodies I’ve dealt with over the years? All the time in nursing school? It’s fine. It’s just another part of the job. Besides, the hyung-nim is still pretty miffed at us. Can’t imagine how happy he’s gonna be to hear that two more of us are gone.”

Christopher sighs, and you hear them slap each other on the back. “Thanks, Felix.”

“Not by blood,” Felix starts.

“By the code.” Christopher finishes their pact with a deep sigh. “I want you to come back up to Seoul when you’re, ah,” his breath hitches as he speaks, “when you’re done. Alright?”

“Understood, hyung.” Felix says. “You’re buying the drinks, though.”

Christopher lets out a strained chuckle as he comes down the stairs. “Yeah, yeah.” He slowly approaches you, sitting down on the stairs behind you and Jisung. “I’m sorry you both had to see this. I’m sorry this went so badly so fast.”

“Chan,” Jisung turns his head over his shoulder, looking up to Christopher. “Are you going to be alright driving back to Seoul tonight? There’s the other safehouse, or I can drive down to Busan; it’s only an hour or so from here.”

“No,” Christopher says, probably shaking his head like he did when he pretended he wasn’t bothered by something. “I don’t mind. Just gotta stop somewhere, get an energy drink and another pack of cigarettes and we’ll be fine.”

You lift your head up from your hands, staring off into the horizon as the sun starts to come up. It felt like you had been here for an eternity. A burning, gnawing sensation burned in your stomach as you mentally pictured Minho laying on the floor, blood spilling down his face. A cold sweat broke out over your skin and your body started to tingle everywhere.

Oh, shit.

You were going to be sick. You bolt up to your feet, running down the last couple stairs and prop yourself up against the railing as you spill the contents of your stomach on the pavement, painting the ground in a disgusting shade of green.

“Ah, baby,” Christopher whines, coming up behind you as he rubs his hand on your back, pulling your hair back in a loose fist with his other hand. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

Liar. Everyone was fucking lying again.

Footsteps trail up the staircase, disappearing into the building as you hear Jisung say something to Felix. Your stomach retches again and searing acid comes up and splatters onto the ground, causing you to cough in a panic as it felt like your throat was closing. The cycle repeats itself a couple of times, and by the time you’re almost sure you’re done being sick, Jisung is on the other side of you, rubbing your lower back and handing you a cold bottle of water.

“It’s okay,” he lies, because everyone’s lying. Nothing was going to be fine. Nothing would ever be fine ever again. “When you can, take a drink of this. We can take as much time as you need.”

You snatch the bottle out of his hand with disgust, standing upright and breaking the seal of the bottle, taking a swig of its contents. The pH of stomach acid fluctuated between 1.5 and 3.5, you randomly remember from your university days. Water was neutral at 7. The way the water burned going down your throat made it feel like it was at a pH of 1.

Everything felt like battery acid. The way the stomach acid burned as it came up, the way the water felt as it went down, the way that everyone was lying to you, the way that life seemed to absolutely abhor your guts - literally and metaphorically. Even though you knew that Christopher and Jisung were doing their best at just trying to console you, their hands felt like battery acid burning into your back.

You sighed as you tilted your head up to look at the sky. The sun was coming up, but there was still a deep shade of violet far off in the distance, white spots spattered against the technicolour backdrop. A single red spot in the distance caught your eye. Huh. Wasn’t that supposed to be Mars if you saw a red star?

A red star. A red spot.

Wait a second.

Oh shit.

“Don’t we need to go to a convenience store?” You say, turning to Christopher, trying to sound as calm as possible as you do some mental calculations.

“Yeah, how come?” He responds, tilting his head in confusion.

“I’ll grab the stuff for you. I wanna grab a snack and some things to drink for the ride home.” You lie, a fake smile plastered on your face. “It’ll let you and the guys talk about family stuff for a minute without me, you know? Not like I can run away if you’re right in front of the store, right?”

Christopher’s face falls into a frown and he shakes his head. “I guess that’s fine. Jisung’s going with you, though.”

Shit.

“Chan,” Jisung says with a scoff, “I’ll just wait outside. She’ll be fine.”

Christopher glares at Jisung, then turns away, rolling his hands in the air. “Fine, fine,” he sighs, walking towards the car, “if she runs, you’re going after her.”

Jeongin gets off from the trunk of the car, shoving Seungmin’s shoulder and startling the poor man. Must’ve been nodding off. “C’mon, Seungmin,” he quietly says, “looks like we’re getting ready to go.”

“Is something wrong?” Jisung says as he steps in front of you, calculatedly avoiding your artistic addiction to the pavement. “Something doesn’t seem right.”

“It’s just a lot to process,” it’s a half-truth, really, “figured you guys could use a minute to yourselves and I could use a minute to myself.

“You’re not gonna run, are you?” Jisung sounds concerned as he tilts your chin up to look you in the eyes.

“I’m not, I promise.” For once today, you were telling the entire truth.

Jisung doesn’t really pay attention to you as you wander around inside the convenience store. You grab a couple of snack foods off the shelf, not really thinking or caring about what you grabbed, too busy focusing on the real reason you were there. You walk around the store until you reach the more household-like items. Nervously, you roll your eyes up, checking to see if Jisung was still staring off into space.

Luckily, he still wasn’t paying attention. You eye a box, snatching it off of the shelf, then spin on your heel and grab a few drinks from the cooler behind you. As you walk up to the counter, you ask the clerk for whatever stupid brand of cigarettes that Christopher smoked, trying to hide the box from Jisung’s line of vision.

The clerk eyes you with judgement and shakes her head. She rings up all of the items, saving the box for last, but you grab it from her before she can place it in the bag and you shove it in the pocket of your hoodie. She cocks her head in confusion, then decides it must be too early to really question anything. “₩21,050.” You pull out a few bills from your pocket and slip them to her. She hands you some change then asks, “need the washroom?”

You turn to look at Jisung, who’s staring at you now. “Y-yeah,” you stutter out, “lemme just give this stuff to my boyfriend real quick.”

“First door in the back, to your left. Good luck.” The clerk scoffs, then goes back to her coffee.

You take a couple steps to the door, opening it and passing the bag off to Jisung. “Gonna use the washroom, be back in a second.” He opens his mouth to say something, but follows you into the store.

“I trust you,” he lies, otherwise he wouldn’t be following you, “but you know that Chan would kill me if I didn’t follow you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you tuck one of your hands into your front pocket and open the door. “I get it, just give me a minute.” You slip through the door as Jisung stares at you in confusion.

06:32. You make a mental note of the digital display as you get back into the car and slide your seatbelt on.

“You look a little pale, baby,” Christopher says as he rubs his finger on your face. “I know today has been a lot, but are you alright? You sure you wanna go back to Seoul today?”

“I’m fine,” you lie, swallowing down some of your panic. Subconsciously, your eyes dart to the clock again. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day. Long month. Long year.”

Jisung sighs from the back seat. “You can say that again.”

Christopher leans in to kiss your cheek, then unwraps the plastic from the pack of cigarettes in his hand. He pulls one out of the package, lifting it to his lips as he rolls down the window. “Everyone ready?”

Nobody really says anything, so Christopher shrugs his shoulders, lighting his cigarette before shifting the car into drive and making his way through the streets of Daegu. He takes in a long drag from his cigarette and lets out a sigh.

06:34.

“What a fucking year,” he says, not really expecting anyone to respond. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do if something else happens to us. I just wanna get out of the family, you know?”

