#maybe part of me is content with the silence. there is still serenity that lies in the unknown.

[arknights-imagines]

waahh hi i love ur writing!! can i request an affectionate doctor having a sweet kissing session with executor + silverash? i just wanna give them a lot of affection and make them feel always loved 😭

Anon hiya!! 🥳 Tysm for this request sgsugshs it's so cute and I love it!! 😭🥺 Executor and SilverAsh are some of my favourites to write for sgsugshs 💕 I tried to make it as soft and lovey-dovey as I could so I hope you and everyone else likes it 👉👈

Also, because Executor's Birthday was July 7th I gave him some extra love in his part svshsv!! 🎂🥳 He deserves a break lolol 🥺 so Happy (late) Birthday Executor and happy reading to everyone!! 🥺🥳

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Kissing sessions with Executor and SilverAsh

Imagine format; mixed perspectives! (written in second person)

Contains: SilverAsh, Executor, gender neutral Doctor as the reader, brief mentions of background characters, established relationships, kissing described in detail, lots of soft fluffiness 🥺, barely suggestive material in SilverAsh's part?? 🤔, Executor being hesitant and unsure in his part, reader/Doctor being very soft in both parts svjsgshs

Word count: 2.7k in total!

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SILVERASH

“My dear...you’re still working?”

SilverAsh’s eyes had just read the last sentence of the novel in his hand, and now they looked at you with surprise. He had expected you to have lied down in your small bed with him by the time he closed his book - but as it turned out, you were still sat at your desk nearby and going through papers.

The Feline’s voice interrupting your work caused you to blink slowly, and then you turned your attention towards him, expression meek. “You’re awake? I thought you went to sleep…” “And I thought you would be away from your desk by now.” His reply came with a lift of the brow. SilverAsh set his book beside him before propping himself up on his forearm as you sighed, “I’m almost done, I’ll come to bed soon.”

Unconvinced, the Guard Operator stood from the bed, his height allowing him to make his way towards your desk in just a few strides. You had already picked your pen back up and returned to your papers by the time he set his hands on your shoulders - his touch gentle, but firm.

Before you could shoo him away, SilverAsh lowered his lips to your ear - his snow-coloured hair tickled your cheek and his breath was warm as he spoke in a low, smooth tone that met your ears like melted chocolate, “I must say, my dear…” He met your gaze from the corner of your eye before he continued, “I’ve stayed with you this entire evening, and yet I still find myself longing for you.”

When his gaze met yours, his eyes were warm and serious despite the playful lift of his brow. A quiet apology came from you in reply, one of your hands lifting to rub at your heavy eyelids. Humming in acknowledgment, the Feline’s hands left you momentarily in order to spin your desk chair around before they returned to your shoulders - this time his fingers slid down your arms and took your hands in his own.

You had expected him to gently usher you to bed, but what came instead made your eyes grow wide. In a few swift movements, SilverAsh took your place on your desk chair and pulled you to sit in his lap. A small chuckle left him as your eyes searched for his, surprise on your face; when his name left your lips in question, the Guard Operator tilted his head to the side in fake confusion. “Hah...that surprised look on your face, you amuse me so my dear.” His hands came to hold your waist, “You’re tense. Relax for me...after all, no one is better suited to bring you ease than me, isn't that right?”

His eyes were locked with yours, and with every word he whispered to you, he moved his lips closer to yours. He held this sincere warmth that was meant only for you in his gaze; when you looked carefully enough, a glimmer of desire was there as well. Despite that, SilverAsh patiently waited for your reply, his eyes flicking to your lips for a split second or two in order to silently communicate what he wanted from you.

His affectionate gaze caused some of the tension to fade from your body, and you sighed softly; your voice was almost inaudible when you replied, “That’s right, Enciodas.” There was only a sliver of space left between the both of you - you felt him smile before he muttered, “Very good…”

SilverAsh had been moving so slowly, and yet when his lips finally met yours it was as if all his patience left him; his head tilted in order to kiss you deeper and one of his hands drifted up from your waist to cup your jawline. The air around the both of you became warm, and so you practically melted into him. A few seconds into the kiss, your senses were null - but then it all comes rushing towards you.

Your papers are long forgotten when you lifted your hands from his chest to his hair. SilverAsh hummed gently against your lips as your fingers began combing through the fluffy locks - and when your touch grazed his snow leopard ears they twitched slightly, much to your amusement. You thought about taking a second to comment on it, but the Guard Operator didn't seem to want you to pull away, and so the thought faded quickly.

The Feline’s touch attracted all your focus, it’s so warm it's almost burning - or perhaps you were just flustered because of the close proximity, in all honesty, you were far too distracted by the kiss to tell the difference - and on his lips was the cool taste of peppermint. It was a stark contrast, the mix of hot and cold was so distinctive that you were sure you’d be thinking about it later on; though it was unbeknownst to you, SilverAsh certainly hoped so.

As the kiss came to a close both of you stilled, wordlessly taking in every detail of each other.

For someone who everyone said was ruthless and shrewd, SilverAsh encompassed so much tenderness in moments like these. When it came to you, his hands were so gentle, his voice was so soft, and his gaze was so warm; but no one else would ever be able to understand that side of him, because he reserved it for you and you only.

“E-Enciodas…” When the two of you finally broke away from each other, his name fell from your lips breathlessly. Taking his hand from your waist, he gently ran it up and down your back, “There you are, my dear. Ease up for me.” His soft gaze met yours, and a smile painted his lips when he noticed the rosy blush on your cheeks - you weren't expecting him to act so bold all of a sudden, but you had no complaints. Your head dropped to his shoulder, and he sighed in content as an easing warmth came over his own body. You were always so warm, so soft - he didn't want to ever let go of you.

The kiss had rendered the two of you a little speechless, and so for a while you both sat in serene silence. SilverAsh’s voice cut into the quietness softly after some time, “I apologize, it seems I was rather touch-starved and couldn't handle myself.” You shifted a little in his lap, but didn't say anything in reply. Lifting a brow, the Feline tilted his head in order to whisper into your ear - then your soft snoring met his ears.

He blinked, then a light chuckle came from his lips; you were fast asleep. Well, you had been working all day, so the Guard Operator was glad you were finally resting. If SilverAsh had known a kiss was all it took for you to relax, he would’ve had you asleep hours ago. That was alright, now he knew for next time.

Involuntarily, a grin came to his face as he shut his eyes and let his head rest against yours. Your lips had left a lingering warmth on his own; a warmth that the Feline found comforting, and maybe a little too pleasant. His smile grew - yes, SilverAsh was sure ‘next time’ would be happening quite soon.

EXECUTOR

You really couldn't thank Executor enough for allowing you to come along with him for his mission back at his home country - Laterano was truly breathtaking, from the architecture to the way all the citizens dressed. Considering your position as Rhodes Island’s tactical leader, you understood that accompanying Operators on their missions was a little dangerous and maybe not always necessary, but you had wanted to spend more time with the Sankta so he complied. After all, he could protect you if anything were to go wrong.

The view outside the window you were currently standing before almost felt like a dream. You understood that there was work to be done, and that Executor only agreed to stop at a hotel room because he knew you were both tired from talking around and trying to find intel pertaining to the mission but still - taking the time to relax couldn't hurt.

By the time you both settled into the hotel room, the sun had just begun to set; Executor had explained that it was going to be an uneventful evening, mostly just paperwork and going through flies.

“Doctor,” As cool and steady as always, Executor’s voice cut into your silence - your rapt attention went to him as he approached you, moving into your peripheral vision, “You should take this time to rest. Our work tomorrow begins very early in the morning, and I do not know when we will be able to have a break.” As you turned to face him an appreciative smile came to your lips, “You should rest too, Executor.” A shake of the head came in reply, which wasn't much of a surprise; “Do not worry about me. The Notarial Hall has requested that I complete multiple reports about the work we accomplished today, so I have no room to rest for very long.”

Your smile fell slightly. He had more work to do on top of what had already been assigned to him by Amiya? The Sankta before you took note of your mood shift right away; eyes thoughtful, he blinked for a second then spoke once more in a softer tone, “...However, if you wish for me to take some time to rest with you, then very well.” A little sheepishly, you looked off to the side before admitting that you were concerned with all the work he was deluging himself with. A bit of warmth broke onto Executor’s usually calm, unreadable facial expression as he began to remove his distinctive uniform coat; “I appreciate that. I do not want to cause you to worry over my wellbeing, so I will take some time to rest.”

Pleased, your grin returned - wider this time. The Sniper Operator’s demeanor grew warmer at your visible content. Quiet, he joined you in staring out at the sunset beyond the hotel room window. The air around you two was quiet, serene; but something was pulling on inside your chest, wanting to move closer to Executor. And so, your hand found his, and ever-so-slowly you laced your fingers together. Under your unexpected touch, the Sankta stiffened by a hair. He read something on your face, something that caused him to drop the formalities and call you by the nickname he had started getting used to addressing you as, “Hm...yes, love?”

Too focused on how your hand felt in his, you didn't reply. Instead, you turned to meet his gaze with a soft smile on your lips; a few emotions you couldn't distinguish flashed behind Executor’s eyes for but a split second at the affectionate expression on your face, before the coolness in the blue of his gaze melted into warmth.

His eyebrows furrowed together slightly as he stared back at you, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times before finding his words, “...Please excuse me, I… I cannot read your expression.” Emotions weren’t the Sankta’s strong-suit in any sense, but considering how understanding you had always been towards him, he wasn’t afraid to admit so. Voice just above a whisper, you assured him it was alright and let him know he could come a little closer. His hand remained in yours as he did so, shoulders tight and posture a little tense while his free hand hovered a little awkwardly at your side; you chimed with a light laugh at his behaviour, “It’s okay, you can touch me Executor.”

Executor was a little uncertain, but after a few seconds his hand settled comfortably on your waist and the other squeezed your hand ever-so-gently. Then he admitted to you quietly, “I am unsure on where to put my hands.” You shook your head, “This is perfect, don't worry.” The space between the both of you was barely a sliver as you leaned closer to him, expression still full of affection; his eyes flicked down to your lips, and yours glanced at his. Facial cues were something the Sniper Operator failed to understand, but the warmth balling itself in his chest told him to pull you closer. His mind told him that this wasn't appropriate, that his focus should be on his mission and his work, not on you; but the tugging in both his chest and yours was so intense that there was no use pulling back now.

And so, the Sankta finally broke the silence. “Love?” He paused, debating on whether or not he should speak, before mumbling his words against your mouth slowly, “May I kiss you?” He didn't have to ask - you replied in a small nod and Executor wasted no time closing the space between your lips and his own.

Gentle, careful; those weren’t words the others at Rhodes Island would associate Executor with, and yet that was all that ran through your mind when his lips captured yours. And his lips, they tasted sweet; as if he had just eaten a slice of cake or a spoonful of sugar. It was so stark considering how cold and stoic he appeared, but you couldn’t help but adore it. It was almost poetic - maybe you were the only one who would be able to witness and receive this sweetness from the Sankta.

He leaned into your touch when your hand came to cradle his cheek, and his arm slipped around your waist in order to pull you closer - so close that he was certain you could feel his heartbeat against your chest. But that was what he wanted and you allowed him to do so. Your fingers began running through his hair, pushing the white strands away from his face. Executor almost melting. The Sankta’s usual mechanic mind completely malfunctioned at both your close proximity and touch; every gear jammed and every cog stopped turning.

For Executor, this was so utterly odd. On the battlefield, the Sniper Operator was anything but hesitant; when his gun was in his hands, he knew exactly what to do. But with you - when it was you in his hands, his mind was overcome with uncertainty and all his thoughts became incoherent, all because of you. It always made his chest fill with warmth, it always made his stomach flutter, it always made his heart beat too fast, and yet it always felt so right.

When the Sankta ran out of air, he broke away gently; his eyes slipped open to meet your own as he rested his face in your palm. Your voice was soft against his lips, “Are you okay?” Giving you the softest expression, he unwrapped his arm from your waist so he could hold your hand to his cheek, “Yes love...thank you. This may not make any sense to you, but I feel almost energetic now.” A small chuckle came from you in reply. “You’re welcome, Executor. If you’re feeling so eager, we can get back to work in...just a minute.” Though you said that, you didn't seem to be interested in pulling away, and in all honesty neither was he. Yes, his mission was important; but surely taking a second more to rest with you was okay.

Executor’s gaze observed both you and the surrounding room carefully. You were looking back at him with eyes full of adoration and the most effusive grin, the sun through the window almost caused the rosy flush on your face to glow and was surely glinting off his halo and wings, the sunset-painted room was full of warmth that embraced him like a freshly washed blanket - his heart grew a little more with every detail he took note of.

The Sankta returned back to reality when your head fell on his shoulder and you whispered out a small, sincere confession - “I love you Executor.” His heart leapt and his breath hitched at the three words despite you having said them to him multiple times by then, and as always, he let one of his rare smiles grace his lips and replied right away, not missing a beat: “And I love you - more than I am able to describe.”

Honestly, though he tried as best he could, Executor wasn't sure if those words adequately expressed how thankful he was for you, how much he adored the way the feel of your shared kiss was still on his lips, how badly he wished to hold you and never pull away - but he supposed, if anything, it was enough.

[lumau]

This week has been sth else, so I apologize for a lack of editing. Before this whole story goes up on ao3, I’ll give it all another polish. I wanted to get sth sweet out there, hopefully changing the rest of this week for the better... so this has all the fluff. :)

This comes after the events at the beach, here: https://lumau.tumblr.com/post/658330266893434881/a-small-sunday-treat-interlude-ao-shun-in-skimpy

❄🖤🤍❄

Li Ming followed the king down the corridor leading to his private rooms. Ao Shun had not seemed to want to dismiss him yet, so he simply went along.

After the walk on the beach the king had shown himself brooding, and not another word was lost about the somewhat odd end of their conversation. Li Ming was still turning the thoughts over in his mind, when they reached the entrance flanked by a pair of guards. Ao Shun turned to him, as if only now noticing that he was still behind him.

“Ah, Li Ming,” he said, “I will retire early, and should not keep you. However, as you are here now, I would ask you to do my hair for the night. I am not entirely satisfied with the way Xiao has been doing it lately.”

Li Ming gave a polite bow. 

“Of course, my lord. I will speak to Xiao tomorrow.”

Li Ming graciously set down the little tray and unfolded the white towel across the king’s shoulders. He had not been entirely surprised when Ao Shun offered him another task, one that would not involve the presence of other staff. He had done his lord’s hair numerous times before, mostly when they were traveling, but the familiar movements seemed to gain a different quality to him now.

He took a deep breath and steadied his hand, when he reached out to undo the long braid, parting the strands with his fingers, loosening them with care. He looked down on Ao Shun’s back. The way he was perched on the leather and chrome ottoman he seemed suddenly small, so much more tangible and real. Of course nothing about him had changed - he was still the immortal king, the feared and beloved dragon god of legends, eternal, majestic and untouchable. The only difference was in his own perception. Those new, less and less subtle thoughts, the sudden wish to run his hands over his shoulders in front of him and the suspicion that his touch would be welcomed even. Maybe, if he offered a massage? He simply would have to reach out… 

“Li Ming.”

Li Ming felt caught, blushing at the ideas he’d just been indulging. He quickly took the intricate ebony comb from the tray and gingerly began working it through the tips of the long, black hair.

“I have been meaning to speak to you in private.” 

The low, soft tone of Ao Shun’s voice touched a part in Li Ming’s stomach and made it clench in a flutter. He focussed on combing Ao Shun’s hair, carefully, higher up. Combing it, and smoothing its soft lengths with his fingers, and combing it... If he didn’t focus on the task, he didn’t know what else he should do.

“I have been imposing my attention on you lately, acting on the attraction I feel towards you, and I presume you have become aware of it too.”

Li Ming swallowed hard. If his heart was not stuck up in his throat, making it impossible for him to bring out a word, what could he even have said to that?

Ao Shun sat completely still, looking straight ahead out of the window. Only the rise and fall of his shoulders gave a sign of his flattened breath. Somehow this little sign of agitation in the dragon king made Li Ming even more nervous. Ao Shun heaved a deep breath.

“I admit I have not done well, and my actions were not right.”

Li Ming’s hands stopped moving. Whatever he had expected, the low growl and the hint of guilt in the king's voice was not it. He stood stockstill, staring unblinkingly at the hair he was holding between his fingers.

“A man in my position needs to be aware of his influence,” Ao Shun said, solemnly, “and I have let myself get carried away, making advances on you without addressing the matter openly. You are bound by your oath to me. Naturally you would follow along with anything I ask of you. I should not have allowed myself to mingle your obligation with my personal interest.”

Unwittingly Li Ming laid the comb down and took up a crystal flask. He spread some of the mildly scented oil on his hands and once more began working them along the tips of Ao Shun’s hair in thoughtful silence. 

“Don’t you have anything to say to that?” Ao Shun spoke up again after a moment.

“My lord… I appreciate your honesty. I don’t think you have done me wrong, and you have not done anything against my will.”

Ao Shun gave a little nod, encouragingly, but Li Ming was not sure what else he could say.

“And about what else I mentioned -” Ao Shun inquired tentatively, when nothing more came from him, “About the interest I expressed in exploring a more personal contact between us…”

Li Ming continued to run his fingers through the king’s hair for a long moment. He wondered if Ao Shun could feel the slight trembling of his fingers, just like he could sense the electrified tension in his posture. He should have been prepared for this moment, after all that had happened lately. It was not out of the ordinary that royal dragons might request closer company from their subordinates. Growing up at court it was something one simply learned among other things. Yet while Li Ming had entertained the idea once or twice, and maybe slightly more often of late, none of his envisioned scenarios had involved the careful and earnest manner in which the king addressed him, or the blank space in his head where his mind should have been.

“How could I decline this from you?” he finally managed, and knew immediately that that was not the right answer. Ao Shun sharply drew in his breath and twitched his head to look over his shoulder. He frowned up at Li Ming.

“I want it to be absolutely clear that this is beyond your orders,” he growled, “If I have given you another impression, I will need to rectify it.”

Li Ming flustered. His face was starting to burn again, and he was growing desperate with himself. He had not meant it that way. Why was it suddenly so difficult to think, making it impossible for him to express himself?

“I want to know what you want, Li Ming.” 

Li Ming swallowed. The only thing he could think of to say was the truth.

“My lord, I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what you want?” Ao Shun asked.

“I apologise,” Li Ming said quietly and averted his eyes, “I am afraid I feel confused right now, and that is my truthful answer.” 

Ao Shun considered him for a moment, then his expression brightened again.

“Are you willing to find it out together?” he finally asked with a smile.

Li Ming blinked a little surprised, then he nodded and smiled back. The words ‘find it out together’ echoed in his mind, leaving a warmer feeling and making him more at ease. 

Ao Shun turned his head back, and Li Ming remembered suddenly that he was still holding the lengths of his hair.

“When I ask you for something that you are uncomfortable with, can I trust you to say no to me?” Ao Shun asked, his voice soft again.

“Yes, my lord,” Li Ming replied with a smile.

“And will you also ask for what you desire from me?”

There was a longer silence after that. 

“… I can try.”

Li Ming felt much less confident at that, but for now Ao Shun seemed content with his answer.

Li Ming found that he was still smiling, as he added a few more drops of oil to his hands, almost a little light-headed. The previously anxious flutter in his stomach had turned into something warmer, friendlier now.

He rested his palms on top of Ao Shun’s head, and began moving the tips of his fingers in small circles along his hairline. A head massage was not necessarily a part of his evening routine, but from the deep sigh and the slight sagging of Ao Shun’s shoulders he could tell it was appreciated.

He slowly ran his fingers along to the back, and feeling suddenly elated after their conversation, let them trail down behind the king’s ears, drawing gentle patterns on the soft skin of his neck. This was definitely not part of the regular routine. Ao Shun gave another sigh and let himself sink back against Li Ming, dropping his head slightly back to let it rest against him. Li Ming could see the serene expression on his face, his eyes closed and his lips drawn into a contented smile. He almost regretted that he had not simply said “Yes.” to his earlier question, and wondered for a second, if he would dare to ask to kiss him now.

Then Ao Shun’s smile turned into a grin, and he sat up again, the warmth and weight of his body lingering for a few more seconds where he had leaned. 

“Please, Li Ming,” he said, “don’t raise the issue with Xiao. I’d rather you do my hair every night from now on, if I get that sort of treatment.” 

The mention of Ao Shun’s attendant brought Li Ming back into reality, and made him a little awkward at having slipped from his familiar role. He gathered Ao Shun’s hair in a loose bun on his vertex and fixed it with a hairband. He felt a small sting of regret when he was done and Ao Shun stood up. The king gave him a long look from under his lashes.

“Thank you,” he said simply, and Li Ming could tell that he only partly meant it for the hairdo. Once more he felt the sudden urge to reach out, or to say something to cross the space between them, but there was the ottoman in the middle and the lump in his throat and then Ao Shun blinked, and smiled, and Li Ming knew it meant Good Night.