Jeongin chimes in, “Yeah, I think I’m about ready to call it quits, too. Maybe go back to school and get a degree in something. Be a productive member of society instead of whatever this is.”

Seungmin laughs. “I feel you on that. Kkangpae isn’t really a marketable skill on a resume, is it? Imagine how that interview would go. Yeah, I have some good business skills, sir, but you don’t wanna know how I learned them. I can tell you how much a single dose of molly will go for on the street, though. Did I get the job? When do I start?”

The guys laugh, but you offer a polite smirk as your keep your eyes trained on the clock. 06:36. Why was it that when you wanted time to pass faster, it always seemed to go slower? Why was life so paradoxically cruel sometimes?

“Chan-hyung and I are pretty good at music,” Jisung perks up, “maybe we could become some idols or something? I’ve got the face for it.”

Christopher snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like that would ever happen. I don’t want that kind of life, sounds too busy. Besides,” he looks over at you, then back to the road, “I don’t think they’d take too kindly to the fact that I’m already dating not only one, but two, people. Really wouldn’t like the fact that one of them is another dude.”

06:38.

“Good point,” Jisung says, probably rolling his eyes. “Life is a cruel mistress, isn’t it?”

“I just don’t get it,” Seungmin says, “like, why is it anyone else’s business what people do in the space of their own homes? If it doesn’t hurt anyone, who cares?”

Jeongin scoffs. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want people to find out about your collection of -“

“Shut up!” Seungmin pleads with a whine, cutting off the younger man. “Why the hell do we live with each other again?”

06:40. Good enough.

You tilt your head to the side, pulling out the piece of plastic, pretending you’re looking at a piece of string. Your face falls when you eyes see a bright pink cross staring back at you, as if it were another way for life to slap you in the face.

“You alright?” Jisung’s voice startles you as you jam your hand back into your pocket.

“Y-yeah,” you sputter, “just thinking about how life really is cruel sometimes, you know?”

You were pregnant and you were definitely not okay with the idea of that.

“It’ll be okay, though,” you say as you stare out the window.

Everyone’s fucking lying.

a/n: surprise! i literally cried writing this chapter too. chapter eleven is probably about halfway done as i post this, so hopefully you won’t need to wait too long for it. just a heads up, there will be triggering content in the last chapter, and it will be clearly labelled. the epilogue, step out! see you in the next life will briefly cover part of the ending of chapter eleven if you’re curious but don’t want to read it. thanks for sticking around for this wild ride. can’t wait to see you next chapter.

edit: mano a mano means hand to hand, not man to man btw. just found that out lol.

#tw: suicidal ideation #tw: death #tw: mental instability #tw: mental health #tw: ptsd #tw: firearms #tw: violence #tw: blood #step out do what you want

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laurelsofhighever · 4 years

Text

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 69 - Denerim

Chapter Rating: Teen Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Action/Adventure, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Fereldan Culture and Customs, Fereldans, Demisexuality, Cousland Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

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Twenty-third day of Wintermarch, 9:33 Dragon

Spring flowers bloomed along the western road to Denerim, but the column of riders and infantry that approached was no proud company in parade shine. They were bedraggled and muddy from weeks of fighting along the coast, tired from the day’s march, and while Rosslyn and Alistair straightened in their saddles as they waited at the gate to be let in, they had to roll their shoulders beneath their armour and hide yawns behind their hands. The decapitated heads of traitors watched them sightlessly from hooks set into the walls above them, many of them fresh enough to still be recognisable despite the depredations of the crows. Mother Berit wasn’t among the number, perhaps saved by her Chantry connections, but Bann Loren was, and next to him a younger man with blond hair and a crude green sunburst painted onto his forehead.

“That was Vaughan Kendells,” Rosslyn said, noticing the direction of Alistair’s gaze. “I can’t say I’m sorry.”

He glanced at her, remembering what she had told him, and the lift of Tabris’ chin as she spoke of her escape from the city. “Me neither.”

Before she could do more than smile at the reply, the gate opened and an officer waved them through. The market-day traffic was thinner than it had been the last time Alistair had visited capital, and he saw more beggars on the streets, but those who stopped to watch them pass did so with open, curious gazes instead of the harried suspicion that had met them in Amaranthine. On impulse, he nudged his horse closer to Rosslyn and held out his hand. Gaze soft, she took it and linked their fingers together as she had in Uldred’s dream, only this time they bumped knees, and there was a smudge of dirt under her eye, and all of his bones ached from days on the road to tell him it was real. People cheered, and it made her blush.

Her smile still lingered when they reached the palace gates and dismounted to hand off care of the army to the officers, and their horses to the grooms that had appeared from a side arch as if by magic. In the momentary confusion, he stepped close to her so he could distract himself from their formal welcome by brushing away the smear on her cheek.

The last time he had been brought to the palace, as part of Teagan’s entourage, he had been all but smuggled in under a helmet to hide his resemblance to the various portraits of Theirin ancestors hung in almost every room; there hadn’t been two flanking rows of guards waiting at attention as they walked up the steps, nor an announcement by a herald. Rosslyn’s titles outnumbered his, and it gave them a moment to pause before they were ushered through.

“Relax,” she told him. “You’re not heading to an execution.”

He only pouted. “This is just as bad as Summerday.”

“Is it really?” she asked, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Well. Maybe some things are better.”

He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face at the wry look she tilted at him, but before he could say anything else, the doors to the great hall swung open to reveal not just Cailan and Anora sitting on their thrones on the dais, but also Rosslyn’s grandparents, straight-backed and magnificent in their finery.

“So here ye are,” the Storm Giant boomed. “At last! We were starting to worry ye’d upped and run off with her.”

Anora shot him a peeved glance. “Your Highness, my Lady Cousland, be welcome in our hall.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Rosslyn replied as she sank into a graceful bow.

“I trust your journey was not too eventful?”

“Given your track record, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a slew of rescued damsels left in your wake,” Cailan interrupted. He was frowning, and a bitter, sullen note coloured his voice. “Perhaps you stopped by Soldier’s Peak to rid it of all its ghosts?”

“Not quite,” Alistair supplied, with a careful glance to the woman beside him.

The king seemed to shake himself out of his bad humour. “A jest, of course. It’s good to see you both unharmed.”

Rosslyn adjusted her stance, folding her arms behind her back as if she were delivering a report from the field. “Bann Esmerelle of Amaranthine proved difficult to convince of her allegiances, Your Majesty. We are sorry for the delay.”

“We are glad of your safe arrival, of course – especially given the happy tidings you bring with you,” Anora said easily, without looking at her husband. “My congratulations to you both.”

“Indeed.” Lady Lileas, who until that point had merely watched proceedings unfold before her like an augur scrying bones, swept forward and pulled her granddaughter into a hug. “It’s good to see you, mo chridhe. And as for you,” she added, turning to Alistair with a stare that made him shrink away like a mouse, “You bested An Sgòrnan Aigeinn. I am satisfied.”

“Uh…”

“Can we be away now?” the Storm Giant interrupted with impatience. “My oald joints are starting to creak like a mizzen in a hoolie.”

“You’re not staying in the palace?” Alistair asked.

Lady Lileas smiled. “My grandson has kindly granted us use of his estate while we see to the preparations for your wedding, and we are still Rosslyn’s guardians.” Her expression darkened. “That swine left it in a terrible state. His death was well deserved. Come, granddaughter, you must wish to change out of armour, and there is much to discuss.”

A frown creased Rosslyn’s forehead. “It’s almost dark already and we’ve been travelling since dawn. I’m sure Their Majesties would not begrudge their hospitality – any discussion can wait until tomorrow.”

“You are not staying here,” her grandmother replied, as if the suggestion were absurd.

“I’m Commander-in-Chief of the army,” she pointed out. “I’m needed to plan the spring advance – the war isn’t over yet.”

“You are also not married yet.”

“This is because…?” Her eyes flew wide. “What do you think will happen? It’s not like we haven’t –” Faltering, her gaze flashed to Alistair and skittered away again as crimson bloomed across her cheeks. “We’ve been together on the road for weeks, what difference does it make now?”

“This is how things are done in the joining of two houses.” Lady Lileas drew herself up. “You know this.”

Behind his wife, the Storm Giant cleared his throat and said something in Clayne that Alistair failed to catch, but instead of lifting Rosslyn’s expression it only served to set her mouth in a line of petulant defeat. It was adorable.

“My things will need to be forwarded,” she said. “And I’ll require a schedule for meetings with the army’s officers and outfitters.”

“It will be done,” Cailan told her, having watched the whole exchange from behind steepled fingers. “And the sooner you get married, the sooner we can move your things back, eh?”

With nothing left to say, and a last helpless glance back at Alistair, Rosslyn was chivvied from the hall less like a war hero and more like a child caught shirking lessons, taking their plans for a quiet, shared evening with her and leaving him to wonder at just how quickly their fortunes had been turned around. Anora and Cailan’s gazes itched on the back of his neck, and he only barely remembered to turn to ask their leave before running after her. The clanking of his armour echoed ahead of him, and he found them already waiting just inside the entrance hall at the top of the steps. The looks being levelled at him were not favourable.

“Uh – can I have a moment to speak to my betrothed?” The word still sparked on his tongue. He doubted he would get used to it before he was calling her his wife instead, but thinking about that too closely made him dizzy. “In private?” he added, as he slipped his hand into Rosslyn’s.

The Storm Giant nudged his wife with his elbow. “Ach, go on.”

The clan leader of the Mac Eanraig pursed her lips at him, but it didn’t quite hide the twitch of her amusement. “We will wait in the carriage.”

He didn’t dare breathe until Rosslyn’s grandparents had reached the bottom of the steps, and then, spying an unobtrusive side door leading off the hall, he tugged on their joined fingers and pulled her after him with only the thinnest veneer of patience. The door swung open easily onto a small room lit by a single arrow slit, and the latch clicked back into place behind them an instant before he dropped her hand so he could take her face instead. She giggled as her forehead pressed against his.

“What is this place?”

“A storeroom – something – I don’t care,” he answered. “How long do you think it will be before they come looking for us?”

Gently, she shook her head and nudged a kiss against his lips. “Nowhere near long enough for all these layers of armour, my love.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he purred.

“I’m sure.”

One gloved finger traced the line of her jaw. “I told you we should have stayed in bed this morning.”

“Soon, we’ll be able to stay in bed every morning,” she reminded him.

“In our bed.” His breath stuttered.

“No sneaking away back to separate rooms.”

“Then…” He steadied himself and found her hand again. “This is just another reason why Guardian can’t come fast enough. How am I going to last without you for so long?”

She laughed, lightly pushing him away so she could get to the door again. “I’m not disappearing off the face of Thedas, and it’s only a few weeks. We’ll see each other every day – we’ve been through worse.”

“I’ll dream of you,” he promised.

“My grandmother would be scandalised.” She pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth as she turned to leave. “Everything will be fine.”

It was not fine.

Aside from the wedding plans – fabrics and food and guest invitations and the small feud that erupted between Anora and Rosslyn’s grandmother because of it – they were kept ridiculously busy organising for the march south, and assisting in the city’s rebuilding efforts. They saw each other only in snatches for daily meetings, and barely exchanged two words that were not about policy or supplies. In addition to the schedule, Rosslyn had to drag herself across the city every morning to oversee the army’s drills, which meant most moments she had to herself during the day were spent trying to catch up on sleep.

To keep himself from missing her too much, Alistair took on oversight of the alienage. Nobody else seemed to care about the damage done to the elves, and while Cailan indulged him, or perhaps lacked interest, many of the other nobles already in attendance for Wintersend muttered that he was wasting both time and money on a worthless cause. They quieted after he pointed out that having to contend with an uprising would only add to the strain being faced by all of them, but having to appeal to their self-interest left a bad taste in his mouth.

Anora, at least, offered support for his efforts. As the time went by and Cailan’s preoccupation with finding Loghain took up more and more of his thoughts, the day-to-day politics of the palace fell to her. For this reason, relations with her continued to be fraught, especially in regards to military matters. She didn’t like people stepping on her toes. She didn’t stand for breaks with decorum, either, but she was fair and even-handed in her judgements, and for the sake of peace, Alistair tried his best to follow her lead and stay out of her way.

The only bright spots in all the blandness of days passing too slowly came in the notes he and Rosslyn managed to smuggle to each other during meetings and meals, the only times they got to touch, or even stand next to each other. She had passed the first to him in a chance encounter in one of the corridors, a brief press into his hand and she left with just the flash of her smirk tossed over her shoulder, and a glance down to where a neatly folded square of paper sat in his palm. Before anyone could call him away, he had slipped into a nearby empty room and pored over the lines, just a few sentences written in her elegant hand, but more than she had been able to say to him since they had arrived in Denerim.

I’ll not trust any messengers this time save our own hands, my love, and the time cannot come soon enough when I get to hold yours. When I get to be alone with you. When I can fall asleep beside you once more and never again worry about how long it will be until we must part. I love you.

He passed her his reply with the salt cellar at dinner.

I love you too. I wake up thinking of you. I miss curling around your body and waking you with kisses, even if your hair so often gets caught in the middle. I miss the sound of your voice and the brightness of your eyes. I’d write poetry about them, but you haven’t married me yet and I don’t want to risk it.

It became a game between them, this sly exchange of notes, each one a tiny rebellion at the strictures of propriety, a private conversation when no privacy was allowed.

My hair would not get so wild if a certain someone didn’t take such delight in tangling it the night before. In case you start to worry, that was not a complaint. I miss your voice as well, and your hands, and what both can do to me, although one benefit of distance is that I get to admire my future husband from afar without him noticing. Your footwork showed great improvement when you were sparring today, though you still drop your elbow too far when you block.

You enjoy making me blush, don’t you? Perhaps I can return the favour, Wife-To-Be. There was a moment in the gardens yesterday where you were wandering among the shrubbery with no idea that I was stuck only a floor above you, listening to Brantis drone on about the advantages of a trade deal Cailan has already agreed to. My attention may have wandered, and my hand was nothing but a thrall to the vision before me. I’m sure you can guess the subject.

I will treasure this likeness, my love, if I am allowed to keep it? I ought to admonish you for not paying more attention to Brantis, given how hard he tries, but I find I do not have the heart. The expression you captured here, is this truly how I look? Rest assured that I am blushing profusely, though I made the mistake of opening your offering for the first time while in the same room as my brother. Fergus seems to have taken it upon himself to stuff a year’s worth of insufferable brotherly affection into a few short weeks, though in hindsight I should not have told him your note included a sketch. He also says if we want to keep these messages secret, you ought to do better containing your grin in the exchanges. I told him to boil his head.