Sitting in his own room an hour later, he was still too agitated to go to bed. He tried reading one of the new books on his shelf, but couldn’t bring himself to focus. Too much had happened today, and he kept replaying the events in his mind, alternating between furtive excitement and coy bliss and a bit of disappointment at what felt like a missed opportunity in the end.

When he had once more been staring at a page for an unknown amount of time, a polite knock on his door made him perk up. It was Xiao, who apologized for the late disturbance, but she had been sent by Ao Shun to call him up once more. While Li Ming had already shed his tie and loosened his collar, he had luckily not bothered to get ready for bed yet.

He found Ao Shun on his balcony, cled in his black and white silk robe and looking out over the nightly panorama. Li Ming’s heart had already begun to beat faster as he entered the apartment, but now his nerves seemed to stun him once more. How could it be that he kept finding himself lost for words so often these past days, with his extensive diplomatic training and experience? 

“My lord, you required my attendance?” he said, settling on a safe, formal approach.

When Ao Shun spoke, Li Ming could hear the smile in his voice and knew it was not an official call after all.

“The sky is so full of stars tonight. I thought you might appreciate it as well.”

He turned away from the railing to look at Li Ming unblinkingly, long enough to make him feel self-conscious.

“And I thought you would look beautiful in the light of the moon. I was right.”

Li Ming felt ice and heat rush through his veins again. He distantly heard himself stammer, “Thank you, my lord, it really is a beautiful night.” He was certain that his face must have gone deep red, and hoped it wouldn’t be too visible in the bespoke moonlight.

A slightly crooked smile curled Ao Shun’s lips, as he approached him.

“Allow me to be frank, Li Ming.” 

His voice was low and soft, humming with a deep tremor underneath it. 

“I could not get you out of my head. And I wanted to kiss you.”

The words hung between them in the air for a few long seconds. Li Ming’s heart was racing. When Ao Shun held out his hand to him, he automatically took it. There was comfort in the warmth of his touch and the slight shiver he could feel in the grasp. It gave away the king’s inner tension, while his expression remained one of calm confidence.

“You have not declined or turned away yet. I take that as a positive sign?”

Ao Shun took another step closer, until they were almost touching. Li Ming could sense the familiar energy he always radiated, felt the air between them prickle with electricity. He could see his dark eyes gleaming in the low light. He had never seen them so close up. He wanted to lose himself in their depth, but Ao Shun was watching him expectantly. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. Ao Shun pursed his lips into a smirk and tilted his head.

Li Ming swallowed and muttered, “Yes, please.”

It had to be his voice, as the words came from his mouth, but he did not recognise its tone. The soft smile was back on Ao Shun’s face, and when he leaned in and their lips met, Li Ming stopped thinking altogether.

As Li Ming opened the door to his private rooms, he still couldn’t stop smiling. He did not know how much time had passed, but the moon was high now and shone in through the windows.

A part of him had wondered if (and maybe even hoped that) Ao Shun would extend his invitation even further. But he had said that he wanted to kiss him, and that was what he had done. And then they kissed again, and again, and some more when Ao Shun had walked him to the door. And they had both smiled widely, and Ao Shun had thanked him before wishing him a good night.

Li Ming felt giddy and drowsy, as if walking through a dream all the way back. He was vaguely aware of a different part of his brain that would in some distant future start nagging him about all the potential trouble he was getting himself into. But for now, the only thing he could think of were the sensations of those kisses he could still feel on his lips.

[consumedkings-archive]

WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic.

chapter eleven: after you've gone

word count: ~12.6k

rating: m

warnings: canon-typical religious blasphemy, though it's in full-force here with joseph so i wanted it to be noted in the warnings. there are mentions of self-harm, both past and implied presently, and they're not treated very lightly. elliot is having a hard time.

notes: there's a lot of moving parts in this so i apologize in advance if it feels a bit slow, but everything felt really important to include and i wanted to make sure nothing got left out. thank you so much to my beta @starcrier who literally proofed this beast with all of the love in the world.

i won't ramble on too much, but i did want to say that the reception for the last two chapters really made my whole heart just explode and i wanted to thank you all! what an incredible experience it is getting to write these two gigantic idiots. <3

“I saw her. Our mor.”

Helmi cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear, scribbling absently on the side of the file she’d continued nosing through once she’d gotten back to the bunker. Like this, she felt far from Kajsa—farther than she had in the longest time. Maybe since they had welcomed her into the Family.

“Did you?” She stretched back against the truck’s seat, feet kicked up on the dash as she scanned the page, going over her own notes. Starvation, classical condition. On animals and people? In the back seat of the truck, Peaches rumbled her discontent at lack of attention; Helmi reached back and scratched her ears until the rumble turned into what she recognized as a more contented purr.

“Yes. She is doing well. Her color is just as Ase said, you know. Perfectly balanced. Poor John—I can see his suffering.”

Helmi hmm’d, the thoughtfulness matching the patient rumble Peaches had rewarded her affection with.

“Is Deputy Pratt behaving?”

“I should hope so. He has no reason to have any loyalty to the Seeds, outside of fear.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. Helmi was sure, in the very marrow of her bones, that Kajsa was smiling.

“And what did you give him, Helmi? To make him loyal?”

She considered. “A more impressive fear.” And then: “Also, I said I wouldn’t kill him.”

“That is just a more impressive fear bundled up pretty, my heart.”

“Mm,” Helmi replied in agreement. Whatever the case, she thought that Pratt had more to gain from fucking the Seeds over than he did by fucking them over—and that’s why Kajsa entrusted this sort of thing to her and didn’t do it herself, after all. If it had been Kajsa here, eyeing Pratt like a piece of lunchmeat, she’d have him drugged to the gills and barely aware of what was going on. Not being of use.

It’s why we make a perfect pair, something inside of her said, joy shared, joy doubled.

“Don’t rest on your laurels.”

Sorrow shared, sorrow halved.

Helmi sighed. “I’m not.”

“Keep putting pressure. I want them squirming, hjärtat.”

“I will.” She paused, sitting up in the truck and glancing out at the remaining members of the Family. Those that hadn’t given themselves a swift, clean death. After Kian’s face was crushed in, Kajsa had gathered them all and said, It’s going to be harder, from here. If you feel you cannot do it, if you think that you do not have the strength to answer our calling, then it is your time. We love you.

It had been the time for many. Morale had been—and still was—low. Ase’s death first, gut-wrenching and tragic, and then Kian’s; worse than the last. Worse, because while he had been grieving, while he had been suffering, he had still been their second-in-command. Meant to be infallible, even more so than Ase. He had been meant to carry them into their next life, after It was appeased. Contented. After It had turned the world to winter.

Now, more than ever, with only a handful of them left to huddle around their fires and sleep in the backs of cars, and kiss and laugh and hug each other in the inky black night, they felt like a ship adrift at sea.

Kajsa’s voice hummed in her ear, plastic and metal vibrating where it lay trapped between her head and shoulder. Helmi’s gaze swept away from the remaining Family members and turned her gaze back to the file. The Seeds were deeply rooted in this place—the tendrils of a tree that might be dead at the trunk but stayed for many decades after, if it wasn’t ripped out at the base.

“Did you hear me, Helmi?”

“No,” she replied truthfully. “I was distracted.”

“I am coming back,” Kajsa reiterated patiently.

“The others will be happy.”

“And what about you? Will you be happy?”

Helmi paused. She closed the file, dropped it back onto the dashboard and cranked the seat back so that she could stretch a little, her eyes tracing the tinny, ancient ceiling of the truck she’d lifted from Eden’s Gate. She exhaled, once, and then held her breath; closed her eyes, felt the ache of it between her ribs.

“I sense before me a lost lamb.”

“Not lost,” Helmi replied, her lungs tight. “Just—thinking.”

“Must I divine the dark cloud over your soul myself?”

She allowed her body to take air back in. “I wonder,” she murmured, “if it will be enough to appease the Father.”

“Do you wonder,” Kajsa hummed, “or do you worry?”

A moment of silence stretched. And then, the rich, melodic timbre of the Hierophant’s voice came through again, idle and pulled snug against her ear, like Kajsa was really right there again to say the words against her skin: “What will you do, if Staci Pratt defects despite your Machiavellian threats of harm so great he should never consider to incur it?”

“I don’t know,” Helmi replied uneasily. “It would depend on if he brought mor and the interloper, or if he just—”

“The answer, hjärtat, is that you do not know, because it has not been revealed to you yet.” Despite the interruption, Kajsa’s voice was pleasant and serene. Ever since Ase’s death, she’d been more tempered—like she was playing a role, filling a void. Helmi almost missed her cruelty. Like it was a creature comfort. “There is no use in wondering, because we will never know before it is our time to. We want for much. Whether or not we are given it remains to be seen. Our Father is a most...”

Her voice trailed off. Helmi tried to think of what words Kajsa might use; stringent, perhaps, ambitious, or even enigmatic—

“Wretched god,” Kajsa finished, a grin in her voice. “It does so love to watch us toil, does It not?”

“Yes,” she answered after a moment, because wretched resonated somewhere in her soul, somewhere in the marrow of her bones, reminding her why this had felt like home ever in the first place. Wretched, to watch them suffer, to give them so little information and let them suffer wreck after wreck.

In front of her, the dark of the forest swelled, breathed, reminded her: failure was not an option. Theirs was not a benevolent, forgiving God, the kind who would forgive sin if one only asked—the Father was wrathful, was vengeful, and would make them suffer their insolence and their ineptitude.

“I should get going. I imagine our mor will not be far behind, thanks to your ingenuity, and I want to be in Hope County to welcome her.”

“I am,” Helmi blurted out after a second of hesitation, “happy, that you’re coming back.”

There was a pause on the other end; and then, a soft breath, where Helmi thought maybe Kajsa was smiling again.

“Ingenting under solen är beständigt, my heart.”

The call clicked. Only empty air and static, then, buzzing faintly in the ear, the words dead in her mouth before she’d had the chance to say them back.

Nothing under the sun is lasting.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elliot was going to be sick. Nevermind the morning-after-dread of realizing she had caved in on her most basest animal desires—What, the man who’s perhaps lied to you the most tells you he’s never thought you’re crazy, and you let him fuck you? Come on, Elliot,—but listening to Pratt ramble nervously into the phone about how he didn’t realize everyone was gone, nobody stopped to look for him, nobody tried to call, he thought she had left too and she had, where was she? Was she okay?

“I’m fine,” she managed out. Guilt ripped through her sternum, burning hot and shameful. I’m fine, Pratt, don’t worry about me. Got well and truly railed last night, it’s fine. Oh, also, I’m going to have a baby. And I’m married. Don’t worry, you found out about the same time as me, just off a few weeks. “I’m at my mom’s.”

“In Georgia?”

“Yeah.” Elliot swallowed thickly. “Are you okay? You sound like shit.”

Pratt laughed uneasily on the other end of the line. “I’m with, uh—I’m with them.” He paused. “The Seeds. And their—the lawyer lady.”

“That doesn’t tell me if you’re okay,” she reiterated, more firmly.

He laughed again. “I’m on the phone with you, aren’t I?”

Frustrating. They might all be looming around him, waiting to hear what she was going to say. It was a trap, of course. Jacob or Joseph had done enough digging around in her past to find out they’d gone to school together, had gone to school dances, had basically dated—and they knew she’d evacuated the entirety of the Resistance otherwise. They were clearly laying a trap to get her to come back. But for what?

“Hey, um—” Staci cleared his throat. “Ell, there’s—a lot of bad stuff going on. There’s these people, and they’re—they’re just killing people, left and right, gutting them and sticking them up and—Jesus, they fucking split Miss Mabel open like a fish, and I’m—”

Oh, there it was; the sickness, the violent urge to throw up. The Family was supposed to be dead. They had been killing themselves off in pairs after Kian’s death, weren’t they? Elliot blinked rapidly, trying to calm the furious beating of her heart, the way it slammed against her rib cage and demanded penance.

Calloused fingers swept her hair to the side and squeezed at the juncture between her neck and shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. She closed her eyes tight, willing herself to accept it for what it was—John, comforting her, because even now he knew her well enough to see she was spiraling.

I can’t, is what she needed to say. I can’t come back, Staci, I can’t, not me and not my baby, my hands are already covered in blood I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—

“—I’m so fucking scared, Ell.” Pratt’s voice wobbled on the other end, hitting straight at the fresh welt of guilt in her chest, ripping and tearing at it.

I can’t—

“I don’t want to be alone—”

I’m sorry I can’t I’m sorry—

“—I’m sorry—”

“I’ll come,” she blurted out, her voice hoarse, the burn behind her eyes and in her nose a threat of oncoming tears. She couldn’t stand it—couldn’t bear to hear him like this, when this whole time he was supposed to have been safe. She’d let him down, and while she had a responsibility to herself, the responsibility to the others had always come first.

And, better still, was the tiny, tiny fragment of hope that the dark-haired woman with a mouth like broken glass would be left behind, too. The dog with the man’s face and the strands of her hair glinting between Its bloody teeth would stay here, in Weyfield. It would wait for her, but perhaps there would be some peace there, too.

It waits for you, It waits for us all, It will have you. As It gives, so too does It take.

“Tell them I’m coming back.” Elliot bit the words out through her teeth. “And tell them if I come back and you’re hurt, or dead, or—if there’s anything wrong with you, I’m going to fucking kill them. Okay?”

“No need,” came Jacob’s voice over the phone. “You’re on speaker, Deputy Honeysett. We’re well acquainted with your particular brand of mania.”

“Great,” she snapped, feeling a vicious flush spread through her cheeks despite the fact that she didn’t feel bad at all for what she’d said. “You thought I was fucking manic before? I had nothing to lose, then. Imagine how much worse I’ll make your life now—”

John’s hand squeezed again. This time, she shot him a venomous look over her shoulder and shrugged him off. Elliot knotted her fingers in Boomer’s fur and prompted again, “Is that clear?”

The eldest Seed sounded like he was smiling when he said, “Crystal, Deputy.”

“Good.” She paused. “And don’t fucking call me that. I’m not a deputy, anymore.”

“Sure thing, hellcat.”

“Pratt—”

Jacob’s voice came again: “Have a safe trip.”

The phone call beeped once, twice, three times, and then ended. The hard knot of dread in the pit of her stomach did not lessen; she hit the redial button, and it went straight to voicemail. Again, and again, and again, her hands shaking as she thought wait, I didn’t get to say goodbye, I didn’t get to promise I’d be there, I’m coming Pratt, I’m coming please don’t be worried, before she shoved the phone into John’s grip.

“Call him back,” she demanded, “make him pick up the phone—”

“Elliot,” he began, “if he turned the phone off, I can’t—”

“Fuck you!” she snapped, coming to a stand and raking her fingers through her hair. “You fucking knew they had Pratt, didn’t you? You knew that he was still trapped there and he didn’t get out, and you fucking left him there, so that you could pull me back if it didn’t go the way you wanted—”

John stood too, setting the phone on the bedside table and lifting his hands. The gesture was meant to calm and soothe, see my hands? Here they are, no threat here, but all it did was make her angrier, stoke a fire inside of her that had apparently lain dormant since she’d left Hope County.

Elliot smacked his hands down. “Don’t treat me like some fucking animal, John.”

“I’m not,” he defended quickly, dropping his hands all the way back to his sides when Boomer barked twice, sharp and accusatory, hackles lifting. “I didn’t know Pratt was still there. I thought the Resistance had got him out, and I didn’t bother asking.”

“You should have bothered—”

“I’m just as displeased as you are,” John interjected dryly, the dark coloring of his tone implying that he was—but for perhaps a different reason. It struck her that he might, in fact, be so displeased because he was aware of their history, on some level. It did feel a little gratifying to know that he was squirming for such an insignificant reason.

“You fuckhead,” she spit. “You put a fucking baby in me and you still have the insecurity of a middle school boy.”

“We both know,” he replied tartly, “that our baby is not in any way binding you to me, Elliot. And is it so shocking, considering that the thing that I want most in the world is for you to come home, and you fight me at every turn—”

“Hope County isn’t my home anymore—”

“—but Staci Pratt calls you and cries a little into the phone, and you’re jumping at the bit to go back?”

“Fuck. Off,” Elliot bit out between her teeth, face flushing. “Pratt is my friend, which is more than I can say for you.”

“Right,” John agreed, “because you let the person you hate fuck you.”

Her mouth clamped shut, biting and swallowing back a wad of venom she thought might make her sick if she let it out. There was too much of it, the things that she wanted to say—fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou, I fucking hate you, you make me sick, if anything is wrong with Pratt I’ll kill your brothers and then I’ll fucking kill you too—but she didn’t say any of it.

Instead, she said, “Get out. I’m getting changed and we’re leaving.”

John sighed, passing a hand over his face for a moment like maybe he regretted what he’d said. “We can’t.”

She felt her voice spike, near incredulous hysteria: “Pardon?”

“Old Father Time of the Job Ineptitude mentioned he had Federal agents showing up out of nowhere,” he snapped. The words had her stomach twisting; her first thought was a tiny spike of happiness at the idea of Cameron Burke, and then it was quickly doused by the sharp reminder that she’d stolen his gun and ran with it. Because he thought she was crazy. Because he was going to put her behind bars.

John continued, “He seemed to be implying it was somehow related to me showing up, and by proxy you, and if we up and leave—”

“It’ll make it look more suspicious,” she finished, feeling a little numb. “Okay, so—what? How long do we have to wait?”

He scratched his cheek, his eyes flickering absently over the duvet on the bed, like he was trying to map it out in his own head. No doubt, he was trying to operate on multiple timelines—the timeline of Not Raising Suspicion, and whatever timeline Joseph had given him.

Some things really did never change.

“After your mother’s Christmas party,” he ventured finally. “It’s not quite Christmas—could look enough like we’re sticking around for enough holiday cheer to be passable before leaving again. Pritchard’s clearly not unfamiliar with your mother’s...”

His voice trailed off. He looked to her as though asking for permission to say something critical; when Elliot remained stonefaced and immovable, he finished, “...temperament.”

“Nice save.”

“Well,” he replied, humble as ever. “Anyway, that probably wouldn’t rouse suspicion. If it is Burke, and your house isn’t getting stormed right now, I have to think he’s here on unofficial business. Otherwise, why wouldn’t they just come and bust the door down and grab you?”

Elliot hoped that was the case. She hoped this meant that Burke was just trying to find her, and was not hunting her down at the behest of the government. If there was one thing that Joseph had been right about amidst all his doomsday-saying and whatnot, it was that according to the news, there was a big chance the government had bigger things on their hands. Bigger concerns than a tiny town in Montana and its cult inhabitants.

“Get out,” she said again. “So I can change.”

“You—” John sucked in a little breath, stopping himself from what was inevitably going to be stirring another argument; he lifted his hands again, this time in surrender. “Alright, Ell. I said you’d get anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”

“Chop-chop.”

“I’m going. Mind if I pull some clothes on before I walk out into the house owned by your mother, where she has almost assuredly been sipping her vodka martini since four AM?”

She felt her eyes narrow. “Fine.”

Turning, she crossed the bedroom into the master bath and shut the door behind her, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes until fine webbing scattered across the dark of her eyelids. This was the last thing she needed—and it felt, surely, traitorous and awful to think it, to think, this is the last thing I need, Pratt needing rescuing, when the only reason she’d felt comfortable leaving Hope County in the first place was because she thought the only people who were left were cultists.

Elliot dropped her hands from her eyes, blinking a few times until her vision cleared. In the mirror—much as it had been since coming back from Hope County—stood a girl that she thought looked like a stranger. Blushed cheeks and kiss-reddened lips, her neck littered with love marks, the healthy glow blooming up from beneath the WRATH scar on her chest, exposed by her loosely cinched robe.

That’s not me, she thought, pulling absently on a strand of red hair and swallowing thickly. I’m not that girl.

Her face was softer than before, more lively color rising up around her eyes and cheeks and mouth. More of her freckles had come out. There was a tiny, tiny—almost imperceptible—slope to her tummy, now, too.

Not me, came the thought again, more distressed this time, her brows pulling together at the center of her forehead. That’s not me. I’m not that girl. Who are you, pretty girl? Not me.

The woman and her dark hair—dark dark dark, like an oil slick, looming in the corner of her mind. Her mouth red as pomegranate and stretched like broken glass.

I hear stress is bad for the baby.

A knock came at the door. Elliot blinked, feeling unwell and unsure of how long she’d been standing there, her hand having dropped to cup the slope of her stomach experimentally. Women did that, right? When they were pregnant? Did it make them feel closer to the baby? Did it make them feel more protected?

Did she feel safer?

“Ell,” John said, nudging the door open, “your mother is...”