I am glad you like the sketch. It’s yours. I might never do you justice, but maybe in the future we’re to have together, I might practice? You looked tired when I saw you today (yesterday, by the time you read this), and you cannot tell me Wintersend isn’t preying on your mind. I know you too well. I cannot tell you how to feel, but please remember that I love you. So much.

As the holiday approached, Rosslyn’s sombre mood grew more pronounced, and she withdrew into herself. In the palace, the time was marked for celebration, and the festival spirit was upheld by an army of harried servants made busy decorating and preparing guest rooms for the visiting nobles – but it had also been a year since the sack of Highever, since Fergus and Rosslyn had marched away to war and returned to find a ruin. Alistair did what he could to bolster her spirits, but short of slipping his night guard and breaking into the Cousland estate like a common thief, there was little remedy for the nightmares she refused to admit were plaguing her again.

On the morning of the feast he spent an extra hour in the lists, trying to beat out his nerves on practice dummies. The usual meetings had been put on hold for the day, which meant he wouldn’t see her until she arrived with the rest of the guests just before sundown. It would be their first public appearance as a couple, the only one before the wedding, and that meant extra fuss in his attire lest the assembled nobility find him lacking either as a prince or as a prospective husband. Besides, he wanted his betrothed to be impressed.

While he bathed, Marten lay out the same rust-red doublet he had worn for Summerday, with the addition of the mantle made for the voyage to the Storm Islands, and the bracers Rosslyn herself had given him to meet her grandfather. He traced his fingers over the embossed leather as his valet fussed with his collar, remembering. He had almost kissed her after she helped him put them on the first time. Looking back, at what came later, he was glad he hadn’t but he wondered if she knew. Even during the darkest part of his time in Orzammar, he had worn the gift, too stubborn and too hopeful to give them up, and now he couldn’t stop smiling, and the day when he would become her husband rose barely a week away on the horizon, a lighthouse guiding all his thoughts to safe harbour.

“You’re all set, Your Highness,” Marten pronounced, bushing an imaginary speck of dust from his shoulders.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” Alistair fiddled with a sleeve.

“You know her better than me, milord,” the valet pointed out. “I wouldn’t dare presume her taste in outfits.”

“Right.”

Marten licked his lips. “No one’s in doubt that she loves you, but if you stand up here all night worrying – well, that’ll hardly do you any good, now will it? I’ve done the best I can for you.”

“And you have my eternal gratitude for it,” he replied.

With one last glance in the long mirror, and a deep breath to steady himself, Alistair nodded and left the room. When he reached the door to the king’s chambers further along the corridor, it was a maid who answered his knock, and she told him both Cailan and Anora were still indisposed. Then she shut the door again with a decisive click, before he could say anything else. He shifted on the balls of his feet. The light outside the window was fading from the brightness of late afternoon, which meant a good number of the guests should have arrived. He didn’t want to lurk in the hallway, awkward and bumbling and gossip-fodder for any servants who happened to catch a glance of him in all his worried finery, but he also didn’t want to make a nuisance of himself in the hall – Isolde had always sneered that he got under people’s feet, and however much he tried to block it out, the contemptuous echo of her in his mind remained persistent.

But Rosslyn would arrive soon, if she wasn’t already waiting for him. He could make small talk pretending to oversee the final preparations for the feast until she arrived, and then, he reasoned to himself as he walked, he could talk to her. He could spend the whole night talking to her, and nobody would be able to stop him. Maybe he could sneak her away, to some shady corner where he could hold her hand, and run his fingers through her hair, and kiss her. His thoughts wandered far enough in imagining it that his foot slipped on the first step of the landing and he only saved himself from tumbling all the way to the bottom of the stairs by snatching his hand out for the banister.

“Ow,” he grumbled, massaging his shoulder. “I really hope nobody saw that.”

Allers, the royal guard stationed in an alcove a little way away, made no response to his suspicious glare.

“Alistair?”

His face heated. It was Rosslyn. She stood at the base of the stairs with one hand on the banister and the other lifting the hem of her gown to keep it out of the way of her feet, frozen in the act of rushing up to meet him.

“Huh?”

She was in deep blue damask, the folds of the sleeves and the low, broad dip of the neckline richly embroidered, the fabric outlining the curve of her waist. Her hair fell in a thick black curtain down her back, braided and pinned with the aurum laurel wreath she had worn in the Storm Islands – and around her neck, bare on her pale skin for all to see, his amulet hanging at the end of a delicate silverite chain.

“You fell,” she said.

“I –” He swallowed. “Only for you, dear lady.”

She rolled her eyes, but waited as he skipped down the stairs to meet her, and smiled when he caught her hand to press his lips to the knuckles. Close to, the elegance of her dress didn’t quite hide the slump of her shoulders, nor the brittle fatigue that tightened the corners of her mouth.

“You’re early,” he murmured, still holding her fingers.

She shrugged. “There wasn’t much left to do at the estate, and I wanted to see you.”

“I’ve wanted to see you, too.” He leaned forward. “And I’ve wanted…”

Before he could finish the thought, she reached up and pressed a halting finger against his lips. “I had to drag Fergus with me.”

Fergus. Of course. He followed the tilt of Rosslyn’s head to where her brother stood not even that far away, with one eyebrow raised and his arms folded across his chest, the very picture of a concerned guardian who had just caught someone nefarious swooping down on his charge. Alistair, preoccupied with other things, had completely failed to notice him.

“Ah – um. Your Lordship! You’re looking well.”

“Your Highness,” Fergus answered mildly. “Please, do carry on with my sister. It’s not like our grandmother is in the next room, wondering where we’ve snuck off to.”

“You could go and stall her if you like,” Rosslyn suggested, and when her brother only returned her a flat look, she frowned. “Please, Ferg? I did it for you – for weeks.”

“Only because I bribed you,” he retorted, but his face softened. “Fine, I’m going. But don’t do anything too outrageous.”

“I think that means you’re not allowed to spirit me away to somewhere nobody can find us,” she huffed as he ducked through the door, already looping her arms around Alistair’s neck.

His hands found her waist. “Damn, that’s my plan foiled, then. Please tell me I can kiss you, at least?”

“You may,” she giggled.

“Good.”

His heart thundered more than it should for such a simple brush of lips, but before he could sink too far into the feeling, he pulled away so he could see her expression. Her eyes were still closed, her head turned into his palm like a flower angling its petals towards the sun.

“How are you?” he asked.

A sigh, and her eyes fluttered open to focus on his chin. “It… hasn’t been a good day. I’ve tried to keep myself busy, but it hasn’t really worked. It’s been a whole year, and yet all I’ve been able to think is that they should be here. That it’s –”

“Not your fault,” he interrupted firmly. “I wish I could have been with you – I mean, not that I don’t every day, but today especially, I wish I could’ve been there to make it easier.”

“I had your notes,” she reminded him with a weak smile. “That kept the worst of it at bay.”

He grinned. “Did it now? In that case, I’ll feel a little better giving you this.” With the flourish of a showman, he reached into the end of his sleeve and pulled out a folded square of paper. “For later,” he explained. “When you don’t have an audience. There’s words in it that I hope are reassuring, but also – since you liked the last sketch so much, I thought as a distraction…”

Their fingers brushed as she took the note from him. The blush rising in her cheeks chased away the wan tone of her skin, and for a moment Alistair allowed his mind to linger over all the other scandalous ways he might prompt such a reaction.

She smirked at him. “If it needs to be so private, I had best keep it safe.”