Pulling away from the door, she cinched the robe tight and busied herself at the sink, turning the water on. As he stepped into the bathroom, she could see John was now fully-dressed, freshly-showered. She’d been standing in front of the mirror trying to recognize the person staring back at her long enough for him to do that, it seemed.

“That was a quick shower,” she said briskly, splashing her face and rubbing absently at her cheek. She could feel John’s eyes on her through the mirror, even though she refused to meet them.

“I’ve always preferred it that way,” he replied casually. And then: “Get distracted?”

Yes, she thought, but didn’t say, because then the things he’d said last night that had made her feel sane and normal wouldn’t mean anything anymore. John would have said I don’t think you’re crazy and he’d have to take it back, because if she told him there was a stranger standing in her mirror, he would think she was crazy.

“It’s weird,” is what Elliot offered after a moment, trying to find a way to be honest and redirect, “to see a baby bump. Even if it’s small.” She cleared her throat and fished her toothbrush out of the holder. Continuing briskly, she added, “And the scar. I spent a lot of time avoiding it.”

John’s expression had done that funny thing that she supposed was softening at her words. He stepped forward; the ghost of his fingers trailing her ribs over the robe made her skin prickle with goosebumps.

“I’m not done being mad at you,” she warned him, eyes flickering to meet his gaze through the mirror.

“I know,” he replied, tone agreeable. “I just—”

The brunette paused then, waiting for her to stop him before he smoothed the warmth of his palm over her hip, across the expanse of her abdomen. It was painfully intimate in a way that didn’t imply sex—intimate, in the way that she felt seen, that she could see the relief coloring the edges of his expression.

John pressed his mouth to the back of her shoulder. “Just missed you,” he murmured after a moment. “Getting to touch you. Even just like this. Especially just like this—”

Something panged sharp and unforgiving in her chest. “Well, don’t get used to it,” she replied tightly, brushing his hand away from the baby bump after letting it linger for a moment. “And I don’t remember inviting you in.”

“Your mother was asking after you,” John said, by way of explanation, looking pleased from their little moment. Fucker. “She wanted to know if you’d be drinking coffee this morning. I think her exact words were, ‘Mr. Seed, would you ask my daughter if she’s going to take the risk of drinking coffee this morning? I know she shouldn’t be, with her condition—’”

“Ugh.”

“‘—but since we’re going to be picking out her dress for the Christmas party today, I could make an exception—’”

“Fuck me,” she muttered, wetting her toothbrush and putting the toothpaste on it. “Ask her if she can make it extra strong.”

“I’m actually enjoying being out of your mother’s ire for a minute.”

Elliot rolled her eyes. “No coffee for me.”

“Got it.” John headed for the bathroom door, and then paused again, turning to look at her. “Ell,” he began, “I really didn’t know—you know, about Pratt.”

That pesky little flutter of something agonizingly sweet—softness—in her chest flared again.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” is what she said, before she turned the toothbrush on and started scrubbing her teeth. That seemed enough of an answer for John, for once, because he left and closed the door quietly behind him after deliberating.

The minutes, and hours, and days—well, day or two—until they got back to Hope County were going to be something close to agony. She could only hope they had taken her seriously when she told them that she’d better come back to a Pratt in one piece.

I don’t want to be alone. Pratt’s voice echoed hauntingly in her head. She thought she could remember the sound of voices in the background—a woman’s, at least. Faith? Or John’s friend, Isolde? Surely Jacob and Joseph were there listening to him call her, too. She’d been so fucking stupid to let them get to her.

No, not stupid. Not stupid to want Pratt to feel safe, and like someone was coming back for him.

I’m sorry, she thought tiredly, as though the words could somehow get to him. I’m sorry, that it’s me you have to wait for.

I’m sorry that I won’t be the person you remembered.

I’m sorry.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You did so well, Staci.”

Faith’s voice jarred him out of the weird pause in time he’d been marinating in. It had been just a few seconds, maybe—Jacob and Joseph were talking in low voices, the dark-haired woman standing at the point of their little triangle with her arms crossed and her brows furrowed—that his brain had shut off, the distress in Elliot’s voice echoing eerily in his head. She’d sounded so upset. He wouldn’t have called, wouldn’t have started to ask her to come back, if he’d known how much she didn’t want to.

But that wasn’t true, either. He would have called, because Helmi had said, Either the Seeds are going to drag her back by her hair kicking and screaming, and eventually kill her, or she comes back and we keep her safe.

‘Safe’ had been the keyword there. He didn’t know how much he could take the woman at her word, but considering everything—well, it was better than trying to take the Seeds at their word.

Faith’s hand touched the back of his, startling him into a tiny jump. He cleared his throat. “Um—I wasn’t...Acting.”

“Still,” she replied sweetly, “I know it must have been hard.”

She was so polished—skin all dusted silver and moonlike, flushed with a little high color in her cheeks, her blonde hair tumbling around her face loosely. In the chapel, the air was tepid at best, and frigid at worst, keeping a little pink in everyone’s faces.

It was strange to look at her now. Her hands were soft; her skin unblemished. Just hours ago, he’d been sitting in the car, noticing the same kinds of details about Helmi—about how human she looked, hand slung over a steering wheel, her cracked phone plugged into the truck’s stereo and her chipped nail polish and the scars and bruises littering her knuckles. The way she’d shot him a toothy, wolfish grin as she cranked the volume up and said, What, Staci Pratt, you don’t like Blue Öyster Cult either?

In comparison, Faith didn’t feel human at all. She felt like a dream.

“Can—” Pratt came to a stand, rubbing his palms on the tops of his thighs. “Can I go? Lay down, or something?”

Three pairs of eyes snapped to him. The dark-haired woman, who Jacob kept referring to as Sol, completely ignored his question and looked at the redhead to say, “Has someone checked him for head trauma?”

“I’m not—concussed!” Pratt snapped, his voice wobbling. “I’m just tired.”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed. He looked like maybe he wanted to say something, and then reconsidered, saying, “Dr. Hale will take a look at you and then sure, Peaches, you can rest.”

It took every ounce of his self-control to not tell Jacob to stop calling him that. He had to remember that as far as they were concerned, he hadn’t been taken in by the “other side”, he’d been sitting scared and meek like a good boy at the compound.

Pratt’s eyes darted, catching sight of the woman that Jacob gestured to with a free hand. Right. The Fall’s End vet. She’d been here for what—a little over a year? He couldn’t tell if she was being held captive by Eden’s Gate or if she was there by her own volition, though the few times he’d run into her before she’d seemed like a pretty even-keel person. Didn’t she have like, two degrees or something? What was she doing here?

He made his way to the back of the church, meeting the curly-haired blonde halfway. Definitely looked too clean to be a cultist. “You’re not a people doctor, right?” he asked uneasily, watching as her head cocked to the side and her mouth quirked in a bit of amusement.

“No, Mr. Pratt, I am not a people doctor.” She fell into step beside him, opening the chapel door for him. “But I do have first aid training, which I think is about as good as you’re going to get around these parts.”

“I didn’t get a concussion.”

“That’s good. When was the last time you ate?”

His mouth twisted in a frown, trailing after through the snow as the cold began to sink into his bones. She seemed awfully confident moving around the compound, if she wasn’t part of the cult. But if she was, what was she doing here? How did—?

Pain bloomed behind his eyes, a fresh headache sinking into his nerves. Too much. It was too much confusion, about Elliot (pregnant? And John Seed was with her?) and about the Family and about all of these—these people that he didn’t really recognize hanging around the Seeds. And the compound was so quiet. Where was everyone? Had the Family really taken that many of Eden’s Gate out?

“Mr. Pratt?”

The woman opened a door into a bunkhouse that glowed with golden light from within and radiated heat. Two long-haired shepherds lay on the floor at the foot of the bed, lifting long faces and peering at him with dark eyes. He stepped inside and cleared his throat.

“Uh, a day, maybe,” he replied after a minute. Taking a seat when she gestured for him to, he shifted uncomfortably as she set a first aid kid on the cushion beside him and pulled one of the wooden chairs up in front of him.

“And slept?” She blew a curl out of her face and opened the kit, fishing around to find some alcohol wipes and Neosporin. He guessed he was a bit worse for wear than he’d thought, initially; not that he’d been taking great care of himself, even when it had just been him and Dani. She’d encouraged him to stay high, not stay better.

Fuck, I’m such an idiot.

He let out a little hiss when she pressed one of the alcohol wipes to a cut on his cheek.

“The same,” he replied, reaching up and brushing her hand away. “What—what are you doing here, doctor?”

“Arden is fine.” She sat back, regarding him curiously. “I’m cleaning that cut, Mr. Pratt. It looks agitated.”

“No, I—” Pratt let out a little breath. “I mean here. In the compound.”

Arden stared at him for a moment, like she didn’t understand why he was asking her that question. She lifted her hand and arched a brow inquisitively; when he nodded shortly, she leaned forward again, balancing her free hand on his shoulder and using the other to gently dab at the cut.

“I’ve spent the last month or so holed up in my house,” she explained to him. “Me, and the dogs, I mean.”

A little smile ghosted over her lips, and despite himself, Pratt felt a wry smile tugging at his own. It was difficult not to feel relaxed, when Arden moved with so much surety. In the glow of the radiators ticking away and the warm yellow light, especially.

“Mostly reading. They had assigned one of the boys to me—Santiago. I think he’s John’s man. He doesn’t strike me as one of Joseph or Faith’s.”

Pratt made a little noise of agreement, because he knew exactly what she was talking about. She dropped the alcohol wipes to the side and reached over for the Neosporin, dabbing some onto her finger and then reaching back up to resume her work.

“Sorry,” he said after a moment. “That you got—stuck, I mean. Here.”

“Oh, you don’t need to apologize, Mr. Pratt.”

“I feel partially responsible,” he admitted, feeling some of the tension flee his shoulders. “You know, being law enforcement and all—”

“Hold still, please.”

“Sorry,” he said again. “I guess what I mean is—sometimes it feels like a real failing on our part. All of those people, I...”

He paused, and Arden leaned back, giving him a pat on the knee. “That’s alright, Mr. Pratt,” and her voice bloomed with comfort. “Where was I?”

“Up at your house, with the dogs and maybe one of John’s men.”

“Right. I wasn’t allowed to leave, you know, on account of the—” She gestured with an elegant hand. “Cult running amok.”

He nodded. “Cult number two.”

Arden smiled, and continued, “And then just a few days ago, after one of them started killing those folks in Fall’s End, Jacob came up to get me.”

The way she said it made him feel, a little uneasily, that maybe he was misreading it. Jacob came up to get me did not sound like Jacob came to pick me up because I’m his prisoner.

And then she said, “He was worried, you know. Only having a radio up there. I know how to use a gun, but I’d prefer not to, if I don’t have to, and—”

“Sorry,” he blurted out, “but are you—”

She blinked light eyes at him, almost owlishly, like she didn’t understand the question. “Am I...?”

“With? Them?” Pratt gestured towards where the chapel lay, beyond the bunkhouse walls. “The—Eden’s Gate?”

“Oh!” Arden laughed, almost sheepishly; he felt a nervous little laugh bubbling out of him too, almost hoping for the relief of her assuring him that she was, in fact, not in league with the Darwinian psycho that had spent the last few months mindfucking every resident he could get his hands on.

She came to a stand and pulled a bottle of ibuprofen and a granola bar out of the kit, dropping them in his hand.

“Eat the bar before you take the ibuprofen,” she told him, “or it’ll—well, I’m sure you know. Upset stomach, and all that. Do you want to take a shower?”

Pratt’s fingers curled around the ibuprofen bottle. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m sorry,” Arden replied, not sounding very sorry at all, “I guess I just thought it a bit silly. Who else would I be “with”?”

His stomach somersaulted, sinking viciously. Suddenly, the granola bar—which had certainly been sitting in the kit for who knew how long—looked even less appetizing than before. While his vision swam for a second, the woman carried on conversationally, as though she had not just revealed herself to—

Well, to be in league with the Darwinian psycho that had spent the last few months mindfucking every resident he could get his hands on.

“But—they think the world is ending,” Pratt blurted out, lifting his eyes to look at her finally. “And—doctor, all the people they killed, and—”

“Don’t strain yourself, Mr. Pratt. You’ve been under quite a bit of duress as of late, I think, and it would be best to try and keep those stress levels down.” She moved to the small pantry beside the bathroom, shuffling around and producing a few towels, leaning into the bathroom to set them on the counter. “Though, you do bring up a funny point—have you been listening to the news? I suppose you haven’t. I remember listening to the news before all of this business went down and thinking that the world had ended a long time ago. We were just a bit behind, all the way out here. Do you want to take a shower?”

Blinking furiously, Pratt searched his brain for the answer; he muddled through the disappointment raking down his spine, the delicate little hope that had been fostered at the prospect of finding someone who was kind and not under the Seeds’ thumb being crushed beneath the weight of the reality of his situation.

“Yes please,” he managed out, his voice hoarse.

“Alright. Eat that bar first, so you don’t pass out in the hot water. And Mr. Pratt?”

“Y—” He had clumsily ripped open the granola bar and shoved half into his mouth, the fear of being seen as disobedient when Jacob Seed was within radius flickering like a wildfire through his body. He swallowed thickly, the dry food feeling like it was sticking to the inside of his mouth. “Um, yes?”

Her expression colored sympathetic, Arden reached down and fished a water bottle out of the case, dropping it in his hand.

“The honorific isn’t necessary,” she told him. “Remember, Arden is just fine.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mumbled. “I mean—Arden.”

She smiled, this time with teeth. “Good. You holler if you need me.”

I won’t, he thought, even though she was probably preferable to anyone else coming to his rescue.

Maybe he really would rather be dead.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Scarlet insisted that John stay at the house while they went to the boutique. It was all a big show of his mother-in-law attempting, he thought, to be polite, though she failed miserably at it; and as much as John wanted to argue that it would probably be best if he came along—considering their late-night visitor—he could tell when a battle was a lost one, and when it wasn’t.

“Do you think you can do that, Mr. Seed?” she asked, pulling the objectively ostentatious fur coat around her shoulders and buttoning it. “Remain in my home for a few hours, without causing me any problems?”

He said, “I think I can certainly give it a shot,” to which the blonde rolled her eyes.

“Please do more than that.”

“Rest assured, I am fully capable of behaving myself, Mrs. Honeysett.”

He couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Every second he spent in her presence, being reminded of how little she liked him given how much she didn’t know about him—or care to get to know about him, anyway—he thought, I cannot fucking wait to get back to Hope County and the resurgence of the Family. I cannot wait until that is my only fucking problem. Anyone else and she would have been thoroughly cleansed; clearly, Wrath ran in the family. Just the thought of it made his fingers itch.

Elliot had looked tired already, standing at the door and letting her mother go first. As soon as Scarlet was out the door, carefully picking her way down the front steps, John’s hand went to Ell’s hip; her lashes fluttered at the contact, but she didn’t jerk away; only tensed, considering the act of balking and pulling away from him but not yet committing. So there had been progress.

Her free hand came to his shoulder, resting there uncertainly. “Please don’t do anything to my mother’s house.”

“As much as I would love to, I will refrain from my wretched impulses. I am a man of God, after all.” He grimaced. “Do you think she’ll like me more if things are immaculate?”

“Ha-ha. She certainly will not.” She paused, letting out a little breath. “Okay. Back in an hour.”

He felt a smile tug at his mouth. “Ambitious.” His hand drifted to the small of her back, and he said, “Ell, before you go—”

“John, I don’t—”

Elliot turned to look at him at the same time that he stepped forward, closing what little distance there was and rapidly; she blinked, and her eyes flickered to his mouth instinctively, like she was expecting it—like she’d gotten used to the affection when he closed in on her like that. The gesture sent a little thrill through his stomach.

Mine.

“Don’t let her stress you out,” John murmured, keeping his voice low between just the two of them. “You’ll look good in whatever you pick.”

She turned her face away, cheeks going pink. “What’s this, huh? Still trying to make up for being a complete fuckhead this morning?”

He grinned. “You really have gotten brattier.”

“Goodbye, John,” she said, and then he leaned in and kissed her; the connection made every part of him sigh, collectively, as though he’d just been waiting for it.

Waiting for her.

Yes yes yes, it all said when she didn’t pull away, his fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater at the small of her back as her hand slipped from his shoulder to his chest, yes, mine all mine.

Elliot did pull back after a moment, putting a bit of space between them—though it seemed more to catch her breath than anything else. She only pulled back enough for their eyes to meet; John’s gaze darted downward, watching pearly teeth as they tugged at her lower lip, worrying it there for a moment.

“To answer your question,” he continued as casually as he could, “that’s not how I intend on making that up to you.”

“So you agree?” Elliot asked. Her voice came out evenly, despite the color blooming underneath the freckles on her cheeks. “You were being a complete fuckhead this morning?”

“I did so miss our banter.”

“Bunny,” Scarlet called impatiently from the driveway, “the boutique is going to get crowded if we don’t get there when it opens.”

“I’m coming!” Her gaze darted back to him. “The best way to make it up to me would be to say the words out loud,” Elliot informed him as she inched toward the door. “So that baby can hear them, too. At least you’ll have been more honest around our child than with me, if we’re keeping a running tally, and we should—”

He tugged her back from the doorway again, lighter, more playful as he went in to kiss her a second time; but she pulled back, just out of his reach, hand planted firmly on his chest.

Elliot said, “I told you not to get used to it.”

“I’m not,” he answered lightly, “just taking what I can get.”

“Elliot.”

“Coming!” Elliot cinched her coat up more snug, closer to her throat and where the scar lay expertly over her sternum, and snagged the keys off of the counter to the beat-up Honda Civic John had lifted from Eden’s Gate. Right. He couldn’t wait to hear Scarlet’s input on that car ride.

The redhead made it down two steps before she paused, turning and looking at John and going, “Um, bye,” in a tone that was more sheepish than he anticipated; it was almost shy, and it caught him so off-guard that he didn’t even get the chance to muster a response before she was making her way across the snowy driveway.

“Drive safe,” John called, once he’d gathered his senses a bit more. Elliot glanced at him over her shoulder and then ducked into the car, closing the door and beginning to pull her way down the drive. He waited until they’d turned onto the freshly plowed road before he turned back into the house and closed the front door behind him.

Boomer had seated himself in front of the window, letting out a little whine as his tail swept along the floor.

“C’mon, furry sentinel,” he sighed, not risking putting his hand within biting reach. “Just you and me today.”

The Heeler whined again, apparently thoroughly displeased at this news, and stayed rooted at the window to watch for his girl to come home.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he hit the redial button on the number they’d gotten a call from that morning and waited as the phone rang, pacing around the polished living room. It rang enough times as he idly adjusted glasses on a bar cart that he thought for certain no one would pick up—and then the phone clicked, and a warm voice came through.

“Hi, John.”

He blinked in surprise. “Hello, Faith. How’d you get this phone?”

“Isolde passed it to me when she saw your call. She wanted me to tell you that she’s too busy to talk to you.”

A wry smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Sounds like everything’s operating as normal, then.”

“I suppose.” Faith paused. “Are you coming home soon?”

“I am.”

“With Elliot?”

“Yes, she—” John cleared his throat and made an effort to sound as unbothered as possible. “She’s very concerned about Deputy Pratt’s well-being.”

“We’re taking good care of him. Will you tell her that? Better than he’d be getting out there, anyway,” and she said the word out there with such a surprising amount of venom that John realized he’d nearly forgotten about the Family’s reappearance. Well, there couldn’t be that many of them left, could there?

And then Faith said, “A lot of us are dead, John.”

His hand went to the mantle for a little support as he leaned against it. There was a bit of a bite to Faith’s voice—almost accusatory. A lot of us are dead, she said, as he stood in the plush home of his mother-in-law while they went dress shopping for a Christmas party. It occurred to him that none of his siblings—nor Isolde—were aware of what they’d been dealing with the last couple of days; they must have felt like he was getting off easy.

“The Father says we only have a little while longer,” she continued, “and that if we can’t fix this in time, we won’t wait for you. He’s been alone, a lot. Talking to God. Praying for more time, for you.”

The words made his stomach wrench, a little. He would have felt worse if he didn’t know already that there was an exit plan in place, one that Elliot was already on board for. “We’re only here for another day, and then we’re leaving” John replied. “The sheriff mentioned some—Federal agents. I don’t want to rouse suspicion and bring them down on us again.”

“Do you think it’s Burke?”

“Maybe.” He pressed his forehead against the stone mantle. “Probably. No one’s come storming in yet.”

“I hope it’s him. I hope he follows you all the way back here.” And then, darker: “He has a lot to apologize for.”

John made a low noise of agreement. It felt good to have a conversation with someone who seemed to be on the same side as him, for once—no bickering with Scarlet, no bickering with Elliot, and no bickering with Isolde. As of late, it seemed he was only capable of incurring arguments; though that did seem to be changing quickly with his wife.

“We’re having a service soon. Did you want me to tell Joseph anything?”

“Ah, no, that’s alright. I just wanted to let you know we had a plan.”

“Do you want to talk to him?”

“No,” John said again, more quickly and with a bout of unease sprinting up his spine. “No, that’s alright. I’ll let you go. We’ll be home soon, okay?”

“Alright.” Faith’s voice lightened when she added, “Tell Elliot I said hello.”

Bad idea, he thought, but said, “Of course,” and hit the end call button. It wasn’t until his entire body relaxed that he realized he’d been fully tensed, waiting for some kind of verbal blow—and though there had been a few, he felt...

Fine.

I feel fine.

It was fine. Everything was fine. Joseph was praying for more time for them. They’d make it back without a hitch. And then, when the world ended, and took the remainder of the Family with them—

Well, that would be all the better.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“My children.”

The heaters rattled, clicking in the lukewarm air in a steady, mechanical heartbeat. Candles lit throughout the chapel drenched the members of Eden’s Gate in a strange, golden glow, and as Joseph’s voice carried all the way to the back where Staci sat between Jacob and Arden. He could see in the front row sat Faith and the dark-haired woman—who he’d come to understand was Isolde Khan, John’s old business partner—and there was a moment where Joseph’s eyes fixed on her before they lifted back to the congregation.

“God has truly been testing us,” the man continued, pacing away from the altar the front, hands folded behind him. “As you know, I have spent a lot of time in silence and solitude so that I might be the most open to receiving from Him. For the longest time, I thought—had we done something wrong? Had I led us astray? Were we being punished?”

An uneasy murmur rippled throughout the crowd. In the front, Pratt could see Isolde writing something down in a notebook; he wished he was closer, so he could see what it was—what was so interesting that she was taking notes now, of all times? What could she possibly be doing?

Preparing for the worst-case scenario, he thought idly, shifting in his seat. Jacob’s eyes cut over to him and he cleared his throat. The shower had done nothing to ease his nerves.

“But I’ll tell you—devout, and loyal, we have not been left to the wayside.” Joseph stopped, pressing a hand onto a woman’s shoulder, squeezing. “I have heard His voice. I have received His word. We are not only followers of God’s word—we are His soldiers.”

The noise that passed through the congregation this time was brighter, agreements—it must have felt good. Not just passive sheep, to be shepherded; soldiers. Capable of violence. And they were.

“We are His warriors.”

The woman Joseph’s hand was on was getting teary-eyed, and when he departed from her to sidle his way down the aisle, she all but collapsed in on herself, folding in half to bury her face in her hands. Another attestation of acknowledgment rippled around him, louder.

“This world is a wretched, vile machine, taking in and spitting out sin, flooding our garden with locusts,” the Prophet continued, his voice lifting in volume. “We are, my children, the only people who have the great fortune of seeing this—of knowing what no one else in the world seems capable of understanding. God has told me—”

Sick, Pratt thought dizzily, I’m going to be sick.

“—that a life of bliss awaits us, if we can only...”

Joseph paused, as though he needed to look for the words, as though he hadn’t been reciting this all day in preparation for the sermon; Pratt knew that he must, the assured cadence of his voice coming so firmly that there was no way it wasn’t rehearsed.

“...look past the dread, and the fear,” he continued earnestly, allowing his hand to be taken by another member, “because fear is the language of the Devil—if we can look past it, and dedicate ourselves fully to His cause, there is only happiness and serenity waiting for us on the other side of this.”

“How do we do it, Father?” a man to the other side of Jacob cried out, his voice a panicked fever-pitch. “How do we show Him we’re devoted?”

Joseph’s head turned. His gaze landed on Pratt, lingering before lifting to the congregant. “We’ve got to stop the machine.”

Optimism flooded the crowd. An easy solution. Stop the machine, like it was nothing. Like they weren’t dealing with a group of people who killed as easily as they did.

“Throw your bodies upon the gears, upon the wheels, upon all the apparatus,” Joseph intoned dutifully, pacing back toward the front. “Whatever it takes to bring the machine to a grinding halt. We can no longer passively take part in the End—we are warriors of God, and our divine right is not instinctively endowed. It is earned. And we will show that we have earned it by exterminating these interlopers invading our garden.”

Pratt’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Eden’s Gate members came to a stand around him; loomed in his vision; eclipsed what little murky light reached him. Cheers and applause rolling around in his head. He thought for sure he’d heard this all somewhere, before—

Oh, yes. And you've got to indicate to the people who run it, to the people who own it, that unless you're free, the machine will be prevented from working at all! The irony of Joseph lifting lines from an activist’s speech was not lost on him.

A heavy hand gripped the collar of his shirt, hauling him to his feet. “Stand up,” Jacob muttered. “Good posture’s important.”

He steadied himself on the pew ahead of him. Amidst the chatter of the congregation, eventually quieted down by Joseph’s patience at the front of the chapel, he could hear renewed excitement. More life had been breathed into the peggies than he’d seen in a long time—well, considering that he’d only been here roughly a day, and the whole place felt like a ghost town even now, that was saying something.

“Please,” Joseph called lightly, “join me in prayer.”

Heads bowed. Pratt let his chin drop to his chest, but his eyes didn’t close; his gaze darted to his right, where Arden stood, hands clasped politely in front of her. Her head did not bow for prayer.

He was only vaguely aware of the words coming out of Joseph’s mouth, redirecting his eyes back to the floorboards beneath his worn shoes. Lord, we pray that you might show us guidance and wisdom in these uncertain times; show us how to be most like you, for only you are perfect...

Elliot was going to come back to this. She was going to come back to this, and he was going to have to figure out how to get her out of here without any of the Seeds noticing. Helmi had said, meet me out back, by the river, in three nights, but he couldn’t keep track. Had it been one night? Two? Less than one?

“I am your Father,” Joseph was saying. “You are my Children. Together, and only together, will we march through the Gates of Eden.”

A rousing amen echoed around him. They milled about, chatting excitedly—perhaps delighted to have a focus for their ire, for their agitation. The members of Eden’s Gate looked worse than Pratt remembered. Dirtier. Thinner. More exhausted. He thought that it must be nice to have a purpose—

Fuck me, not that shit again.

He filed out of the row behind Arden, and with Jacob behind him, following her to the front where Isolde and Joseph stood. They were speaking in low tones, bundled close together; she tapped her ten against the front of her notepad in what looked like an agitated tick, but he couldn’t hear what it was she was saying. By the time they were close that he might have heard, Joseph lifted his head from where he’d bent a little to speak closely and looked at him, smiling.

“It was nice to see your face in the crowd this day, Deputy Pratt,” he said, his voice warm. “Did you enjoy the sermon?”

Pratt opened his mouth, and then closed it. He didn’t want to play this game.

“Go on, Peaches,” Jacob prompted, clapping his shoulder.

The nickname sparked something angry inside of him, like dragging a match against the sandpaper side of the box. If there’s anything wrong with you, I’m going to kill them, Elliot had said.

Pratt turned his gaze to Joseph. “I thought the Mario Savio part was a bit much.”

A surprised, abrupt laugh barked out of Jacob. Joseph’s expression remained flat and serene. In fact, the only person who seemed to have any negative opinion about his words was Isolde, narrowing her eyes as she turned to look at him fully.

“We’re not exactly looking to hit notes with the intellectuals in the crowd, Deputy Pratt,” she informed him coolly. “They don’t care who said it first. They care who said it better.”

“Y—” Pratt swallowed. “Okay, well—”

“‘Okay, well’ shut the fuck up,” she snapped. “Or I’ll have Jacob take you out back and put you down like Old Yeller.”

“You can’t,” he protested quickly, “Elliot said—”

“Do you think I care in the least what some woman five states away said?” Isolde cut over him quickly, the elegant, soft roll of her accent a strange and unsettling juxtaposition to her words. “I’m getting this ship in fit fucking order, and that means I don’t need you inspiring dissent. Anyone with an opinion that is less than glowing, radiant, gorgeous—they get taken care of, whatever that means. Got it?”

Pratt closed his mouth tightly, until the pressure was beginning to build between his molars. I just have to make it until Elliot gets here, and then—and then I’ll—then I can get—

He took in a little breath. “Yes.”

“Peachy.” Isolde flashed a smile that was all-too-saccharine, and then turned to Joseph. “Let’s sit.”

“Of course.”

They departed to a pew just to the left of them. Jacob was grinning at him, wolfish.

“Thought about telling you she wrote it,” he said, “but that was much more entertaining.”

“You look pale, Staci,” added Arden, her voice light as it redirected from Jacob’s apparent joy at his suffering. “Maybe you should go lay down. I don’t want you straining any of those injuries.”

Okay, he thought, and maybe the words came out of him but he couldn’t tell; he couldn’t tell anymore, but he did want to go lay down. Lay down, and close his eyes, and sleep until Elliot got back.

He’d never been happier at the prospect of seeing an ex-girlfriend.

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When they arrived at the boutique, Sylvia was standing outside, bouncing on the balls of her feet in what Elliot could only assume was an attempt to get warm. It was difficult, to focus on something as inane and arbitrary as dress shopping when she knew that Pratt was back in Hope County, dealing with God-knew-what the Seeds were throwing at him.

Well, the Seeds. And more. The Family, who were supposed to be dead, and—

I hear stress is bad for the baby. A familiar accent, wasn’t it?

“Well, are you just gonna sit in there all day or what?” her mother asked, having stepped out of the passenger side.

“Did you invite Sylvia?”

Scarlet sighed. “I thought it might be nice, for you.”

It was an unexpectedly sincere gesture on her mother’s part. She swallowed a thick emotion down, clearing her throat and managing out, “It—is, mama, thank you,” before she got out of the car and took the keys with her, heading towards the front doors of the main street store.

“Howdy, Freckles!” Sylvia greeted her warmly, throwing her arms around her in a tight hug. “Been a few. Wyatt’s still got your Jeep, he’s been runnin’ it a few minutes a day to make sure the battery doesn’t go bad.” She smiled brightly, turning to Elliot’s mother. “Mrs. Honeysett, you look mighty lovely.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Sylvia tugged the door to the boutique open, ushering them inside so that she could trail in after. The inside of the store was toasty warm, making Elliot regret having worn a scarf, but it was too late now—the coat and scarf combination were doing the work to keep her scar covered.

“I just love this place,” Scarlet sighed, shrugging out of her coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. “What do you think, Elliot? Maybe something blue. I’d put you in green, but with that red hair, you’d look like a Christmas ornament. Blue’s a nice winter color—very fashionable.”

“Sure, mama,” Elliot replied, brushing her fingers along the silk of one of the dresses. The last time she’d been in anything that blue and nice had been back in Hope County. At her “baptism”. The same one Burke had been dragged to, the same one that John had held her under for just a little too long for, maybe distracted by the Marshal’s arrival back then.

“Psst.” The sound of Via’s voice caught her attention, pulling her from the waking memory. The blonde had pulled what appeared to be the most atrocious Christmas gown that could have been looked at off of the rack, holding it up and lifting her eyebrows as Scarlet chatted enthusiastically with the store’s saleswoman.

“Stop it,” Elliot said, fighting back a smile. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, dead serious, Freckles.”

“It has mistletoe on it, Via.”

“How else am I supposed to fetch a husband, if not by readily-accessible entrapment?”

Well, she thought a little dryly, that is how John got a wife.

It was odd, to think of the moment with anything less than hostility—to have come to a point where there were things more pressing than a marriage that, in the end, might not matter anyway. John had said that he knew the baby didn’t mean she’d take him back; had acknowledged there was no guarantee. For once, he’d shown up in her life with every intention laid bare for her to see.

Maybe not every intention. But she’d root them all out, eventually, and pretend like it hadn’t become something of a game, to catch John in a lie and watch him squirm.

She let the boutique’s owner show her around, clearly making quite a show for her mother, and politely turned down any suggestions for a deep v or off-the-shoulder type of garment. Sylvia had picked out a few; most blue, some blush, a few red, and then loaded some into Elliot’s arms.

“Try ‘em on!” she chirped. “Yes, even the green ones. Maybe your mama doesn’t want an Elliot Christmas ornament, but I do.”

Elliot heaved a sigh, though it was only half-sincere—anything delivered with Sylvia’s bright, cheery smile, she was hard-pressed to feel anything less than good about. Maybe that was dangerous, to be so comfortable with someone.

Or maybe, she thought, closing the dressing room door behind her, that’s just how having friends are. You remember what that was like.

She did. As she undressed and zipped the back of one of the red dresses Sylvia had selected—thoughtfully aware of the fact that she’d want most of her chest covered—she regarded herself in the mirror. There was that stranger again, flushed cheeks and bright eyes staring back at her. A familiar nose shape, a familiar slope of her cheekbones—but the rest of her. Where had she gone?

With one hand she pushed the door open, the other one lifting the back train of the dress as little as she walked out. A grimace had planted itself on her face, even despite Sylvia’s elaborate applause at her appearance.

“Oh, bunny, you look darling,” her mother sighed, having turned to take a look. “What’s the matter? You don’t like it?”

“Not big on the sparkles,” she admitted.

“I like them. You’ve always looked good in red, though. That fair complexion of your father’s.”

Sylvia grinned. “Try on a green one. I wanna imagine how you’ll look on my tree!”

Elliot stuck her tongue out at the blonde, turning around and scurrying back into the changing room. There were a few more dresses—even a green one—that were in the running, but eventually, she’d settled on a floor-length piece, dark blue velvet and halter-topped to get the most sternum coverage. When she’d redressed and rejoined the group outside, her mother was beaming as she gossiped with the boutique owner.

“Elliot’s quite modest,” her mother said conversationally, “and she’s already married, you know.”

“Thank you, mother,” Elliot sighed, a little smile fighting its way onto her face.

“Whatever are you still wearing your coat for? Your face is all red.”

“I’m—” She paused, swallowing. “Still cold.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Cold? It’s eighty degrees in here. And your face is all red.”

Sylvia had glanced up from across the store, neck-deep in dresses of a warmer shade. Elliot could feel the eyes on her—her friend, her mother, the boutique owner—and she cleared her throat and tugged absently at the tag on the dress.

“It’s fine,” she said after a minute.

“Well, at least take your scarf off.”

“I think it’s a lovely scarf,” the owner tried, a little helplessly.

“Mother, it’s—I’m fine—”

But her mother moved too quickly for her to realize what was happening; her mother’s hand unwound the scarf with expert ease, and then froze, her eyes fixed on what Elliot thought assuredly was the little of her WRATH scar, revealed.

Her stomach rolled. Heat flooded her body, worse than before—it was the kind of sticky-wet heat that came with the threat of throwing up, the kind that crept up the spine and gripped by the nape of the neck. Elliot felt her lashes flutter; she dropped the dress abruptly and yanked the scarf out of her mother’s hands to wind it securely around her neck again. The boutique owner had quickly turned to the clothing rack, as though something very emergent had occurred on the inanimate objects.

Stupid. She was so stupid. She should have just worn a sweater. She shouldn’t have looked at her scar that morning and thought, maybe it is something to love, she shouldn’t have ever risked the chance that her mother would see it, stupidstupidstupid—

“My God,” Scarlet said tightly, the tone of her voice washing Elliot with shame. “What did you do?”

I’m sorry, she wanted to say, automatically. Mama, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m not good anymore, I’m not—

“Phew, I sure am dressed-out,” Sylvia announced, having come over. “I’ll have to go home and weigh my options. Ell, you wanna head outside for some air?”

“I think that’s best,” her mother replied curtly, before Elliot could even think to formulate a sentence. “I’ll finish up in here.”

She thought about trying to say something—trying to explain, maybe, what it was that had happened. But how could she? Her mother had suffered through the years she’d inflicted pain on herself, after daddy and after Mason, and she had told her mother she was better, now. Healed. Good. What could she say, to make it alright?

Because there was no world where she could say, I didn’t want it, and mean it.

Via’s hand fit snugly in hers, tugging her lightly out through the front door of the boutique onto the street. It wasn’t until she took in a lungful of cold, dry air that she realized she’d been holding her breath; her lungs ached, her head swimming, and she was gripping Via’s hand too tightly.

“Hey,” Sylvia said softly, “s’okay.”

It’s not, she thought miserably, it’s not okay, I’m not okay, I want to go—

Where? Where could she go?

I want—

Nowhere? Anywhere?

—to go—

“Home,” she managed out unsteadily, “I should go home—”

Sylvia gave her hand a squeeze. “You want I should give your mama a ride back to the house?”

“Yes.” She swallowed, sniffing. “Yes, please.”

“Okay, Freckles. Sure. You just—maybe you just take a little drive for yourself, collect your thoughts.” Via paused, and then leaned a little to catch Elliot’s eyes; though her vision blurred from the threat of tears, the blonde still smiled a little. “You gonna be okay all by yourself?”

It was a strange question to ask, but Elliot knew what she meant. Are you safe? Alone?

“Yeah,” Ell replied in a thick, watery mumble. “I am.”

“Okay. Can you give me a call when you get home?”

She nodded weakly. Via pulled her into a hug, tight and gentle all at once, enough to make the dam break; just for a little, just for a minute, the tears streaked down her cheeks and caught up in the fabric of the scarf where it wadded against her jaw.

My God, what did you do?

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, pulling back and sucking in a sharp little breath. “Um, I’m really—s-sorry—”

But Via shook her head firmly and brushed some of the hair back from Elliot’s face, wet from her tears. “Don’t apologize. Go get a little breather.”

She fished the keys out of Elliot’s pocket for her, putting them in her hand and hesitating.

“Promise you’ll call,” she reiterated.

Elliot nodded. “I—I promise.”

“Okay. No take-backs.”

“No take-backs.”

Via gave her another hug before ushering her towards the car. As she climbed in and turned the key, her hands shaking, she thought about the way her mother had looked at the scar—with disgust. Horror. Shame. Via hadn’t looked at her like that, when she’d seen it. She’d seemed embarrassed, at having put Elliot in such a position; but not like that. She hadn’t looked horrified.

John didn’t look at it like that. He’d spent a lot of time last night, tracing the shape of the scar with his eyes, with his mouth, reverent and adoring. Makes you hungry, doesn’t it?

At least leaving would be that much easier.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They came back separately.

When John heard the front door open, he’d been starting a pot of coffee in the kitchen. He poked his head around the archway to look out in the foyer, only to find Scarlet standing there, furiously unbuttoning her coat and dropping her gloves into the drawer. Two dress bags hung on the coat rack.

“Ell outside?” he asked casually, coming around.

“Certainly not,” Scarlet replied tartly. “She’s—”

And then the woman let out a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment—for the first time, Scarlet Honeysett looked to be composing herself, which he thought she was nearly incapable of losing sight of. It seemed even the impenetrable armor of the Honeysett matriarch had its own weaknesses after all.

His tiny little thrill at the sight of Scarlet looking troubled was short-lived, however, because she said, “My daughter walked into the boutique sporting this—wretched scar—”

Oh, he thought, suddenly.

“—never been so humiliated in my whole life—”

Oh, no, because he knew exactly what she was talking about and Elliot would be—

“—have no doubt, Mr. Seed,” Scarlet bit out viciously, “that scar is new and you have certainly not influenced her away from such activities.”

He needed to find Elliot. She would be distraught; why hadn’t she come home with her mother? And why wasn’t Scarlet more pressed concerning her daughter’s well-being?

“And where is she?” John asked, ignoring the stinging anger bubbling in his chest. Wretched scar, she’d said. Like it wasn’t beautiful. Like it wasn’t gorgeous. Like he hadn’t spent a whole night looking at it, running his hands and mouth over it, knowing that Elliot had looked at him and wanted it and trusted him and if there was something more devoted, it was carrying someone’s child. “Elliot? Where is she?”

“Taking a moment to regain her senses,” the blonde replied sharply. “She has vowed to be home soon. Mr. Seed—”

He had gone to reach for his coat, pausing at her words and looking at her expectantly.

Scarlet twisted the gloves in her hands for a moment, her brows pulling together.

“I just think,” she finally said, “that as her husband, you are responsible for her as much as I am. You have to be taking care of her when I’m not around.”

“I do,” he replied.

“Evidence says contrary,” Scarlet snapped. “She has come back to me with more—damage—”

The sound of a car pulling up outside snapped John’s attention elsewhere. He knew that if he stayed much longer in the conversation, they would be leaving sooner than what they had planned, if only because Scarlet wouldn’t tolerate him in the house for the things that he wanted to say to her. Damage, he wanted to say, that is only as bad as it is because it’s compounding on your incessant need to brush aside her problems like they’re nothing, like she didn’t need help then.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, pulling his coat on and opening the door. The rush of cold air bit at his face and hands; Boomer came rushing out around his legs, springing down the steps and hurrying to the driver’s side of the Honda. John was only vaguely aware of the door closing behind him—and it didn’t matter, anyway.