Before he could ask her what she meant, she folded it once more and with nimble fingers slipped it down the front of her dress. Alistair stared. She smoothed her hands over the silk to make sure nothing poked out where it shouldn’t, unconcerned. It was a perfunctory gesture, businesslike, and yet far too thorough to be innocent.

“Are you alright?” she asked sweetly, once she was finally satisfied that everything lay in its proper place.

He managed a strangled sort of noise. “Nothing a long soak in Lake Calenhad wouldn’t cure.” When he caught her expression, falling from a smirk into true concern, he shook his head and pulled her closer, until they were standing hip to hip. “I’ll manage. And don’t think I won’t get you back for that little performance.”

“You started it.”

“You like tormenting me.”

She laughed at that, and darted a quick kiss against his mouth that he was too slow to return. “Shouldn’t you be going to greet your guests?” she asked. “Where is the king?”

“Applying the finishing touches, I think.” He cleared his throat, not wanting to dwell on Cailan or his moods, not with Rosslyn in his arms. “We should be safe from disgrace, in any case. One is only late if one arrives after royalty, after all.”

“You are royalty, my love,” she murmured, smiling wider as he waggled his eyebrows.

“And soon you will be, too.” The reminder stole his breath. “Uh… shall we?”

The eyes of every guest turned to look at them as he appeared in the doorway with Rosslyn on his arm, but for once, he didn’t mind the attention, or the wave of movement that swept through the room as people bowed to him in greeting. Her grandparents stood in one corner with Fergus, given their own deference as foreign dignitaries, and while the back of his neck heated under their knowing gaze, there were enough distractions elsewhere to keep him from too much embarrassment.

He even managed to avoid glancing lower than Rosslyn’s collarbones. Mostly.

“Aye, and don’t they make a handsome couple?” Bann Ferrenly preened once he caught them into his orbit. “I predicted this, you know. I said to my dear Raina, ‘We can’t have these two in such close quarters without them falling for each other. Mark my words,’ I said, ‘There’s much to admire in him, and he would be a fool not to see the quality of such a lady!’”

“Of course,” Bann Aldubard agreed stiffly. “Who could have predicted otherwise?”

At the other side of their circle, Arlessa Élodie of South Reach laid a delicate hand on Rosslyn’s arm. “I, for one, am glad that this war has not been all tragedy – we must move forward, must we not?”

When Cailan and Anora eventually joined the gathering, even Bann Ferrenly was almost out of anecdotes, so it was a relief to follow the line of torches the servants had lit in the darkened gardens, to where a troupe of mummers had set up a stage in front of an open-fronted pavilion furnished with a long table that was already groaning with food. As the nobility were directed to their seats, the troupe master welcomed them and announced a performance of Dane and the Werewolves. At first, Alistair kept his eye on his brother and the carafe of wine placed by his elbow, but though Cailan looked tired, he was dressed in fresh clothes and his hair had been brushed and braided, and he was minding Anora’s voice in his ear.

Rosslyn slipped her hand into his. In the distraction offered by the players she had nudged her chair close enough to his to press against him to the knee. They could do little more under so many watchful eyes, but with every moment counting time down to the wedding, still so many days away, it was enough.

“To us?” she suggested when the servers had filled their goblets and everyone else was preoccupied with the strut of the warpainted hero onto the stage.

He touched his cup to hers and leaned across with a kiss. “To spending our lives together,” he agreed.

It was only the following morning that he spotted the note she must have slipped inside his tunic. He picked it off the middle of his bedroom floor with his head still ringing from his hangover, his thoughts whirling about the one he had given her, whether she had opened it yet, what she thought of it, if the ink had smudged against her breasts after spending so many hours pressed to her skin. Perhaps going beyond words into illustrations was a step too far, and even now she was marching through Denerim’s streets to out him as a lecher and declare there wouldn’t be a marriage after all. If it were so, at least he’d have one last message from her to remember her by.

Today I cannot help but think about the past, but the weight sits less heavy on my shoulders knowing my future lies with you. We have fought through so much, together and apart, and it is strange to think how I ever managed without you. What if we had never met, or if our paths had crossed in some other way? Would I still miss waking up without you? Would you miss me?

His worry vanished. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed the paper to his lips, wishing it could be her instead, that he could put his arms around her and drive out all her doubt.

He was at his desk and finishing his reply before he had even changed out of his smallclothes.

I would miss you. I do miss you. There is an empty space in the bed and the pillows don’t smell like you. You make me better, and make me want to be better. If someone could knock me out so I can wake up on the morning of our wedding without having to endure the torture of not being able to hold you, I would be very grateful.

My love, if you lie unconscious, who will distract me with such delightful correspondence? Who will smile at me as you do? And what if whoever it is hits you too hard on the head and kills you? No, it cannot be risked. You must continue to suffer, as I assure you I do as well, but only for a little while longer.

For you, perhaps I might make it three days, and believe me, I am counting every moment until you become my wife. I cannot wait to be your husband. I love you.

Two days, my love. I can barely eat for nerves.

I haven’t slept – can’t until I have you in my arms again. I’ll see you tomorrow.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #alistair x cousland #alistair theirin #cousland #f!cousland #rosslyn cousland #the falcon and the rose

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sherrybaby14 · 5 years

Text

I Watched You Change

This is for YoungMoneyMilla’s 9k celebration. Congrats darling!

Prompt: Change (in the house of flies) by the Deftones (This song reminds me of Queen of the Damned, but I am too scared to write for Anne Rice so I went with the next thing)

Summary: Dracula AU. Victorian England. After being neglected by your fiancé a certain vampire sets his eyes on you

Warnings: Angst, Dub-con, Mind Control, Cheating, Blood, Death

Pairings: Vampire!Bucky x reader, Clint x reader

A/N: This story has 2 endings. You get to choose your own adventure. They are marked!!

The air in your lungs burned, your body not wanting to release the oxygen. This was important, you had to talk to him, you could do this. Right before you were about to pass out from holding in your breath you straightened your back and lifted your chin, releasing the air as you strode toward your fiancé.

“Clint, I have to speak to you.” When you opened the door to the parlor you were not surprised to see the faces of four shocked men.

Women were never to interrupt, but you’d had enough.

“Y/N.” He rose from the couch. “Now is not the time. I will find you later.”

The other men went back to looking at the papers on the table. Dr. Banner not hiding his annoyance with you.

“There is no time!” Damned the proper etiquette. “You’re never around, and when you are it’s with these men. We are supposed to build a life together and I have no clue what yours is anymore.”

A glance to the papers on the table showed a drawing of a fanged creature, some maps, and medieval-looking weapons. A hand was around your arm and you looked into the face of your fiancé, his lips turned into a scowl as he dragged you out of the room.

“I am working toward ensuring that life is one of purity and safety.” He spoke through gritted teeth as he led you back into the hall. “One where I can protect you.”

“Protect me?” You pulled your arm away. “From what?”

“There is evil here.” Clint looked over his shoulder, almost ensuring his partners couldn’t hear. “I fear that the minds of women can’t grasp this level of danger. I need you to trust me. We are closing in on the beast. Once he is killed we will be wed.”

“Beast? Killed?” Your head started to swim with his cryptic words, let alone the insult against your gender. “What are you talking about? You sound mad.”

“I’ve said too much.” His expression melted into pity as he cupped your cheek. “We have to return to the city for a few nights. It’s safer for you here.”

“Now you’re leaving?” You supposed it didn’t make much difference since he was never around either way.