She didn’t open the door when Boomer got there, scrabbling at it for her eagerly. She kept her hands on the top of the steering wheel and pressed her forehead into it, the engine ticking as it cooled. When John got there, he reached for the door handle to tug it open. Elliot hit the lock button.

“Ell,” John said, “open the door.”

She lifted her head tiredly from the steering wheel. Where her hand sat over the lock button, her fingers trembled a little, and her face was flushed—not with health, but with the sickly red of feverish, panicked crying.

“Baby,” he tried again, a little more urgently, putting his hand on the glass of the window, “Boomer wants to see you.”

Elliot’s eyes were fixed on his jacket. “Would you—” She stopped, her voice muffled by the glass, and then she took a deep breath and said, “Would you even be here if I wasn’t pregnant?”

“What?” John blinked at her.

“If I didn’t have the baby,” she tried again, her voice thick and watery with unshed tears, that pouty lower lip trembling, “would you have even come for me?”

He stared at her. It had never occurred to him, that there might be a world in her head where he didn’t come for her, where he didn’t find her, where he didn’t try and bring her back.

“Of course I would,” John said, drawing her eyes to him. “I love you, Elliot.” And then, more urgently: “I love you, with or without the baby.”

She looked away from him, then, staring out the other side of the window, fingers curling uselessly against the steering wheel even as the keys lay in the passenger seat—like she wanted to run. Like she wanted to floor it, and go somewhere, anywhere.

“Open the door, Ell.” He swallowed thickly. “Won’t you?”

The door lock clicked. He tugged at the handle and it opened with ease, Boomer instantly shoving his face into Elliot’s side and whining, tail wagging so furiously his whole body moved with it. John pushed the door open the rest of the way and reached for her, and her hand caught his wrist and pulled, and she buried her face into his chest and trembled like a leaf in a breeze.

“I’m so tired,” she moaned miserably into his chest, hiccupping with grief, “I want to go home.”

John wrapped his arms around her, one hand cradling the back of her head and keeping her tugged close.

“I know,” he said. “We’ll go. We will, I promise, Ell, okay?”

“Please—” The redhead pulled back to look at him. “I can’t—you can’t—lie to me, anymore—”

“I know,” John said again, a little helplessly, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. She was clutching him so tightly he was sure her nails would leave marks on his skin, even through the fabric of his clothes.

“I won’t.”

[sope-and-shine]

Do You Have The Receipt For That?

-> Pairing: Jin x Gender Neutral!Reader -> SFW // Domestic!AU  // Fluff // Comedy -> Word Count: 1.9k -> Summary: “Get married,” they said. “It’ll be fun,” they said. You thought the honeymoon stage was supposed to last a few months. Yours didn’t even last 48 hours. -> Warning(s): Chaotic Jin, Jin gets drunk, Adam Sandler grade humor and innuendos, a healthy dose of blackmail

a/n: Jin deserves all the love in the world  

*

*

*

When Jin asked you to marry him, you honestly thought he was joking at first. He’d said it so casually over a glass of wine that when he actually dropped to his knee in the restaurant and pulled out the ring you were left completely speechless. He’d teased you about him being so handsome that he rendered you speechless, but you knew he was just trying to soothe his own worries over you possibly saying no. But he didn’t have anything to worry about.

All he had to do was get the ring on your finger.

Getting married to the love of your life was the biggest dream come true for you. Walking down the aisle dressed to the 9’s, your fiancé in a tux and looking as handsome as ever, your closest friends and families gathered along both sides to celebrate and enjoy your happiness. There was nothing more that you could have asked for, and you wouldn’t have changed anything about the day at all!

Over the course of your engagement, he did his very best to help you with every decision. He tried to be involved as much as he could to ensure that this wedding was something you both would be able to look back on and remember just how lucky you both are. Every venue search, every cake testing, every question over the smallest flower, he was by your side giving his opinion and reassuring you that whatever decision you made would be good.

Waking up in your honeymoon suite next to the love of your life felt like waking up on your birthday, knowing the day was going to be good. Seeing his recently dyed locks sprawled across his pillow with his cheek lightly smushed against his hand has your heart a flutter. The way his skin glows under the light peeking through the hotel window making you want to look at his forever. He’s always joked about being worldwide handsome, but why stop at just this world when he looks so ethereal?

You reach out - unable to stop yourself - and thread your fingers through his bleached tresses. For the amount of times that he changed his hair color, it was still so silky and smooth. If he’d let you, you’d run your hands through it all day and refuse to ever let him leave. Even as he stirs underneath your touch, you continue to play with the hair on his head.

“Didn’t you get enough of me at the reception?” He teases, a slight hoarseness to his morning voice.

You chuckle and sigh, “I don’t think I could ever get enough of you.”

“Is that because of my looks or my talents?” He asks, winking playfully. You can’t help but roll your eyes at his suggestion. 

You lean in and place a kiss on his forehead, “Your cooking is one of my favorite things about you.” 

You ruffle his hair and he lets out an annoyed groan, “Now I’ll have to fix that.”

“You had to fix it anyway. It didn’t survive last night.” You remind him, slightly proud of your accomplishment.

A hand reaches out to lay across your bare stomach and pull you closer to him, “I didn’t think you’d survive last night…” He says, his lips next to your ear.

You laugh as you squirm in his grasp, “Stop it! I’ve had enough to last me a week!”

“I thought you said you couldn’t get enough of me!” His other arm slides under your back to cage you into his chest. His fingers dance across your sides until he’s finally in a good position to attack you with well-deserved tickles for your treason, “Have you lied to me? How dare you! I’m your husband!”

“Ah! I’m sorry!” You cry out in a fit of laughter, moving every which way to try and get away from his relentless attack. He doesn’t let up, tickling every part of you that your position allows him too. 

He manages to work his way on top, effectively straddling you as he continues his relentless torture, “How could you lie to your husband like this?! We just got married! Oh, who is this person I’ve married?”

“I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it!” You laugh, hands flailing as they try to grab at his own. Tear cling to your eyes, “Please, Jin! No more! I can’t! I’m gonna pee!”

“Oh, wow, isn’t that sexy?” He teases. He ends his attack and replaces it with soothing caresses, running his hands up and down your sides as you calm down from the excitement. He watches you from above with a soft, genuine smile as he wonders just how lucky he is himself to have you.

You take notice of his content smile and give him one of your own, “What are you looking at?” 

“My amazing best friend.” He leans down and places a soft kiss against your lips, a much different pace from the activity before. You both enjoy the intimacy of just being together, loving the simplicity that comes with just a simple press of your lips together.

When he pulls away, he sighs, “We have a long day today. We should get ready soon.”

“We should.” You nod in agreement. You can’t help the playful smile that reaches your face, “But we should probably try to save some water by showering together. You know, for the environment.”

Jin can’t stop the blush that rises to his cheeks at your suggestion and laughs, “Oh, you’re cheeky!”

---

Your shower took longer than the two of you had planned for. The two of you had gotten carried away throwing suds back and forth and wasted the complimentary soap in one go. If Jin hadn’t tried to steal it out of your hands to try and squeeze it over your head, then he probably wouldn’t have slipped and taken you down with him. You could barely hear him whine over how heavy you were and how bad his back hurt for how young he is over the sound of the shower and your own laughter. 

Needless to say, he got his revenge by tickling you again.

Though, with him hurting himself in the morning, the both of you had to change up your plans for the day. What was supposed to be a day out on the town and sightseeing turned into a relaxing spa visit for you both to recover from the morning. 

The spa itself was very lovely, with an amazing atmosphere. Very calm and serene, and it felt so refreshing just to walk through the front door. With Jin, you explored all of the spa options they had to offer, walking through various rooms and relaxing hand in hand. Occasionally, Jin would lean over and whisper a joke or something completely random into your ear.

“I have indigestion.” or “What do you call a cow with no legs? Ground beef.”

He followed both up with his contagious laughter, always doing his best to muffle the sound but failing miserably. You had to drag him out of one room before he disturbed the other patrons, and you thought for sure an employee would hunt you down and force you to leave. But that looming concern didn’t stop you from enjoying the time you got to spend with your husband. You both spent all day enjoying the spa, and it wasn’t until dinner time came around that you began to realize that it was a bad idea.

As lovely as the spa was, there was on downside to what they offered.

Alcohol.

Seokjin isn’t a lightweight, but when he’s relaxing he has the tendency to drink just a bit too much. Not in a sense that he became completely reckless or abrasive, but in a chaotic drunk sort of way. He was himself, but more eccentric.

When you returned to the hotel fully relaxed and ready to crash on your bed to cuddle and watch movies, Jin seemed to be a bit more out of it than his usual self. You initially thought this had to do with the alcohol, and you were already planning on getting him some more water and maybe a painkiller or two. But what you had thought was a crash from the alcohol turns out to be your drunk, chaotic husband contemplating and overthinking.

“You love me, right?” He asks, sitting on your hotel room bed while you get him a bottle of water.

You chuckle, “Of course I love you silly!” You walk over from the mini-fridge - water bottle in hand - and sit down next to him on the soft sheets. You cup his cheek with one hand and smile, “I wouldn’t marry you if I didn’t love you, Jin.”

The blonde takes a moment to fully comprehend your reassurance before he nods, “That’s right.”

You try to hand him the water bottle, but he stands before you get the chance. You watch him walk over to the bedside table and pull something out of the drawer, hiding it in the palm of hand. He then walks over to his laptop bag on the table by the window and pulls out a manila folder.

The manila folder with your marriage license in it.

You watch him pull the document out and set the folder back down before he walks past you to the bathroom. Concerned, you follow him, worried about why he would possibly need to bring your marriage license to the bathroom. You’re sent for a loop when you see what he’s doing.

In the sink is your marriage license, and in his hand is a lighter. He holds the light to the edge of the paper and waits for it to set before he closes the lighter and turns to you with the biggest shit eating grin, “Ha! Good luck trying to return me without the receipt!”

You say nothing. You only stand in the doorway, mouth agape looking between your drunk husband and the singular piece of paper you overpaid for to tie yourself to his dumb ass. You honestly want to believe that you can’t believe he just did that, but a part of you really isn’t shocked at all.

He takes your silence as a victory and goes to leave the bathroom, but not without leaving you with a kiss to the cheek and a few words of wisdom: “Close your mouth before you let a fly in.”

When you get over your shock enough to try and salvage what’s left of your burnt marriage license - there isn’t anything to save - you return to the main room. On your bed, Jin is already lying on the bed and passed out with a half empty water bottle on his bedside table. He looks so peaceful lying in bed that you don’t have it in you to wake him up.

So instead, you pull out your phone and record what’s left of the incident. You recount what happened during the day, what happened when you returned home, and you end it by showing yourself tucking in the “man of your dreams” and kissing his head.

“I can’t wait to show this on our 10 year wedding anniversary.” You chuckle, smoothing back the hair that falls over his forehead. You turn to the camera in your hand and smile, “You’re lucky I love you, Kim Seokjin.

[tarithenurse]

Stolen - 7

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson &/x fem!gifted!reader Content: The feels. The feeEEEEeeels! And some plot-thickening/motivation. A/N: Wow....I’ve actually gotten quite a bit of writing done the last couple of days! Also: I hope y’all don’t mind but the story here is sprouting a lot of extra “stuff” so it’s going to be a longish series. Hopefully worth it!

7. The Reflecting God

…   Loki   …

The people of Midgard once revered him as the God of Chaos and Mischief and while the latter might be true he hadn’t always considered himself fitting of the former. However a sharp mind capable of thinking several steps further ahead combined with a somewhat impulsive desire could disguise even the coldest of logic and eventually Loki grew to hone his role as the unpredictable, self-serving character people viewed him as – within the confinements of his own moral code.

Morals.

Favoured by Frigga during his upbringing, Loki had abandoned everything she had taught him when his world came tumbling down. Lashing out in anguish, he gleefully embraced the role of a monster. Wrecked havoc. Thought himself a true menace unworthy of love.

Unworthy.

As despised and feared as the Jotun came to be, he soon found the real meaning of “monster” in someone else but by then it was too late to flee. Caught in a cage made of his own flesh and mind, Loki remained standing by sheer stubbornness and twisted pride while trying to outsmart not just the proclaimed master but himself too.

Stubborn.

The woman lying listless is another than last time just like the resting place is different too: the Midgardian lies on a simple bed with dark purple covers. The tool he stole under the watchful eyes of the damned Avengers and Loki’s own brother who cares strongly of the mortals and their pitifully brief existences. A dullness has stolen over her skin and smothered the lustre of her hair. Her breath is shallow, barely enough to lift the chest.

She should’ve stopped earlier. It would’ve been the logical thing to do, to preserve enough power to keep standing. Clearly the Priestess was already well on her way to recovery and there would have been other reason to continue healing. Why would -? “You still have to convince me.” Loki’s own words ring mockingly in his mind.

“I told you to seize,” he hisses at her without expecting an answer.

Lashes flutter, creating dancing shadows upon the cheekbones. “Call him...off.” The words are barely audible, and the Jotun would have missed them if not for his inhuman senses. “Don’t let...A-arox...kill them.”

Foolish woman! Scared of the toll simply speaking must take, he shushes [Y/N]. “They’re safe.”

They have been all this time because Arox should still be on board the ship, having never received an order of the kind she fears. What good would it serve me to kill them even if you did not comply? She would never have known for sure until the day she returned home – if that ever happened again. Of course, Loki has no intention of telling her this.

...  Reader   ...

The words come from far off at first. A meaningless jumble of sound that comes and goes together with your consciousness, but you know the voice and the familiarity is soothing as your body makes its mind up whether to wake or sleep.

“It was...not my proudest moment... ...emotions clouded... ...no excuse...”

Finding no sense without the beginning of the tale, you begin to pay attention to other things such as the soft matres, the scent of leaves and flowers. Something cold occasionally strokes your forehead, soothing a throbbing headache you would love to get rid of.

You almost move your hand when memories start hitting you like hail. Sharp and cold, they pierce the state you have been floating in. Loki. The coldness on your skin belongs to him. The priestess. You know that somehow you managed to do as the ass hole of a god wanted, the pretty elf-like alien should be alright and maybe, only maybe, your loved ones home on Earth are too. But someone always dies. You remember New York and the horror Loki had brought to it.

“It was my fault.” Softly spoken, you barely believe what Loki just whispered. “I allowed my rage and hatred to blind me. Perhaps I thought...it was better than the pain but I soon learned I was wrong...a theory which my so-called father confirmed even as I was hanging above the abyss.” You could be mistaken, but it sounds like your abductor’s voice is cracking. “I fell, thinking that would be it...only to find the nightmare had just begun.” He pauses briefly to play with your hair. “He is still coming...for the stones...for me, maybe. I cannot let him. Pray I have time, my dear. That I can rebuild Jotunheim and enough warriors will find their way there to stand against the evil that awaits.” Again, his fingers soothe your forehead, trembling slightly as the hand drifts to cup one of your cheeks. “I must find somewhere you can be safe...”

A loud knock on the door startles him and you grab the opportunity to pretend being woken up, knowing full well what Loki said hadn’t been meant for your ears. He’s glaring at the door as if he could explode it just by staring hard enough or at least guarantee silence. Of course, he isn’t successful in either. Sighing, he glances at you as he gets up and a flicker of something warm lights up his bottle-green eyes for a split second.

“Fear not,” he urges softly before stalking to the door.

Rather than killing any of the knockers, Loki bows and moves aside to allow a veritable entourage to enter with the Priestess in the middle – though she’s not revealed before everyone begins to spread out around you in the bed and Loki who’s slipped between the many beautiful people to stand as close to you as possible. Scrambling to sit up, you are actually thankful for his nearness as he reaches out to steady you.

The Priestess steps forward, her purple eyes on you, and begins to talk. She goes on for a while before finally stopping to look at you expectantly.

“Allow me to summarize,” Loki offers, “she thanks you for what you’ve done and says you’re special because you possess the magic of the ancient Älfir.” Quickly he adds, “Her words, not mine. Furthermore, she says that anything she and the people of Alfheim can offer is yours.”

You don’t have to look at him to know what the Asgardian wants. “Gracious words, your...eminence. The honour is mine. My companion here is the one to deal with practicalities, I request that he speaks for me because I’m weary after...everything.”

It’s not even a lie – well, maybe the “companion”-part – but otherwise it’s spot on: you only had one purpose here and having lived up to the expectations you are absolutely wasted in a not fun way.

...  Loki   ...

Leaving the council chambers where they had gone to discuss the options, Loki knows he ought to be happy. Elated. Thrilled. Still a tendril of worry, unconnected to the Älfir compensation for their Priestess’ health, keeps him from enjoying the moment of victory. His steps beat a rapid tattoo, rushing him along the hallways – their glory lost on him – until he reaches the door to the chambers [Y/N] and he have been appointed.

Slipping inside, chest heaving from something else than physical exertion, he goes as far as to toe off the boots before continuing from one room to the next. Good. Curled onto her side, [Y/N] is sleeping fast. One hand clutched gently around the corner of the pillow while the other lays empty, palm upwards as though she half expects something to fill it.

Lowering himself to sit cross legged on the floor, Loki studies the serene face carefully. A bit of life’s glow has returned to adorn the cheeks and lips (slightly parted and letting out gentle, snoring puffs of air). Behind the eyelids there is movement. Perhaps she’s dreaming. It’s tempting to give in to curiosity yet he refrains. Let this be my one good deed towards you.

As if in silent answer, her empty hand twitches, fingers stretching towards him, and Loki now sees a furrow between the brows that deepens as the Midgardian’s body tenses. The barely audible snores from a moment ago twist into heartbreaking whimpers. A nightmare.

Instinctively, he grasps hold, memorizing the softness of her palm against his own cold skin and hoping against experience that his presence can bring peace for once. “Have no fear...I won’t allow anything to harm you ever again.”

Any other assurances are silenced as [Y/N] pulls his hand close to her chest and sighs in relief, apparently content and the monsters of her sleep have been chased away.

The Jotun, on the other hand, sits frozen in shock as his body is taken over by a soft, warm sensation.

[itsybitsyspiderling]

if you die (what will i be?)

Warnings: A lot of Irondad angst, swearing, mentions of blood and dying

Summary: It takes Peter almost dying for Tony to start paying more attention to him. But why does he have to almost die for Tony to even care? 

Word Count: 3.3k

It takes Peter almost dying for Tony to start paying more attention to him. It takes a dozen unanswered calls and a stupid blood-crusted suit to convince the billionaire that maybe a sixteen-year-old kid with superpowers is worth more than a side project.

That’s how it feels. 

The embers are still floating around him, and the smoke still hangs in the air. His throat burns like it never has before, but he can hardly find the strength to worry. He asks Karen to call Happy, call Mister Stark, call someone and tell them of what happened––he’s afraid he won’t get the chance to do it himself. The smoldering building has already crisped and collapsed around him. He can’t move, he can’t move, and the world feels a bit darker now.

The worst part is, he doesn’t want to move. The cinder falls like snow around him, and through the clearing smoke, he can see stars. The sky has never looked that beautiful before.

Peter can feel the pain, but he doesn’t care. 

It never occurs to him how severe the injuries might be. He just knows that he can’t feel his legs; he isn’t sure he even has them anymore. His abdomen has been struck with a force so palpable,  so heavy, that he can feel it beneath his flesh. There is something there, and he doesn’t know what. He can’t look. 

It isn’t that he doesn't want to either. He physically can’t. His body lies motionless, pain in every nerve, and all he can do is wait. 

–––– 

Peter usually only sees Tony in passing. As the article, “Spider-Man or Iron Man’s Sidekick?” tears through the tabloids thanks to the Daily Bugle, Peter slowly begins to realize that they’re right. Aside from the little things, like bank robberies and gas station brawls, most of Spider-Man’s big accomplishments are in the lovely company of the man in red and gold. And Peter thought it was cool at first. 

He thought it was so cool to be fighting alongside Iron Man. 

Once the article comes out, suddenly, the novelty wears off. Spider-Man exists in Iron Man’s shadow, but Peter hardly exists to Tony at all. 

It’s clear when Peter asks him to help him out with a school project in late October. Twenty hours of work based around a bullshit hypothesis with unproven results––Peter can barely look at the thing without feeling sick to his stomach. Biochemistry has never been his strong suit, and, granted, it has never been Tony’s either, but he has better luck asking a genius billionaire than relying on his own teenage brain. 

Happy’s text comes through the next morning. 

"I’ll come by and pick up the project after school.”

And Peter nearly smiles. Tony is going to help him. Peter realizes that he’s more excited about the idea of working with his mentor than he was when he first received his suit. 

When Happy meets him at 2:45 PM, the conversation falls short. Tony isn’t there; Peter never expects him to be, but Happy doesn’t want to be there either. He takes the contents of the project, stuffs it in the backseat, and drives off with a wave. Not even an offer for a ride. So, Peter walks home alone. 

The following week, after the school day ends, Happy texts Peter again for the third time since he has known him. 

“Meet me outside.”

Students filter out of classrooms while Peter takes each step carefully. Happy is there. Happy is waiting for him. And maybe Tony is there too. Meanwhile, Peter struggles to differentiate his nerves from his excitement. At the same time, he wonders if it’s full-blown anxiety instead. He’s starting to figure out where he fits in with Tony and Happy—he thinks that he doesn’t fit in at all.

“We’ve gotta swing by the compound to pick it up,” Happy says, tossing his keys in his hand as Peter nears slowly. “I don’t got all day, kid, c’mon. Let’s get your project.” 

Peter lets out a sigh and climbs into the passenger seat. For once, he doesn’t want to go up to the compound. He knows that he made a mistake in asking Tony for help; Tony is always willing to help, but he is never willing to show that he cares. Peter feels like an anomaly, and the compound acts as a reminder that no one thinks he’s is ready. For anything. They only see him as some sixteen-year-old who––to quote May––looks like a teddy bear trying to swear when he gets mad.

Happy hardly speaks a word on the drive up. Little hums and disinterested “wow’s” fill the empty space as Peter rants. Peter doesn’t think the dynamic will ever change, and he never imagines why it would. 

“He left it in your room,” Happy says, referring to the project that Peter can hardly remember. “He’s not here today.”

“My room?” 

Happy looks at Peter strangely. “Yeah. Your room. You still have one, you know.” 

Peter nods. He does have a room. He forgot. He forgot because Tony has never once invited him up to use it. With little direction, Peter wanders the compound alone. The sooner he finds his project, the sooner he could go home, suit-up, and forget that this ever happened. 

“Mister Parker, your shoe is untied.” Tony’s voice rings out down the hall. 

After he collected his project, Peter found himself distracted by the large glass windows in the hallway. The view is impeccably serene. If he had originally accepted Tony’s offer a year ago, then the view would have been his. And maybe Tony would have bothered paying a little bit more attention to the vigilante he took under his wing. 

“Oh,” Peter mumbles, glancing down at his feet. “I didn’t notice.”

Tony hums.

“I-I thought––uh, Happy said you weren’t here.”

“Technically, I’m not,” the older man replies. He’s dressed up to the nines. Like always, it seems. “I’m supposed to be halfway to California right now.” His eyes catch the project sitting in Peter’s hands. “That’s A-plus worthy, by the way. If it’s any less—actually, well, who am I kidding? You’ll get an A-plus. If not, an A.”

“Mister Stark, you didn’t have to finish the project,” Peter says. “We could’ve worked on it togeth—”

Tony waves his hand. He waves Peter off. “Not a problem,” he says. He has already begun to walk away. “I gotta split, kid. See you later.” 

Tony is right. Peter does get an A-plus on the project. But it isn’t rewarding in the slightest.

–––– 

Peter can tell that his breathing pattern has changed. He tries not to overreact, but each passing moment feels like an eternity. He can’t hear sirens, he can’t hear anything. He can’t even hear his heartbeat slowing.

Why can’t he hear anything? 

The autumn chill feels twenty degrees colder than it had, but his skin is still burning from the fire that dwindles around him. He knows he’s not overreacting. He knows he’s dying. 

Doesn’t anyone care that he’s dying?

“K-Karen,” he whimpers out, but it sounds like more like a plead, and the taste of metal floods his tongue. It’s the only sense that overwhelms him. The rest of his body has fallen numb, and it’s not the fault of the cold or the anxiety sparking within him. He can’t tell how much blood he’s losing or if he’s losing any at all. 

“I have not been able to reach Happy Hogan or Tony Stark,” she says calmly. She’s always calm.  “Would you like me to try May Parker?”

Something about the sound of her name strikes a chord within Peter. His torso seizes, and the weight of the rubble on his legs suddenly means nothing as he thinks about May. May. He can’t leave her. He can’t leave May. 

“No, no, ” he whines, eyes squinting shut as he struggles to lift himself up from the ground. “Don’t––don’t call––” His words are drowned out by the pain radiating up his chest. It’s not coming in waves or in dull aches like his normal wounds. Peter doesn’t know pain like this, and there’s not enough air in his lungs to breathe or speak. 

And he thinks he’s crying. It’s not supposed to feel like this.

Death is supposed to be peaceful. He’s supposed to smile and think of loved ones. 

Instead, Peter can’t help but panic. No one is coming for him. No one is hearing his cries––is he crying? He still can’t tell. He can hardly feel his legs, let alone lift his head. He just knows there’s something wrong, and there’s pain. There’s so much pain. 

At that moment, he believes that no one will come to save him. No one will come. No one wants to.

  ––––  

There’s nothing Peter hates more than the idea of disappointing Tony Stark. The fear––quite literally––follows him into his dreams. In those dreams, Tony has an alter ego, one that frames the kid for murder and plasters his face under every article that screams “Spider-Man Wanted on Account of a Double Homicide”. Real Tony isn’t like that. Real Tony is nice.

But disappointed Tony is a person Peter wishes he had never met. He won’t frame him for murder or reveal his identity. Instead, it feels worse. It feels like losing trust or losing a friend. The few times Peter has disappointed Tony, it’s been a sinking, unspeakable guilt. It’s been impalement driving and twisting into his chest while the fire behind his eyes blackens. 

There’s something about disappointing Tony that breaks Peter. And it’s all because of how much he looks up to him.

Sometimes he wishes that he chose someone else to idolize as a kid. He’s been made into a prototype, an acolyte like the rest, but one who is only treated differently because he is different. Peter is only kept around because of Spider-Man.

That’s what he firmly believes. 

And are times when Tony doesn’t even want Spider-Man.

After the ferry incident, Peter worries about the next time he’ll let Tony down. He counts every possible scenario on his fingers and toes, but he and Tony are so similar. They both act rationally in the most irrational way.

Peter thinks that Tony has slowly started to see his old habits in him. 

All it takes is an incident involving HYDRA and a Quinjet. At first, Tony makes his disappointment known with silence. He flies over to a nearby roof without another word, leaving Peter in his dust. And for a moment, Peter considers not chasing after him, but he knows the storm is brewing nevertheless. No matter what day or week it is, he can’t escape it. 

“What did I tell you?” Tony asks, his metal faceplate lifting with as much bite as his tone. 

Peter breathes heavily but stays silent. He tears his mask off. 

“I asked you not to interfere,” Tony continues. “I asked you to distract and retreat. One of us has a bulletproof suit, and that’s not you, got it?”

“I-I just wanted to––”

His jaw clenches as he shakes his head. “No. No more excuses. No more promising that you’ll do better next time. What if there wasn’t going to be a ‘next time’? Huh? What if that blind idiocy you exhibited tonight had gotten you killed? We wouldn’t be here, and I’d be forced to knock on May’s door and tell her that her nephew––”

“Don’t, please.”

“Then do as I say.”

Peter’s heart stutters in his chest. He can feel his own anger boiling in his veins. It feels like the ferry incident again. It feels like every time he’s disappointed Tony, and it’s all because Peter doesn’t know how to keep from making the same mistakes. 

“Why can’t you trust me like you trusted the Avengers?” he hears himself ask, but it’s not as sharp as he imagined it would be. 

The creases in Tony’s forehead smooth over as his expression falls. “You think I don’t trust you––that’s it?” he whispers. “The Avengers relied on mutual trust. Maybe it’s time you start trusting me too, yeah, kid? If you did, then you would have done what I asked.” The faceplate slams shut, and Tony hovers above the roof as he says, “they lost my trust, too. I can’t lose yours.” And then he’s off.

Peter is alone. 

 –––– 

Peter is alone, and the panic has finally subsided. He’s not aware of much, but he can feel the wind against his fingertips. He can still see the embers drifting like buoys in the sea. He thinks about Coney Island. He thinks about metal talons digging into his skin, and he compares it to the large splinters of wood stuck in his torso. 

There is nothing else to focus on but the stars. He doesn’t remember there being so many stars. 

Karen speaks to him in a calm matter. She knows his heartbeat is too slow. She knows he’s having a hard time breathing. She talks and helps him through it, but he can’t hear a word. He doesn’t hear her talking about the missed calls from Tony. He doesn’t hear her mention his name at all. 

When Peter struggles to identify the red lights of distant emergency vehicles, he finally hears something. Metal crashing against concrete. The touchdown of the world’s finest hero. 

“Peter?” Tony’s voice is small, but it’s a sound Peter has been waiting to hear all night.

He tilts his head; it’s all he can do. “Mister Stark?” 

The weight of the rubble on his legs goes missing.

Tony is above him in under a second, cold, metal fingers settling themselves behind Peter’s head to keep it elevated. “Pete,” Tony breathes out. 

Peter has never seen Tony look so pale before. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” he says, placing his other arm under Peter’s legs. “Okay? You’re gonna be fine. We’re gonna get you through this. I’ve got you.”

Peter tries to nod, but his head rolls to the side instead. “You’ve––you’ve got me,” he mumbles. The words float away with the embers. 

Tony’s lips pull into a deep frown, and his eyebrows knot together as he thinks over his next moves. His eyes are dark, but they are warm and soft, and just by looking into them, Peter can tell that Tony is scared. 

As the older man’s lip trembles, Peter realizes that he’s no longer in as much pain as he had been. He feels lighter than air, but he doesn’t feel real. It’s supposed to feel like this. 

Tony starts to lift him into his arms, and for a brief moment, the pain returns. It vocalizes itself as a cry and a scream, and Tony’s worry and fear turn to horror. He doesn’t know what to do. “Y-you’ve gotta bear with me, kiddo. I’ve gotta lift you. Okay? Do you trust me?”

Peter can’t say it back, but he smiles. And that says enough.

“I’m so sorry, Pete.”

–––– 

He awakes in the Medbay. Re-runs of Star Trek are playing on a flatscreen in the corner, and a large vase of red and blue flowers sits beside his bed. The third thing he notices is the ache in his lungs as he takes each breath. The fourth thing is slumped over in a chair across the room, elbows pressed into his knees while soft snores rumble through his chest. He’s not dressed to the nines like Peter usually sees. Instead, he’s in sweatpants and a t-shirt with coffee stains down the front. He looks like he hasn’t moved from his seat in days. 

Peter’s torso is covered in bandages, and his legs are in casts. He knows that, in a matter of a day or two, he’ll be walking again with little to no pain. But right now, he’s afraid to move. 

He’s afraid to speak. 

The first thing he tries to do is reach for the remote, which fails miserably. It slips to the ground, and the clattering plastic seems to wake the slumbering Stark instantly. 

“Pete?” Tony mutters, blinking to adjust to the bright fluorescent lighting. “How long’ve you been up?”

“A minute,” Peter answers hoarsely.

Tony nods and presses his lips together. He doesn’t leap from his chair or cry out of happiness; instead, his eyes speak louder than words. He’s relieved. He’s thankful. He’s trying to fight back his thoughts and emotions instead of dumping them all on Peter. 

“Mister Stark––”

“You’re never gonna hear this from me again, so listen up,” Tony says. He blinks rapidly and sniffs. He continues breathily, “you scared the living shit outta me. I thought you were––I thought you were gonna–– Jesus.” Tony runs his fingers through his hair. “If you were gone before I got t’tell you how proud of you I am, kiddo, I don’t know what I would be doin’ right now.”

Peter bites the inside of his lip to keep from crying. Meanwhile, he can’t believe it. He doesn’t know how to.

“When I discipline you––” Tony says. He can’t look at Peter. “––when I set boundaries and rules, it’s not because I don’t think you can do it. It’s because I’m terrified that one of us is gonna make the wrong move, and suddenly, there’s no turning back. I can’t let it happen. I just can’t, Pete. I can’t lose you.”

Peter wants to swallow down the anger growing in him. But he can’t. He doesn’t know how to believe him. “Then why––why do you i-ignore me?” Peter sputters, trying to contain his emotions, but they come pouring out through his tears. 

“I don’t––”

“You do!” Peter cries out. He doesn’t mean to, but the words all feel like lies. The Tony he knows barely spares a day for Peter. “You make Happy do everything. You don’t contact me. You don’t wanna see me. You pull me along on these missions only to hold me back, and then you berate me for doing something you would do! I’m tired of being a sidekick if I can’t even be your––your  friend .”

Tony rests his head in his hand. “Peter––”

“You say you can’t lose me, but it doesn’t even feel like you want me around.”

Tony nods. He knows it’s true. But he still can’t look at Peter. “Yeah,” Tony whispers. “No, you’re right. I keep myself separated. And it’s not because I don’t want you around. I would make you drop outta school just to keep me company, Pete. I’ll admit my faults. You bring out a different side of me that I’ve never seen before, and it––it made me wanna be someone new. Made me wanna be a father. Some shit like that.” He chuckles dryly “Yeah, I got scared. I was terrified. Suddenly, the only thing I wanted to do was keep you safe. And then I realized, y’know, I’m me. I’m destructive. I thought that keeping you safe, but from afar, would do less damage. I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”

Peter doesn’t speak again for a while. He digests Tony’s words carefully, whether he chooses to believe them or not. The longer he thinks, the more Peter realizes that he has no reason to not believe the man. Tony has kept him alive. Tony has saved his life. Multiple times. Tony does many things wrong, but he has done so many things right.

“Mister Stark?”

Tony glances up, his eyes glassy and hopeful. 

“I trust you.”

[alma-berry]

Kit’s secret Fire Message #22

Masterlist

This chapter contains sexual content. I’ll take this opportunity to remind you that this fic takes place in TWP’s timeframe, in which both Kit and Ty are over 18.

It’s not an overly explicit chapter, but if you are not comfortable with sexual content, I’ll advise you to stop after the magnificent word “Christopher”.

I really hope you’ll enjoy it 🖤

*

Iratze, blood replacement, strengthening rune, endurance rune, another Iratze.

Ty applied each rune with careful hands. Every mark stood a stark black across Kit’s chest, his arms, the side of his neck. Ty caressed them, like checking if the ink had already dried from a sheet of paper.

He was about to put an energy rune on Kit when Livvy stopped him.

“I think I should leave you two alone”

“Why?” Ty frowned at her.

Livvy surveyed her brother’s pursed lips, the dark, sunken hollows under his eyes and the delicate yet hungry way in which his hands moved on Kit’s bare skin, as if careful not to hurt him, yet unable to break away their touch.

It reminded her of when they were children, and they dared each other to write their own names without lifting the pen off the paper. Livvy’s always seemed like an unintelligible scribble, but Ty managed to write in a neat, elegant scroll that seemed like it was made by an artist.

She looked at him and knew that when Kit woke up, which would probably be as soon as the energy rune took effect, an important conversation would have to take place. They were searching for each other for so long, not in so many actions, but in their hearts. Whatever might happen in that conversation, couldn’t happen if she was there.

“I would come if you need me..” She looked at her twin with knowing sincerity. “But I don’t think you will.”

*

Kit lay on the damp grass and watched the sun play tricks on his half-lidded eyes.

He liked it, letting small rays of light escape through his lashes and paint beautiful, unrealistic images on the inside of his mind.

Sometimes, when he needed inspiration, he would lay there for hours and listen to the forest whisper a whole symphony in his ears, one he would never be able to replicate, but would always try.

As he felt the tips of his fingers bathe in the mid-days warmth, a shadow fell over him.

“Kitty!” his favorite voice in the world cried in ringing delight, and Mina jumped on his stomach with all her might.

Kit pretended to be fatally injured and called Jem for urgent assistance.

As he appeared, and a slightly worried crease pinched Mina’s forehead, Kit snatched her like she was nothing but a tiny, raggedy doll and held her close to him. She screamed in protest, and as retaliation, he tickled her until she surrendered.

Jem’s soft laughter made him look up. His head stood right in front of the sun and blinding rays of light weaved through the dark strands of his black hair, making him look like an odd, beautiful planet.

“You’ve caught some sun, Christopher”

Jem’s voice was amused, though Kit couldn’t manage to see his mouth move beyond the shadows that hid his face.

“Have I?”

“Yes, you’re practically glowing”

“Like a radiant bride?” Kit teased.

“More like the sun, I reckon.”

“Oh”. Something about that statement made Kit feel uneasy, but he couldn’t remember why.

“I believe you’ve spent enough time out here, son. I think it’s better if you wake up now”

Kit frowned in confusion. “Wake up? I’m hardly asleep, Jem. You’re all lovely to look at and all, but I doubt I would dream of Min kicking me in the gut.. maybe church. But if it was a dream, I would have kicked back”

He grinned at his father with innocent wickedness. But Jem still smiled serenely.

“No, my dearest. I assure you that this is a dream, one from which it is imperative you wake.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s time, Christopher.”

“Time for what?”

Jem wasn’t the cryptic type, and Kit still couldn’t see his eyes. He shifted his head, trying to see Jem’s expression in its fullest, but weirdly enough, the sun seemed to move with him and kept its safe place right behind Jem’s head.

“Kitty!” He suddenly became aware that Mina was still in his arms. He focused his gaze on her and watched in surprise as she lifted her small palms to his face.

Her grip was soft, yet strong as iron. She arched her red lips in a smile and whispered to his ear.

“Kitty, wake up!”

*

“Kit, wake up”

Kit opened his eyes to a whirling grey storm. They still stung from the brightness of his dream, and the sudden change made him flinch.

All of a sudden, his view cleared and he saw Ty’s sharp features leaning away from him.

“Ty!” He called in relief, and bolted to a sitting position, reaching to cup Ty’s face in his hands. The sudden movement made his head spin, and he staggered back on his elbows.

“Stay down, you need to rest your head.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. How did- are you okay?”

He tried to focus his eyes on Ty, but his vision kept blurring back to the black, blinding spots from the sun.

“Yeah, I’m... I’m okay. I came looking for you with Livvy. She helped me find you.” Ty’s voice sounded strained, but Kit’s ears kept ringing with Mina’s chiming voice.

“Find me? With Livvy? Where is she?”

He peeked through his lashes, trying to locate her white glow through the haziness.

“Livvy left for Jessamine. Apparently, she’s been frantic for hours, kept knocking off glasses and trying to demand that you were found.”

“Wow”, Kit gaped. “I didn’t know she liked me that much.”

And at that, Ty’s words sank in.

“Wait, what do you mean for hours? And.. find me? Why did you need to find me? you were right there and I-“

Kit’s words hushed into a confused silence as he retraced through his last recollections; Ty’s limp figure in the entrance to the hall, the ceiling raining down rocks and himself, trapped behind that massive boulder. He definitely broke something, maybe even a few somethings. He saw his left palm, pulsing with all the light and energy he could muster.. and he saw the darkness, lulling him to sleep like a soft blanket.

He opened his eyes, his heart hammering unevenly in his chest, and sat down slowly. He couldn’t look at Ty, afraid to see the knowing expression on his face, so he looked at his surroundings.

The first thing he noticed was the ruins. Everywhere around them were shattered piles of rocks, but he himself lay inside a neatly drawn circle of dust. It was too neat, too precise. He didn’t need to remember the night’s events to understand what happened.. and knowing Ty, neither did he.

Kit shivered. He lifted his arms to warm himself, only to find bare skin. He looked down at the disheveled remains of his gear and felt the burning crawl of shame and fear climbing up his neck. It was too much, it was all way too much.

He sank his face in his hands and tried as hard as he could to dissolve into thin air, like the ash between his fingers, like the dread that swallowed his heart whole.

It wasn’t until Ty’s touched his skin to his, prying his hands away from the barricading shield they created, that he felt the slick remains of his tears.

Kit didn’t cry much, there was a time he thought there was something wrong with him because of that. Then again, there were many reasons why something would be wrong with him… reasons he spent years trying to overcome. He felt the lucid cold of that night on Lake Lynn, and the flattened pain of his ravaged heart, twisting their way into his mind. He was, simultaneously, too much to handle and barely there at all to take notice of.

He was almost on that edge, his hands trembling like they were also trapped within Kit’s memories until the gentle embrace of Ty’s fingers pulled him back.

Kit straightened his gaze in defiance, ready for the sharpened questions in Ty’s eyes, but found nothing.

Ty’s eyes darted all around him, pleading worry plain and naked smeared all over his face. He wasn’t looking for answers, he wasn’t looking at Kit’s lack of clothing or at the stark evidence of Kit’s powers all around them. He just only looking for Kit.

The sudden rush of tenderness punched a hole through Kit’s defenses, shattering it completely.

“Ty…”

“I didn’t believe them, Kit. You were trapped here for hours, and I didn’t even know... They said you were dead, and I was knocked out and couldn’t help you and I-“ his voice cracked, “I’m sorry, Kit. I’m so sorry. I should have been here to help you. It was all my fault.”

His voice died down to a whisper, and his eyes fell to his lap, burning bright with unshed tears.

“No, Ty...  You, you saved me, don’t you remember? You took a fireball straight to the chest for me, that’s why you were knocked down.” Kit traced a finger across his cheek like he was wiping the tear that wasn’t there.