“When I return, things will go back to how they were.” He placed a kiss on your forehead. “Promise me, you won’t go outside after dark and wear your crucifix?”

“Mr. Barton.” Dr. Banner appeared in the doorway. “If we wish to act on this lead, we must prepare.”

You glanced around your fiancé and swore you saw Tony Stark brandishing a crossbow. Your mouth hung open as you looked up at Clint, desperate for an explanation.

“Patience Y/N.” He gave another quick kiss before leaving with Dr. Banner, shutting the door to the parlor behind him.

At the start of summer, you thought it was kind Mr. Stark offered you a room at his country estate. Memories of your arrival and how vibrant Clint had seemed further away than the ten weeks they were.

Once Dr. Banner arrived it was like all the men had gone insane with some private obsession. Clint no longer snuck into your bedroom in the evening, showed up for dinners or teas, and he halted all talk of your wedding plans, which you’d hoped would be set for some time in the early fall.

Again you found yourself alone. In a big empty estate. You debated on finding one of the servants, but they did not hide their annoyance at your presence and refused to treat you like their equal. That drove you nuts, especially since you were nowhere near the class of Tony Stark.

The tears of frustration were starting to pool, but if Clint saw you cry that would only feed into the stereotype he had recently painted you into. The sensitive woman who must be shielded from everything.

The suffocating feeling returned. You grabbed your hat and purse from next to the door before yanking it open and walking out into the summer sunshine.

A walk would do you good. Calm your rage. The town was only a kilometer away. Maybe seeing the faces of some people not obsessed with ‘beasts’ would help.

Clint’s words kept circling you as you tried to make sense out of them. The minds of women can’t grasp this level of danger. More like the mouths of men can’t explain what the hell was going on. You brought your hand to your lips at the thought.

Such immoral words would never leave your mouth, but you couldn’t help picture the look on Clint’s face had you spoken them out loud. There would be a rage in his eyes, he’d never hit you, but probably think about it as his jaw clenched. For some reason, the image of the reaction excited you.

“Excuse me Miss?” A voice shook you from your fantasy.

You looked up at a striking man. He had long brown hair slicked back, he wore thick sunglasses and a proper suit with a hat that looked tailored enough to rival one of Mr. Stark’s outfits. But the most peculiar thing was his sun umbrella in his gloved hand. You hadn’t seen many men carry those.

“I have just arrived and I was looking for the solicitor’s office? Could you point me in the right direction?” The man’s glasses made it difficult to tell where his eyes were looking, but his voice sent a chill down your spine.

You realized you were starring and looked down the street, more than familiar with the layout of the few shops and businesses in the small country town.

“Yes. It’s the third building on the opposite side of the street.” You started walking. “I am headed that way actually.”

“Is there a bookstore?” The man followed you.

“Excuse me?” You didn’t know what he was implying.

“You look like someone well read. In town unaccompanied, I assumed it was for a new book.” He gave you a smile.

“There is a bookstore, but unfortunately, I have read everything I care to that they have.” You thought about his unaccompanied line.

You were an engaged woman, maybe it was inappropriate to come to town by yourself. What would Clint think? You walking down the street with another man. Internally you rolled your eyes, he was too busy hunting some beast to be worried about you.

“That is a shame.” Your companion stopped at the solicitor’s office.

In the window was a sign that read ‘Closed until Monday’.

“Would it be forward of me to ask you to accompany me to lunch? I did notice a café down the street and I hate to eat alone?”

His invitation made your mouth hang open, how brazen? What did he take you for? Some harpy?

“I do not believe my fiancé would appreciate that.” You started to turn. “Good day sir.”

“Apologies.” He called out before you got a step away. “I meant no harm, to you nor your fiancé. I am new to this country and clearly lacking in its social normalcies. I understand women are all too aware of potential dangers around them.”

His word choice made your heart stop beating for a moment as you froze and turned back to him.

“What did you say? About dangers?” You could not remember the last time you were so interested in an answer.

“As a species, women are much more practical when it comes to the evils in this world.” He stepped toward you. “And thus I clothe my naked villainy.”

A smile spread to your lips as you let out a little laugh. When was the last time that happened? A smile or a chuckle?

“Richard III.” You nodded. “I’m impressed.”

“And I am Count James Buchanan.” He offered you an arm. “It was never my intention to offend.”

“I may have overreacted.” You took his escort. “Maybe a light lunch would be appropriate. Especially if the conversation is about Shakespeare.”

“What is your favorite work?” The Count asked.

You smiled, happy for once your brain wasn’t preoccupied with thoughts of your maddening fiancé.

The lunch flew by as quickly as the conversation. You lost track of time as the world faded away with the sun. It was only when the sound of thunder shook the café you were jarred from the Count’s attention.

“Blast!” You rose from the table and looked out the window as the rain pelted down. “I am afraid our afternoon must come to an end. I promised my fiancé to return by dark.”

“Wise man, obtaining such a promise.” He looked out the window with you. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss. Y/L/N. I believe your fiancé must be a very wise man for receiving your affections.”

The meaning of his words was not lost on you and again brought on shivers. When you glanced over at him he finally removed his sunglasses and eyes too blue to be natural starred back. It almost made you gasp, the handsomeness of this man.

“Thank you for the company and compliments.” You didn’t look away from his hypnotic gaze. “I was hoping I could ask you for a favor Count Barnes?”

“James.” He gave you a knowing glance. “And whatever your heart desires.”

“Could I borrow your umbrella?” You gave a half smile. “I walked here, and would hate to catch a cold in the rain.”

“No.” His response surprised you. “I have a carriage. I will drive you home.”

Before you could respond he was outside, waving his hand to the end of the street. The horse and buggy arrived right when you walked out.

The driver did not jump down as James held open the door for you. It would be rude to decline, and with the weather, you were sure Clint would want you to accept the ride.

“I’m at the Stark estate.” You told James as you sat against the plush leather.

“Anthony Stark, I didn’t realize he was engaged. Won’t he be thrilled when he finds out I’ve spent the afternoon with his fiancé.” James took a seat next to you.

“He is not engaged. Clint Barton, he’s an old acquaintance of Mr. Stark.” You felt silly for not explaining yourself earlier. “But you know Mr. Stark too?”

“Of course. He is the reason I picked this countryside town. He and his friends practically chased me out Romania to get me here, your fiancé included.” He gave you a wink. “Mr. Barton. I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting him in person, but I have heard he is quite strong and reputable.”

“He is.” You wanted to say ‘was’, but bit your tongue.

“It’s a strange coincidence. After dropping you off my plans were to head to the Stark estate.” James removed his hat. “That solicitor has the keys to my new estate. It appears I am homeless until Monday. I was hoping Tony wouldn’t mind boarding me for the next two nights.”

Even you didn’t call Mr. Stark Tony. It made your eyebrows rise at the informalness.

“Unfortunately Mr. Stark went to London for the weekend.” You gave a frown.

“Is your fiancé acting as master of the estate in his stead?” James’ confidence didn’t falter at the news.

“Actually, I am the only guest at the moment.” You bit your lip. Was it your place to offer Tony’s residence to the Count?

“I see.” James nodded. “I am sure that there is an inn I can find a room at. I would hate to put you in that position.”

“Nonsense.” After how kind he had been to you, and the fact he called Mr. Stark Tony, there was no reason to make him stay at that bug infested inn. “You are more than welcome to stay at Mr. Stark’s estate. I will have one of the servants makes up a room for you as soon as we arrive.”