“I didn’t believe them,” Ty repeated. “You said you would never leave me again, so I knew you must still be here. I didn’t believe them, because I believed you.”

Kit felt the sweet brush of Ty’s breath on his lips, making him shiver down to his toes. There was truth in him, that he never saw in Ty before. It wasn’t that Ty lied, he was alarmingly honest, to the point of bluntness. But that kind of honesty was from the inner layers of his soul, so much so that Kit felt like he was touching it with his bare hands.

“You’re right,” he swallowed hard, “I would have never left you. I never will.”

Ty’s face lit up with the ferocity of the sun, and Kit was mesmerized by the clean beauty of him. His lashes thick and startlingly dark against the silver in his eyes, feathering down across flushed, sharp cheekbones. His lips were slightly parted, stuck on their way from astonishment to a smile. Kit could see the small shimmering traces of his tongue, glittering like stars in the ever-increasing light.

But they were inside a dark, collapsed cave. There were no lamps or witchlights around them, but Ty was still glowing as the light came from right under him, where their hands were still clasped.

With a sinking realization, Kit lowered his eyes to find that, in fact, the light came exactly from between their hands. Between his hands.

With a yelp, he pulled his hands away and leaned as far from Ty as he could manage without falling to his back.

“No!” Ty called, the smile ripped away from his face and left an angry, desperate abyss. “Stop it, Kit!”

Kit froze and stared at Ty with horror.

“You don’t get to do that anymore” he reached to grab Kit’s hands in his. “You don’t get to shove me off like I’m-“

“Ty, please” Kit cried and tried to release himself from Ty’s iron grip, but couldn’t.

“You don’t understand, Ty... I’m- I can’t-“ he murmured with barely contained sorrow.

“So explain it to me, Kit.” He punctuated every word. “Explain why for weeks you keep pushing me away, just explain it to me, because you act like you can’t be around me but then you say these things… your screensaver is a photo of our beach, you wrote me these letters for years but after you kissed me you just.. you just sent me away.”

Ty’s voice was the hard, desperate truth that Kit tried to avoid until he could figure out on his own how to take control, but there was nowhere to escape.

“I-“ Kit’s chest was heaving, chasing one breath after the other before he could fully take them in. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” Ty touched his palm to Kit’s, and he could feel the wild current of energy going through Ty’s body like electricity.

“Yes!” His voice rose to a shout. “Look, I’m hurting you right now!”

“I don’t care, Kit!” He shouted back, the force of his grip making Kit’s bones grind against each other, though he barely noticed the pain.

“That’s why you keep avoiding me? That’s why you won’t even look at me?”

Every word Ty said hit Kit like a thousand rocks, tumbling down onto his heart. He managed to pry away his hands from Ty’s but Ty kept pushing him back until he almost hit a wall of piled stones.

“That’s why you won’t let me touch you?” Kit stopped thrashing and looked at Ty, his eyes wide with savage grief, like Kit’s words, not his powers, were breaking him apart.

In his heart, Kit heard the rumble of a shattering glass.

“Ty, you have to believe me, there’s nothing I want more than to-“ his whole body was vibrating from the effort to control himself, but energy flooded his veins, poured down from his skin to his fingernails. He had to make Ty understand.

“Every time I look at you, every time I hear your voice say my name or your hand accidentally brushes mine... the effect you have on me-“ Why couldn’t he find words? When he needed them the most, they failed him.

Kit clung to every movie he watched, every book he read, and searched frantically for the right thing to say.

“I know I’ve been hiding things from you, but it’s not because I want to keep you away… I swear. I wanted to protect you from it, Ty. I owe you that much. After everything I did, after all of my mistakes, I owe you at least that much.”

Ty lips curled into a grim smile, and Kit couldn’t bear it any longer. He shut his eyes hard and willed his heart to compliance.

“Kit,” his voice imprinted soft pedals across Kit’s neck. “I believe you, didn’t you hear me say that before?”

Ty carefully laced their fingers together, and Kit let him, too tired to fight him away.

“I believe in you. I believe in this. You can never hurt me.”

A hot tear melted on Kit’s cheek like a snowflake in the fire.

“Will you look at me? I need you to know that I mean it, Kit.”

Kit opened his eyes but didn’t look at Ty. He looked at their intertwined hands, and at the threatening glow that shined like a hidden candle.

Kit took a deep breath and listened to the steady beating of Ty’s heart. It was so implausible, that his heartbeats could be so calm… like a river, the unyielding flow of its temper beating down the night, that Kit had to try again. He focused on that rhythm with everything that he had and raised his eyes to face the man in front of him.

Ty’s eyes pinned him in place immediately, and Kit knew that there was nothing anyone could do to make him look away.

“I’ve known for a while that there was something that you’ve been hiding. At first, I tried to figure it out for myself, so I could protect you from whoever is after you.. but that only did the opposite of what I wanted. I needed you to trust me again, so I had to trust you. I had to trust that your secrets, whatever they are, are safer in your hands than in mine… and they are yours to give away. Don’t you see, Kit? I know… I know and I don’t care. I don’t care as long as you’re with me.”

Ty looked at him like he was the only answer he ever needed to know, like there was nothing more important than this very second, this very light, trapped forever between their hearts.

Kit breathed Ty’s words and felt again that calm sureness smoothing away the frayed edges of his anxiety. He would never hurt Ty, he couldn’t, and that plain knowledge molded into a glistening blazing light in the palm of his hand.

The light washed over them like a ray of distilled sunshine, clinging to every curve of Ty’s face like a ghostly whisper.

Without knowing how they closed the distance between them so that one couldn’t know who’s heart was beating the loudest.

Kit caressed Ty’s lips with his eyes, breathed the cottoned dimples on his cheeks and counted each marvelous shade of silver in his irises.

“Tell me,” Kit said. And it was barely a whisper, but he needed nothing more.

“I love you, Christopher.”

Ty didn’t hesitate, he didn’t miss a single beat before releasing Kit’s hands only to pull his face towards him, and steal his very last breath, straight from his lips.

It burned, it burned like the sun dug its way under Ty’s skin and everywhere he touched left a mark.

His tongue licked fire at the base of Kit’s throat, his fingers turned his bones to ashes as they sank lower down his back. And his heart, his heart was marked all over, with tears and rain and the smell of ink that didn’t leave Ty’s skin in the three years they spent apart.

Kit pressed his nose to the hollow above Ty’s sternum and breathed so deeply he feared he might faint. With another shaky breath, he clawed his fingers in the collar of Ty’s shirt and forced his eyes to stay still.

“I need you to tell me what you want, Ty.” His voice was horas, wanting, but he made every word count. He needed Ty to choose this, choose him.

“I want to touch you”. It echoed all through Kit’s body, like a desperate shout, reverberating across empty halls.

“You are touching me.” Kit answered with a small smile.

“I want to touch you more.”

Kit drew a sharp breath. Ty’s words hit him like a cigarette tossed into a pool of gasoline, flaring up the blood in his veins with unbearable heat.

He only nodded, there was nothing he could phrase that would explain the way he felt, so he pulled Ty into his lap and let his long fingers slide across his body like a tide over a helpless sea.

There wasn’t much left of his clothes, to begin with, but Ty made the remains of his gear crumble under his touch like smoke, evaporating with a blink of an eye.

behind the dark curtain of his lashes, Ty’s eyes gleamed bright and hungry like a panther’s as they slid down Kit’s naked torso, all the way to his naval. In the years since he found out that he was a Shadowhunter, Kit had a love-hate relationship with his own body. He was relieved every time he received any kind of appreciation for his appearance… not in the manner of beauty, but more in the way of finding his own place amongst the race of these super hot, highly maintenance angel warriors. But this, this, how Ty’s eyes drank every muscle and scar made Kit unleash a low growl of pleasure.

“Ty,” Kit breathed, and the soft hairs on Ty’s skin stood up in salute.

“I want to-“ I want to feel your skin under my mouth, I want to know how you sound when I graze my teeth across that jawline of yours, that jawline that can cut me without even noticing. I want to feel that you’re mine.

He couldn’t say none of these things, but Ty understood. He took Kit’s hand and tucked it under the hem of his shirt, guiding him upwards, until they rested over his heart. It slammed against his palm, an uneven dance of raging anticipation.

Kit peeled the fabric off, exploring inch by inch the wonders of Ty’s skin, admiring how every touch made his breath heavier and sweeter than the one before it. He buried his face in the wide field of Ty’s chest, inhaling his soft whispers, egging him on.

His body felt like it could no longer contain his heart. The violent joy of how Ty’s cherry red and swollen lips trembled as Kit found the buckle of his belt, made his blood burst like lava all through his quivering limbs.

Ty put both hands on the rock behind them and lifted himself so that Kit could remove the rest of their gear. Kit wanted to look at him, to see the places where his snowy skin was even paler, to look for scars and ask for every tale that came with them, but the look on Ty’s face was more important. He trusted Kit - with his body - and with his heart. It made him want to cry, to break down on the dusty stone floor and tell Ty that he loved him, that he loved him because his heart couldn’t bear not to.

Instead, he pushed Ty off him and down to the ground. He crawled up his body to meet his lips. Ty put both of his hands on his chest, both to steady him and to keep him at bay.

“Have- have you ever done this before?” Ty sounded almost shy, which was surprising to hear.

“Yes. So have you.”

It wasn’t a question. The confidence of how Ty’s fingers slid over his body made it very clear.

“Does that bother you?” Ty asked, his eyebrows pulled up against each other like a child’s illustration of a roof.

Kit paused, he wanted to give an honest answer, not an impulsed one. The thought of Ty with someone else made the fine hairs on his lower back stand like pikes, he couldn’t deny that… but what did he expect? He couldn’t reproach Ty for living his life, it’s not like he hadn’t. Ty never left his heart, but he tried with all his might to banish him away. He kissed and laughed and danced and fucked, he did everything he could think of, but he always remembered. He never made love before, a differentiation that used to seem overly romanticized to him, but now felt like all the difference in the world. He desired others, but he never loved.

So Ty might have been with a dozen other men, and it wouldn’t matter. Because he was now touching his lips to Kit’s temple and the memory of his words rang clear in his heart. Ty loved him, and that’s all he needed to know.

“No.” He said simply, and the relief was clear on Ty’s face. “I don’t care, because you are with me.”

Ty smiled as he recalled his own words from before, and pulled Kit closer, every inch of their exposed skin touching. He slid his fingers along Kit’s thighs and purred like a satisfied cat to Kit’s reaction.

“Besides,” Kit added with a choked voice. “Practice makes perfect, and this -“ he put his hands on Ty’s, guiding him to his pelvis - “is exactly that”.

They giggled until they couldn’t any longer, their bodies allowing only sharp moans and sudden gasps. The intensity between them was building up into a tangible need. Kit wanted him, but he didn’t intend for it to be over so soon… so he propped up on his elbows and held Ty’s gaze, and like untying a ribbon, let his tongue run slowly down his length, embedding every precious moan to his memory.

For a second, he felt like he was watching them from a distance, hiding behind one of the shattered rocks. And they were beautiful together, like an unavoidable collision between the sun and the moon. The light that was first caged in him spread out and surrounded them like a halo. Ty’s skin was a silvery silk, melting under Kit’s golden sun-kissed hands. It was like that old poem, Kit thought, as he drifted back to his own body, and knew that he would have died a thousand times for this night.

When Ty started shaking under him, Kit disentangled himself from his hold and sat breathless, watching Ty’s back arch, as if looking for the missing warmth of Kit’s body. His eyes were half-closed, unfocused, searching for him in his peripheral until he realized that Kit was not there.

“Something’s wrong?” He sat on his knees with a noticeable effort, his naked body covered in a thin layer of sweat and dirt.

Kit shook his head, trying to figure out a way to explain what he wanted, what he needed. He could feel his cheeks flare red with embarrassment, and cursed his self-consciousness.

“So come back to me” Ty whispered, and when Kit stayed where he was, he closed the distance between them and took his chin in his hand, lifting it up so he could examine his expression.

Understanding bloomed in Ty’s eyes, and they darkened in a sudden explosion of hunger.

“More.” He said, and Kit thanked Ty’s lack of need for unnecessary words.

He nodded, relieved and wanting, and crushed their lips together, licking and sucking everywhere his mouth could reach.

Between breaths, Ty whispered to him, and Kit could hear the effort it took him to stop and say these words.

“But it will hurt you, afterward. I don’t want you to be in pain, ever.”

Kit smiled to himself and nipped Ty’s lower lip, biting it, hard. Ty groaned in response, and it felt like the greatest victory of Kit’s life.

“We’re Shadowhunters, there will always be some sort of pain.” He sat on top of Ty and tightened his grip on his shoulders.

“And don’t forget -“ he added. “We have Iratzes for that.”

Kit lowered himself atop him and Ty cried out his name, running his fingers on his scarred chest like a caged animal, breaking free. He was glorious, from the soft feathers of his wet hair, the sharp ridge of his collar bone to the dimples down his hips, like two fountains - twinkling as a mirage in the desert of Kit’s life.

They moved together, slowly, their lips fused to an everlasting kiss, and Kit could hear the distant memory of waves crashing over the Los Angeles Institute’s shore.

He always remembered Ty as someone delicate, breakable, the person he must protect no matter the cost. But as he felt him, thundering inside him like a storm, stronger than any force of nature he ever encountered, he knew that he was wrong. When the pleasure inside him took hold over every other coherent thought that he had left, only one remained - they could protect each other.

*

They lay in silence, bodies laced together like vines.

Kit’s eyes were closed, his golden lashes almost white, illuminated by the witchlight Ty gave him so long ago. Ty nudged his nose in the faint stubble on his cheeks and relished on the prickling texture of it.

“Christopher,” He murmured.

“Hmm?”

“Christopher Jonathan Herondale.”

Ty tasted the words, slowly, mouthing them like they were a secret he wasn’t sure he was willing to give away.

Kit lifted one eyebrow in question, his eyes drifted open and focused on Ty’s lips.

“I remember that poem you sent me, a couple of years ago.” Kit’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“Where the crows had not yet woken

And the dimmed, elongated seconds

Between one breath and the other

I whisper to the impatient sun

Your name

Your full name

As an ancient lullaby

Sung by the gods”

A loud silence crawled between them. He didn’t know what to make of it and was suddenly very aware of how exposed he was in front of Kit.

“Did- did you memorize it?” Kit’s voice was calm, measured. It sent shivers down Ty’s back.

“Yes. I memorized all of them.”

Kit’s gasp was audible, and Ty had to turn and search his face for any sign of distress. Did it scare him?

“Why?”

“Because I needed to understand them. It was.. maddening.”

Ty searched his face, the cobalt blue of his gaze made him feel like they were outside, under the night’s sky. He was even more beautiful like this, he thought, with his hair rumpled and his shoulders uncovered, glittering from the remains of dust and sweat and magic. He was so beautiful Ty ached somewhere deep within him. He never felt this way, and it was more frightening than realizing the shape of his feelings for Kit.

“And did you? Understand them, I mean.”

Ty ran his fingers through Kit’s curls and tried to make sense of his thoughts.

“Not until recently, no… and not all of them. But- but this one, in particular, haunted me. I used to say your name, when I was alone, even without Livvy… just to understand what you meant. It only made me miss you more, it made me angry and frustrated and… and it made me so mad at you. For leaving, for sending these letters, like you were deliberately trying to hurt me by reminding me that I lost you.”

Kit lifted his hand, it hovered above Ty’s heart for an excruciating second, and then rested on it.

“And now, when I say it, when I say your name.. I can still taste you in my mouth. I can hear you singing in the car, I can smell the sun on your skin and feel your heartbeat right here, in the palm of my hand.”

He looked into the depths inside Kit’s eyes, they were so vividly real Ty got lost in the middle of the ocean until he realized they were tears.

“It’s like a prayer, your name.”

Kit pulled him into a sitting position, planting his hands so hard through Ty’s hair he probably felt every bone in his skull.

“It wasn’t a prayer, it was a promise, Tiberius.”

And he kissed him. He kissed him for so long that when he came up for air, it felt like the first true breath he took in three long years.

[traveller-lover-dreamer]

Don’t Forget About Me, 2 | T.H.

Teaser | Part one | 

Summary: The day two broken souls collided and the aftermath of the collision. 

Pairing: College!Tom Holland X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.8K

Warnings: Alcohol consumption again and still some awkwardness but just enough shy smiles to make it okay

-

The early morning light spilled on the floor of the room as Y/n stirred awake. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was, but it soon came back to her. That and the dehydration. She had to get her hands on a glass of water or she was going to die. Or at least she felt like she was going to.

A soft snore was heard behind her and Y/n froze. She finally remembered that she wasn’t alone and that Tom was sleeping next to her. She glanced over her shoulder. He looked so peaceful, his hair a mess but a serene expression on his face.

She turned back around, deciding to get up to find something to drink. But when she moved, Tom rolled closer to her and put his arm around her, pulling her closer as he nuzzled his face in her neck. Her heart skipped a beat in her chest but Y/n stopped moving, not wanting to wake him up.

She waited for a moment, hoping that Tom was going to wake up by himself. Soon enough Y/n started to feel uncomfortable, her back aching from the position that she was in. She moved a little, trying to turn on her side so that Tom would end up spooning her instead but that was enough to wake him up.

Tom rolled on his back, freeing Y/n who suddenly felt cold.

“Mornin’” Tom mumbled, his voice still sleepy.

“Good morning”, Y/n said, glancing at Tom.

How could his profile look so good too? His eyes fluttered opened and he groaned before turning around, hiding his face in a pillow.

“Fucking hell”, he muttered.

Y/n laughed a little, knowing damn well that he had drunk a lot more than she had did yesterday night. “Hangover?”

“Mmh.”

She smiled before getting up, moving towards her bag to find something decent to get dressed with. She glanced at Tom, who was already looking at her.

“What?” she asked.

“Can’t get over your PJs”, he replied and a smile lazily spread on his lips.

Y/n’s cheeks turned red as she chose what to wear. “M gonna take it off, sorry.”

“Even better”, Tom said cockily.

Her cheeks burned even more as she rolled her eyes. “You’re a dumbass.”

Tom chuckled but didn’t say anything.

“Don’t look”, Y/n said and Tom sighed deeply before hiding his face in the pillow.

Y/n quickly got dressed, watching Tom’s back as she did so to make sure he wasn’t going to look. She sat back on the bed when she was done but Tom didn’t move.

“Tom?” Y/n said.

A soft snore replied to her. She chuckled before getting up and walking out of the room to let the boy sleep. She met with Katherine in the hallway, the girl having just left Harrison’s room.

“Morning, babe”, Katherine said. “How was your night?”

“I slept”, Y/n replied, laughing at Katherine’s disappointed expression. “What? You really thought I was going to have sex with Tom?”

“Well, you two really seemed to have fun yesterday night…” Katherine trailed off.

“Doesn’t mean I was going to have sex with him!” Y/n pointed out.

“So you’re telling me you guys slept in the same bed and did nothing?” Katherine asked.

“Well, we just slept yeah”, Y/n answered.

“Oh well…” Katherine disappointedly let out as the two girls walked to the main room of the cottage.

They ate breakfast talking about the night before, Y/n asking questions about what had happened with Harrison and Katherine telling her all about it. During the day, the two girls stayed inside, not daring to face the cold outside. Y/n supposed that the boys went to play hockey or something because she didn’t see them during the day. At the end of the afternoon, Katherine and she decided to take a nap in their room and they woke up only when someone put the music on in the main room.

“I’ll go take a shower”, Y/n told Katherine before grabbing her bag. Katherine only groaned in response.

Y/n went in the bathroom that was connected to their room and she quickly took a shower. While she was under the hot stream of water, she shut her eyes and sighed deeply. She was still groggy with sleep and for a moment she wished she could go to bed instead of having to party all night but then she remembered that Tom was going to be there and she got excited. She quickly finished her shower and got dressed, choosing the cutest outfit she had brought and then putting on some make-up.

When she was done, she walked back to the bedroom. Katherine was sitting on the bed, scrolling through her phone. The girl raised her eyes from the screen.

“Oooh”, Katherine whistled. “Why did you dress so cute?”

“Uh, why not?” Y/n answered.

“Isn’t it for a certain boy?” Katherine teased.

Y/n rolled her eyes and did her best not to let a smile grow on her lips. “Mmh nah.”

“Knew it!” Katherine exclaimed.

“Kate, I swear!”

“Yeah, right.”

Y/n plopped down on the bed before taking her phone out of her pocket while Katherine went to take a shower. When Katherine came out of the bathroom, the two girls took a shot, much like they had did the day before and then joined Emma, Caroline and Alexa in the main room. The five girls partied together for a while, Y/n looking around the room for Tom but not finding him. She decided to have fun with her friends for the night. It’s not like something had happened with Tom anyway.

It’s only a couple of hours later, when the night was turning to an end, that Y/n saw him in the hallway leading to her and Katherine’s bedroom.