“Thank you. I am sure Tony would approve of your hospitality.” James’ eyes flashed with his own approval. “Does that mean we will be dining together this evening?”

Your heart fluttered at the thought, not over the food or the man himself, just the idea of company. It had been so long.

Dinner was just as pleasant as lunch, if not more so and you drank in every word your new friend spoke. Some of the servants raised an eye while serving the food, but nobody objected to your offering the Count a room.

“Would you like a nightcap?” You rose from the table and started toward the parlor.

“I really would.” James stifled a yawn. “But I fear I am in need of sleep after today’s activities.”

“Of course.” You felt foolish, forgetting your guest’s travels.

“In fact, I will likely sleep through the day tomorrow I am so exhausted. Please forgive my rudeness if that occurs.” James stood up and left his seat, walking with you.

“Very understandable.” You tried to hide your disappointment, knowing it was selfish but you wanted company again.

“But I was hoping, tomorrow evening, the two of us could have a formal dinner?” He offered you his arm as you walked through the hall to the staircase, which you gladly took. “I’ve brought my dress coats and I would love to experience an English formal.”

“For two?” You smiled. “I’m not sure you will get the entire experience.”

“Humor me.” James climbed the stairs, leading you up.

“I suppose I’ll check with the servants in the morning.” You had a feeling they would jump at the chance, at least the chef. She’d been bored stiff whining about making quick meals all summer.

“Well good night Miss Y/L/N.” James stopped outside his bedroom, you hadn’t realized you’d walked this far, much passed your own.

“Y/N, please.” Your eyes didn’t leave him as his lips touched the top of your hand.

A lump came in the back of your throat and you swallowed it down.

“Goodnight Y/N.” James dropped your hand.

Every nerve in your body flared for some unknown reason. Tingles spread across your shoulders as you spun to walk to your room, muttering a goodbye.

Thoughts went to tomorrow’s dinner. You could distract yourself with getting ready and maybe the workers would let you help set the table or something, but they would probably fight you off wanting to tame their own boredom.

At the back of your brain, there was a clawing this was wrong. You shouldn’t be excited about dining with anyone but your fiancé. But you told yourself you would be dining with him if he were here. And besides, as the only current guest of the estate, it was your job to entertain Mr. Stark’s friends.

He meant to murder her the second they were in the carriage. Leave her dead body on the side of the road for the men to find as a warning, but she proved to be much more than the delicate flower her husband talked of.

And the way she smelled, Bucky could only imagine how good she must taste. He ran his tongue over his lips as he undressed in Tony Stark’s mansion. He imagined how enraged the would-be vampire hunter would be if he knew.

Dr. Banner was responsible for this, bringing him here into poor Y/N’s life. They should have left him be, but his arch nemesis thought if he got a gang together maybe he would stand a chance this time. The poor mortals had no clue how powerful Bucky really was and he had no intention of giving them a demonstration.

Still, they had to be taught a lesson. Killing vampire hunters tended to create more vampire hunters. Usually hunting loved ones was enough of a deterrent, but it seemed nobody else had any family but Clint Barton. His fiancé death would send the perfect message to the others, but Bucky didn’t want her dead any longer. He wanted something more.

He was certain she was asleep by now. It had been hours since they parted, but she was still on his mind. There was a risk in using the hallway, he was certain the staff was already suspicious of him. So he went to the window and with minimal effort crawled across the stone siding toward her room.

The warm summer air meant the panes were open and he went inside with the breeze. There she was in her bed, a light sweat on her forehead as she tossed among the sheets. Her nightgown was simple and white, clearly lacking in the wealth of this house. He enjoyed how thin it was, as it stuck to her skin, the outline of her curves apparent.

He couldn’t help himself as he dipped into the bed next to her. Her lids started to flutter and he couldn’t have that.

“Shhhh,” he ordered. “Sleep.”

There was a relaxation to her body as Bucky position her between his legs with her on her side.

“What are you dreaming of Love?” He brushed her hair back and inhaled her intoxicating aroma.

“You.” There was no hesitation in her response.

“I like that very much.” Bucky ran his hand down her bare arm until he got to her gown and started to bunch it up. “What about me?”

“Kissing you. Touching you.” Her lips puckered at the last word.

“Touching me?” The white thing gathered around her waist, leaving her beautiful cunt open for his hand. “I have a better idea.”

She let out a moan as his fingers worked between her folds. Bucky smiled at how wet she was for him, eager and inviting. He teased her entrance with his finger, and she lifted her hips.

“The first time I enter you there it won’t be with a finger.” Bucky dragged along her slit, eliciting a disappointed whimper. “That doesn’t mean I will leave you wanting.”

He pressed down on her tender bud and she gasped as her hands scratched at his chest. She started rocking against him, grinding down on his hard cock with her movements while he circled and rubbed her clit.

“Cum for me.” He cared more about her release than his own, a strange occurrence for him. “Tell me what you need.”

“You.” There was a coo to her voice, but she rocked faster against him.

Bucky increased the pressure and his motions, harder and faster. Soon the gasping came again and the features on her face tightened. She was close and he planned on tasting her ecstasy. He opened his mouth and bared his fangs.

The second her climax came over her Bucky removed his hand and flipped her on to her back. His thigh pressed against her apex while his teeth sank into her neck.

He tasted her orgasm, a rush of pent up repression and denial mixed without any shame or remorse. It was enough that he felt his cock spasm in his pants as her blood rushed down his throat.

Her death would be a waste. Bucky knew right then and there he had better plans in store for her.

“Miss.” There was a handshaking you. ��“Miss wake up.”

You struggled to open your eyes. The room seemed extra bright and you shielded your eyes.

“What time is it?” You begrudgingly lifted yourself up on to an elbow. “Who are you?”

“Count Barnes told us about the dinner tonight.” She wore one of Tony’s uniforms. “I am here to help you dress. It’s 5 pm. Dinner is at 7, so we should get started.”

“Five pm?” That made you jolt up in bed. “I’ve slept the day away.”

“You do look a little ill.” The woman tapped your neck. “And it looks like a spider may have taken a bite.”

You stood up and went to the mirror. There was an air of tiredness to your features and two strange puncture marks on your neck. It must have been a huge spider.

“Please don’t cancel the dinner.” The girl appeared behind you. “The staff has been dreadfully bored and Count Barnes is paying all of us a very generous additional sum for tonight.”

“I am tired, but I feel more relaxed than I have in months.” It was like all the tension in your body ran out. “I wouldn’t dream of canceling on the Count.”

You would have to thank him when you saw him, especially since you said you would inform the servants.

“He had a special dress sent over for you.” The maid went to a bag hanging. “I don’t even think Mr. Stark knows how to have something made so quickly.”

She lifted the bag to show the most exquisite piece of clothing you’d ever seen. It was the right color for you and the details were extraordinary.

“I think we should do your hair up.” The main went on for her plans for you and you nodded along, eager to participate in the night’s festivities.

When you saw James he looked more handsome than you remembered, his suit the finest you’d ever seen.

Dinner was another perfect conversation where it felt like he hung on every word you said.

“If I ask for a nightcap will you accompany this time?” You rose from the table.

“Only if you ask nicely.” James stood as well.

“Please, won’t you join me for a drink?” You waited for him to offer his arm.

“I must say, that dress looks stunning on you.” He looked you up and down. “Mr. Barton is a lucky man.”

Hearing your fiance’s name made you cringe. It was the first time you’d given him any thought all evening.

“Yes. You will come to the wedding I hope?” You looked at James and saw a twinge of disappointment, making you feel even guiltier.

“I hope to play a large part in your wedding.” The disappointment vanished.

“Oh. Of course. I forget you’re acquaintances with all the men.” You walked into the parlor and left James to go pour the drinks.

There was a scratching sound and then music filled the room. You smiled as you looked over your shoulder at James with phonograph.

“It’s a wonderful invention.” You turned and handed him a drink.

“Dance with me.” He took both glasses from your hands and set them down.

“I don’t think…”

“Please.” He held his hand out.

You knew it was wrong, but you found yourself accepting his proposal and slipping your hand into his, while his other went around your waist and brought you closer.

“You’re very special Y/N.” James led you as you swayed. “More than any human recognizes.”

“I’m just a girl.” You felt a heat growing in your heart between his compliments and the way he was touching you.

“No.” His had left yours and went to your chin, nudging it so that your eyes were on his. “You are much more than that. You are a delicacy. One I would very much like to taste. Again.”

Hazy visions of laying on top of James, his hand on your most private areas. The release the ecstasy, the bite on your neck.

“What are you?” You were curious, not scared, not angry, nothing else.

“I am the only one who can satisfy you. Give you what you crave. Knowledge, equality, travel, the world.” He leaned in closer. “All you have to do is join me.”

“You’re the beast they’re hunting.” Things fell into place.

The crossbow, the picture on the table of the fanged creature, the sun umbrella, the sunglasses, sleeping all day, the puncture marks on your neck.

“You’re a vampire.” You understood why Clint was acting so mad, had he told you the truth you never would have believed him. “Am I under your spell?”

“Not at the moment.” The music stopped but you continued to sway.

“Then why am I not scared?” You kept your eyes on his, having no reason to trust him but doing so anyway.

“Because you’re different.” His gaze did not falter. “Leave with me, tonight. Let me take you into the darkness.”

He was asking, but you knew he didn’t need to. A mountain of feelings came toppling down. He was a monster, you were engaged. He was interesting, you were lonely. He excited you, you were amazed by him. Would a no mean death and did you even want to say no? While your thoughts continued to scramble your heat knew the answer.

You opened your mouth to speak when the door to the parlor flung open.

“Y/N GET BACK!” Clint held out a giant crucifix.

James let out a screech and moved you behind his back. Clint wasted no opportunity jumping forward, a wooden stake in his hand. It came centimeters to James’ heart when he let go of you to defend himself. You fell to the floor with a bump and scooted back against the wall.

The two men struggled with each other. The wooden stake going closer to James before another blow pushed it away.

“STOP! You’re hurting him!” You screamed out from the floor.

Both men looked at you.

“Y/N run! Get out of here.” Clint went back to trying to kill James.

“Y/N you have a choice. Make it.” James didn’t sound nearly as winded as Clint.

That’s when you realized this was all a show for your benefit. James could have snapped Clit in two if he wanted. That’s where this was headed. Clint’s death. James wanted you to do it, but could you?

Two lives danced in front of your eyes literally. One a happy dutiful wife in the sunlight, the other a literal monster. You knew the correct choice.

Ignoring the faux struggle you walked over to the crossbow, the one Tony must have chosen to leave behind for some reason. It was loaded, all you to do was pull the trigger. Without hesitation, you went over to the duo. Neither of which were paying attention to you.

“I wish there was another way.” You sighed as you lined up and took your shot.

In an instant the struggle was over as the body hit the floor with a thud, your life forever changed.

A/N: We are going into a little bit of a choose your own adventure. If you want to be a bad girl skip all the way to ***

[Begin ending 1]

“Y/N.” Clint looked at you with shock. “Thank God.”

He ran to you and tucked you against his chest, the entire time your eyes were glued to James, the arrow sticking out of his heart. His body started to shake and decay at a rapid rate, the beautiful face disappearing.

“Where are the others?” You didn’t notice the vampire hunting gang.

“London. I just had a feeling that you needed me.” Clint kissed the top of your head. “That it was wrong to leave you alone. And I was right.”

“Is it over now? That he is dead.” You pulled away and looked up at Clint.

“It’s over. Our lives are safe.” He started to lead you out of the parlor. “The others won’t believe it.”

“Will you tell me the story?” You looked at Clint. “Why was he here?”

“For another time love.” Clint squeezed you tight. “You have had quite a night. I’m sure you need some rest.”

“To sleep, perchance to dream.” You were still in a haze.

“What?” Clint asked.

“Shakespeare.”

“I’m not familiar.” He tightened his shoulders as he led you to the stairs, away from what could have been.

***

[Begin Ending 2]

A failed grunt came out of Clint as he tried to reach for the arrow in his back. It was short lived as he collapsed dead. You lowered the crossbow as James stepped over his body.

His eyes bore into yours with pride and amazement. When he reached you he cupped your cheek and lifted your chin, pressing his mouth to yours. You dropped the weapon and put your arms around his neck, returning the kiss.

“What a choice.” He broke the kiss as he hoisted you in the air, your skirts going to your waist as you wrapped your legs around him.

“There was never a choice to make. You would always win.” You went back to kissing him.

This was the kissing you’d always dreamed of, deep and unbridled passion. You would spend eternity with someone capable of making you feel this way.

You squealed when there was a sharp pang on your tongue, followed by the taste of copper, then something else, something warm and tangy. James had bitten both of your tongues open and your blood swooshed together in your mouth.

It made you moan as he set you down on the couch. He moved faster than your eyes could keep up with, undressing and then you. It was dizzying to be naked so quickly, but in a second he bared his fangs and sunk them deep into your neck.

A moan left your lips as you felt your blood dripping down your back. Warm and so filled with life. Your head started to lull to the side as your soul slid into James’ mouth. With it all your hang up and pretentions.

Then he pulled your head away and looked at you as a nail ran across his chest, spilling his own. You didn’t need instructions as your mouth went to him, lapping it up and taking as much of him in as you could. He tasted like love. Something you could never get enough and never quite understood how it felt.

He spun around and pulled you across his lap, straddling him. You’d never been in such a lewd position before and loved it as he lined up his cock with your cunt and lowered you down.

James tilted his head to the side and again ran a fingernail, opening up his vein. You wasted no time dropping your head to taste him again while your body bounced up and down his shaft.

Soon his teeth returned to your neck, crunching down again. It made you cry out and lose your concentration on your own feeding. But then the tingling in your pussy began to grow in a way you never experienced before.

James was guiding you, up and down, back and forth. You started gasping, desperate for the release. Certain that you were going to burst into nothingness. When the pleasure came it made James suck down harder and you moaned uncontrollably. Your orgasm was soon met with his own and he stilled your movements but continued to drink from your throat.

Finally he lifted his head, showing his blood-soaked chin and lips. You imagined you looked much the same when he pressed his mouth to yours, his cock softening inside of you.

The deep kiss turned into a little peck and you fell forward, resting your head against James’ chest, the blood drying.

“We have to get out of here.” He kissed your head and slid you off of his lap. “The others won’t be far behind.”

“Where will we go?” You weren’t sure you were capable of standing as sleep started to tug you down.

“Wherever we like.” He gave you a devilish grin and kissed your forehead. “Sleep now.”

You had no clue where you would be when you awoke but were ready to follow him into the night.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #marvel #marvel au #bucky au #bucky barnes x you

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