“Hey there”, Tom said as he leaned on the wall, visibly a little too drunk.

“Heyyy”, Y/n replied, a long silence following. Y/n scraped her throat. “How are things going?”

Tom chuckled. “Haz is an ass. Made me drink too much.”

“I’m sure you didn’t try to stop him”, Y/n teased.

“Oops!” Tom tried to hide his smile but it spread on his lips nonetheless.

There was another moment of silence, but then a girl walked by and stopped next to Tom. She had curly brown hair and her eyes were dark. More than that, she was extremely pretty. Like the kind of pretty you see on the cover of magazines and in the movies. The girl glanced at Y/n before resuming her attention on Tom. The two of them exchanged a long look before the girl said “What’s up?”

Tom smiled to her, his eyes turning soft. “Not much, I was just talking to Y/n.”

The girl didn’t even look at Y/n, whose eyes went to the floor as she started to feel uncomfortable.

“You should come, we’ll put ‘Shallow’ on”, the girl said and Tom’s eyes lit up.

“Down!” Tom replied joyfully before pushing himself from the wall and walking away.

The girl turned to look at Y/n. “Good night, Y/n”, she said, a gentle smile on her lips which was contrasting the ice in her eyes.

Y/n watched her walk away, her brows furrowed. She then shrugged and walked to her bedroom. Katherine was already there, snoring on the bed. Y/n grumbled before grabbing her PJs and changing into it. She lied down in bed, in the little space Katherine had left her and she thought about the little exchange she had had with Tom just moments earlier. Who was that girl? And why did she seem so jealous that Y/n and Tom had been talking?

Sleep didn’t come easily that night as Y/n turned in bed thinking of what had happened. She remembered how Tom had been happy to see the girl and she wondered if something was happening between the two of them. If that was the case, then why did Katherine want her to have sex with Tom?

Eventually, Y/n fell asleep, but she didn’t rest much that night. Katherine woke her up early the next morning when she went to the bathroom and Y/n couldn’t fall asleep again. Not that she was still thinking about Tom (even though she totally was) but she just couldn’t find sleep. She decided to get up, knowing that she would be able to sleep only when she would be back at her dorm on campus.

The cottage was silent so early in the morning and Y/n walked to the kitchen, where she made herself a cup of coffee. She then returned to the main room and sat in a comfy couch next to some large windows. Outside the trees were covered in snow as snowflakes fell endlessly and lazily from the sky. It looked so peaceful and Y/n sank back in the couch, enjoying the warmth of her coffee cup. At some point, three deer walked by, stopping to eat some grain the owner of the cottage had spread outside earlier. It looked like a scene taken straight from a fairy tale. Y/n took a sip of the coffee, the warmth spreading inside of her and a content smile grew on her lips.

“What are you doing up so early?” a male voice asked behind her.

Y/n jumped, almost spilling some coffee on her. Her head snapped around, a dishevelled Tom coming into view. He was wearing gray sweatpants with a white t-shirt and surprisingly enough he was pulling off the look.

“Kate woke me up and I couldn’t get back to sleep”, Y/n answered as Tom walked to the couch and sat beside her.

“Sucks”, Tom said. “Haz is snoring like the div he is.”

Y/n chuckled. “Maybe we should have slept together again.”

A cocky smirk grew on Tom’s lips. “Oh really.”

“Well, I mean, sleep together as in sleep in the same bed”, Y/n sputtered out as her cheeks turned red.

Tom pouted. “How disappointing.”

“You know you’re a dumbass?”

The boy laughed, the sound sending a shiver down Y/n’s spine. What was happening to her?

They settled into silence as both of them watched the deer eating outside. Y/n was slightly uncomfortable by the boy’s presence. She couldn’t stop thinking about the girl who had talked to Tom last night before she had gone to bed. Even though the sight of the snow and deer was the most peaceful thing she had witnessed in a while, Tom’s presence was sending her mind into overdrive and she couldn’t quite relax.

She glanced at him before resuming her attention on the world outside.

“So how do you like your first year in college?” Tom enquired.

“Exhausting”, Y/n admitted. “We’re just back from winter break and I’m already dead inside.”

“Tell me about it”, Tom laughed. “I’ve been tired ever since I set foot in America if I’m being honest.”

Y/n chuckled, shooting him a look. “How was England?”

Tom’s gaze found hers as he replied. “Was great. Still is, actually. I came here to study because of the reputation of the college. Plus, my dad did a year abroad here and totally wanted me to follow his path.”

“Nice! Your dad’s a doctor?” Y/n asked.

“Nah, he dropped out of college right after his year abroad to become a comedian”, Tom admitted.

Y/n cocked an eyebrow. “Then why would he want you to study here?”

“Said he found himself in America and he wanted me to find myself too, I guess.”

Y/n smiled. “That’s nice of him.” She paused. “Did you find yourself?” she asked, curiosity seeping into her words.

“I’ve been here for two years and a half so…” Tom trailed off.

Y/n watched him as silence fell between the two of them. “So?”

“Guess I haven’t”, Tom finally concluded, glancing at her.

“You still have plenty of time”, Y/n gently said as she noticed how he had gotten tensed.

Tom nodded. “Yeah, I’m not worried.”

Again, silence grew between the two of them as Y/n drank her coffee and the both of them watched the snow outside, the deer having left during their conversation. Soon enough, people started to get up, the cottage coming back to life and Y/n and Tom’s moment ending. Y/n would have liked to talk to him more, but the same girl she had seen the day before came and sat between Tom and her. Y/n stayed for a moment but she started to feel uncomfortable so she decided to leave them together. She would ask to Harrison what was up between the two when she would get the chance.

Y/n didn’t get the chance to talk to Harrison until a couple of days later. They were alone in one of the study rooms back in college, doing a lab report. Katherine had just left to go get a coffee. Even though Y/n wasn’t afraid to talk to Katherine about such things, she preferred talking to Harrison alone. She loved Kate with all of her heart but the girl had the tendency to talk a lot… which meant that sometimes she talked about some things Y/n had told her not to tell anyone.

Y/n looked at Harrison, who was currently listening to music as he was doing his part of the report.

“Haz?” Y/n said. The boy didn’t react. “Haz!” Y/n said louder. Again, the boy didn’t react. “Harrison!” Y/n yelled.

Harrison’s head shot up. “What?” he asked, taking off his headphones.

“Can I ask you something?” Y/n enquired.

“Yeah?” Harrison looked at her quizzically.

“You know last weekend?” Y/n began. Harrison nodded. “Uh… you know Tom?”

“Div, of course I know Tom”, Harrison chuckled. “What about him?”

“Does he have a girlfriend?” Y/n asked, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

Harrison laughed out loud. “Tom is single as can be.”

Y/n couldn’t help the smile spreading on her lips. “He is?”

“Yeah”, Harrison confirmed. “He’s talked about a girl in his year once or twice but yeah, he’s single.”

The hope in Y/n’s heart died down a little. “Oh, he did?”

“Yeah, you probably saw her at the cottage”, Harrison admitted. “Kinda tall, brown hair, brown eyes?”

“Rings a bell.”

“That’s what I thought.” The blue-eyed boy furrowed his brows as he noticed how Y/n’s face fell. “Wait, do you have a crush on Tom?”

“What? Me, having a… a crush on Tom?! You’re crazy, Osterfield”, Y/n stuttered.

A knowing smile grew on Harrison’s lips. “Why would you want to know if he had a girlfriend?”

“Mmmh, you know, we slept in the same bed, I wanted to know if that girl was his girlfriend and if she knew about it”, Y/n explained as her cheeks got darker the more she talked.

Harrison nodded his head. “I see. Well, if that can make you feel better, they’re really close but I don’t think something’s happening between them. Tom would have told me.”

Katherine walked in at that moment, holding two cups of coffee. “Sorry Y/n, I didn’t get you one.”

“Oh, no worries, I don’t drink coffee this late.”

“That’s what I thought”, Katherine said as she sat next to Harrison, giving him one of the coffees. “What were you guys talking about?”

There was a moment of silence and Y/n and Harrison exchanged a long look. Y/n was glad Harrison understood that she didn’t want to talk about it with Katherine because he said something about the project. Y/n’s heart started to beat again when Katherine nodded and went on to explain something that had happened while she had gone to get the coffee.

“I’ve gotta go pee”, Katherine said a while later. “Do you have to go?”

Y/n raised her head from her laptop. “Uh?”

“Do you need to go to the washroom?” Katherine repeated.

“Nah, I’m good”, Y/n reassured.

Katherine nodded and then got up and left. Y/n resumed her attention on her work but noticed Harrison staring at her.

“What?” she said.

“About Tom. If you’re into him, you need to know that he’s had it rough with his ex”, Harrison confided. “They broke up a couple of months ago but he’s not over it yet.”

“Got it”, Y/n nodded.

They continued working on the lab report for a while, Katherine coming back not so long after that. Around 9 pm, Katherine let out a shriek.

“What!” Y/n exclaimed as Harrison took off his headphones.

“Tomorrow’s morning class got cancelled!” Katherine explained. “We’re getting out of here.”

“What, really?” Y/n said as she took her phone from the table. She too saw the notification. “Oh my God, let’s go to the bar!”

Harrison’s eyes lit up. “This sounds like the best news I’ve heard in a long time.”

They shut their computers off, putting them in their backpacks before getting out of the library. On their way to the bar, they saw a group of girls also studying in medicine.

“Hey, are you guys going to karaoke night?” asked one of the girls (Julia, if Y/n had understood correctly).

“Actually, we are”, Katherine replied. “Our class got cancelled.”

Y/n watched as her friends talked with the three girls, feeling kind of out of place. She had never talked to those girls before so she didn’t really know what to say.

“Hey, Z is coming to join us”, one of the girls told Julia.

Harrison glanced at Y/n. They exchanged a look and Y/n furrowed her brows. What was that about?

They got to the bar about five minutes later. They found an empty table not so far from the scene where the karaoke would be held later that night. Y/n, Katherine and Harrison put their bags under the table, next to the wall and then moved towards the bar to get something to drink. They ordered a pitcher of beer.

“Hey guys, can you tell me how everybody’s called?” Y/n asked. “I don’t know those girls.”

Katherine laughed. “Sorry, I forgot.” She pointed towards the girl she was talking with outside. “That’s Julia. Next to her is Laura and the other girl is Liz.”

Y/n nodded. “I’ll probably forget the minute I’ll have drunk a beer but good.”

“And that’s Zendaya”, Harrison said, pointing towards the girl who had just walked in the bar.

Y/n’s heart stopped in her chest. It was the girl. The one Harrison had talked about earlier. Tom’s friend that seemed to be a little more than a friend. Y/n looked away when the girl glanced their way.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost”, Katherine remarked.

Y/n looked at her. “Uh, nah, I’m good.” She grabbed the pitcher of beer and then they all walked back to the table.

“Hey guys!” Zendaya said. While the three friends had been getting their pitcher, she had had the time to sit at the table where the three other girls already were.

Katherine and Harrison sat in the booth next to Julia and Laura, which forced Y/n to sit next to Zendaya. Katherine poured three pints of beer and Y/n quickly took a sip. She had to get a little drunk or she was going to be uncomfortable next to Zendaya all night.

They drank and talked a while and eventually, Y/n realized that Zendaya was actually really nice. She kept asking questions about her, seemingly trying to get to know her more. Her smile was sweet and her laugh was genuine. Y/n guessed that she just had had a bad first impression of the girl because of the way she had looked at her when Tom had been there.

When that first pitcher of beer was finished, Y/n and Katherine went to the bathroom before grabbing another pitcher from the bar. As they made their way back to the table, Y/n’s heart skipped a beat. Tom was there, along with two guys and a girl Y/n didn’t know.

“Oh crap”, she said, stopping in her tracks.

“Tom!” Katherine exclaimed, running over to where the boy was standing.

“Hey love!” Tom replied, a smile spreading on his lips.

They hugged as Y/n walked up behind Katherine, holding onto the pitcher of beer for dear life.

“How are you doin’?” Tom asked Y/n once Katherine stepped aside. He had a goofy smile on his lips and Y/n couldn’t help but blush.

“I’m good!” she replied, her voice a little high-pitched. “You?”

Tom nodded, his grin replaced by a cocky smirk. “Better now that you’re here.”

Y/n chuckled, shaking her head. She then turned to look at Harrison but instead her gaze met Zendaya’s gaze. Y/n looked away, wondering if it was anger that she had seen in Zendaya’s eyes.

“Need help with that pitcher of yours?” Tom asked, unaware of what had just happened.

“Nope, all good”, Y/n said as she walked around Tom to sit beside Harrison.

Katherine furrowed her brows but took the empty place beside Zendaya. She didn’t dare asking a question as to why Y/n looked so uneasy right now. She instead shrugged her shoulder and pour a beer for Y/n, pushing it in front of her.

“Drink”, Katherine simply said and Y/n nodded, taking the beer and chugging it.

The exchange didn’t go unnoticed to Zendaya but she didn’t actually care. She resumed her attention on the conversation she was having with Liz.

The night went on, the karaoke starting a little while later as Y/n kept drinking probably a little more than she should have because of how uncomfortable she felt. Her eyes kept wandering to Tom and Zendaya, who were standing to the side now. Even though she was trying her best to stop looking at them, it was stronger than her. That’s when she noticed how Tom pressed a soft kiss on Zendaya’s forehead before walking away.

Y/n looked away as her heart skipped a painful beat. Harrison had been wrong. Something was happening between Tom and Zendaya. Y/n got up from the table, swaying a little because of the quantity of alcohol she had drunk. She held onto the table to steady herself as Katherine asked her what she was doing. Y/n didn’t reply as she stumbled away, moving towards what she hoped was the bathroom because if she didn’t make it there she was going to throw up on the floor.

Somehow, Y/n made it to the bathroom. Luckily for her, one of the stall was empty and she stumbled to it before kneeling in front of the toilet just in time to retch.

She threw up everything she had drunk in the last hours, including the nachos she had eaten with Katherine earlier. Her throat burned but she couldn’t stop.

“Easy there”, someone said behind her as they pulled her hair out of her face. “You’ll feel better once you’ll have finished.”

The voice was comforting and Y/n held on to it, trying to anchor herself back in the present instead of in the miasmas of the thrown-up beer and food. Slowly but surely Y/n found her way back to herself and she put her hands on the toilet seat to push herself up.

Tears were rolling down her cheeks and she was trembling but still she could manage to see through her tear-filled gaze that Zendaya was the one helping her.

“Goddamn it”, Y/n muttered as she sat down, her back against the stall wall.

Zendaya chuckled before moving towards the sink and coming back with a paper towel. “There, wipe your mouth with that.”

Y/n nodded, taking it and wiping her mouth. She shut her eyes, resting her head on the wall. “I didn’t even drink that much.”

“Yeah, right”, Zendaya laughed. “That’s what we all say.”

A small smile spread on Y/n’s lips and she shook her head. “I mean, I didn’t drink as much as I usually do and I still threw up.”

Zendaya nodded. “It happens. Don’t worry though, you’ll be just fine.”

“I know.” There was a moment of silence before Y/n spoke again. “I should get back to my dorm.”

“Need help getting there?” Zendaya enquired.

“Uh, I’ll ask Kate”, Y/n replied.

Someone walked in the bathroom and Zendaya turned to look at them. They moved into the stall next to Y/n’s and Y/n wondered when the other person had left.

Y/n sighed deeply before putting her hands flat on the floor next to her. She pushed herself up, her breath catching in her throat when a wave of nausea hit her again. She shut her eyes and waited for it to pass before moving again.

“All good?” Zendaya asked.

Y/n nodded, not finding the strength to talk. They walked back to their table, which was now pretty much empty. Only Tom and the people who had come with him were still there. Y/n’s heart sank when she understood that Katherine had left with Harrison, not even bothering to make sure Y/n was fine.

Zendaya sat next to Tom before looking all around. “Uh, Y/n, I think Kate has left.”

“Yeah, noticed”, Y/n sighed. “I’ll still go. Thanks for everything.”

Y/n grabbed her backpack and then started walking to the door, breathing in as the nausea resumed. That walk was going to be a long one.

“Hey, I can walk you home”, Tom offered, making Y/n jump as he put a hand on her shoulder.

Y/n stared at him for a moment, her mind in a haze.

“Okay, I’ll take that as a ‘thank you, I needed it’”, Tom laughed before moving toward the door.

Y/n didn’t move and instead looked over her shoulder. Zendaya was looking her way and she smiled to her before turning to talk to the guy in front of her.

“Are you coming?” Tom asked.

He had reached the door and Y/n still hadn’t moved. “Uh, yeah, I am”, Y/n reassured him. She finally started walking and Tom’s smile found its way back on his lips.

Y/n’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink as Tom held the door open for her. She stepped outside and took a deep breath. The cold air calmed her nausea and she could finally walk without feeling like she was about to tumble down any minute now. Although the concrete sidewalk was icy, which was a risk in itself even for someone sober.

“I don’t live in the dorms so you’ll have to show me the way”, Tom told her.

Y/n furrowed her brows. “Where do you live?”

Tom chuckled. “Haz and I have a flat… sorry an apartment not so far from here”, Tom explained. “Well, I mean, it’s literally over there.”

He pointed in said direction and Y/n squinted her eyes. Tom laughed at her expression.

“You look live a div”, he said.

Y/n glanced at him. “You’re the div who’s pointing somewhere to a drunk girl as if I’m going to know where you’re pointing.”

“Oh, so you’re that drunk?” Tom asked. “Weak.”

Y/n giggled, pushing him. “You’re weak.”

There was a moment of silence as they continued walking towards the dorm and Y/n looked up to the sky only to see stars dancing in a pool of pitch black ink..

“Oof, I’ll keep my eyes on the road or else I’m gonna get dizzy”, she admitted and Tom chuckled.

“Please do, I wouldn’t want to see you throwing up”, he said.

“Such a gentleman, not even offering his help for the damsel in distress”, Y/n shook her head.

“You’re not even in distress”, Tom pointed out.

“And you’re not a gentleman”, Y/n concluded, a smile spreading on her lips at her victory.

“Yet I’m walking you home”, Tom said.

Y/n shrugged her shoulders, not wanting to admit that Tom had won. Tom chuckled and glanced at her profile.

“Don’t wanna admit that I’m a gentleman uh?” he asked.

Y/n shot him a look as her cheeks burned. “Nah.” She paused and then glanced at Tom again, whose eyes were already on her. “Okay, maybe you are.”

A soft smile spread on Tom’s lips, the only proof that he was having an inner celebration about his victory over her.

Y/n looked away, suddenly very aware that she was walking alone with Tom and that he was looking at her in a way that was sending shivers down her spine.

They got to the dorms a little while later. They stopped in front of the door as Y/n fumbled in her backpack for her keys.

“They must be in there somewhere”, she mumbled as she pushed her laptop to the side to see the bottom of the pack. “Oh, there they are!”

She reached down and took them before unlocking the door.

“Thanks for walking me home”, Y/n said as she opened the door.

Tom was standing a couple of steps behind and he smiled to her. “My pleasure, love.”

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat as she just looked at him, standing there with that sweet smile on his lips.

“Text me when you get home safe”, she finally said, a light blush creeping on her cheeks.

She turned around to walk in but Tom called her.

“Y/n!” he said and she turned back around. “Good night.”

Warmth spread in Y/n’s chest as she wished him a good night too before finally walking in the dorms.

-

Hope you enjoyed your reading! Third part should be out next week around the sime time!

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[stardust-and-blades]

Shatter: part 1

*whispers* I swear I’m writing fluff in my ghost au but at the moment I wanna write a zombie apocalypse scene that I had in my head for my oc’s but was unable to write due to a past friend not willing to write with me anymore so here it is

klance form

Summary: Keith and Lance are set up on a mission to gather supplies within a small town. It was meant to be an easy errand, one they have done before. But the situation turns dire when Keith ends up getting bit and doesn’t tell the team.  Nor Lance.

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

Keith lied awake in bed, Lance knocked out from the day’s earlier expedition. He is curled up besides Keith, his head resting in the crook of his neck and a hand in Keith’s. He was content. Most likely dreaming about finding his family. Dreaming of a world where the dead stayed dead and you could walk anywhere without the fear of being eaten. 

Keith wanted to dream like that. Have his entire mind submerged in fantasy, living in another reality for five minutes instead of the remainder of his life in the absolute shithole humanity managed to dig themselves into.

He wanted to imagine his life extending far beyond a couple of days, looking forward to red and blue tulips and a flowery path leading to a priest, bands of gold embracing his marriage finger.

But no. He does not have eternity. He does not have a year. He does not have 24 hours, because the throbbing in his side reminded him of what is to come. To relive the early days of the zombie infestation, his parents being turned and Keith being forced to kill them.

Is that what awaits him? A cold death. A brutal death. Either one by a bullet to the head or his human will slipping from his fingers, it overwhelmed by the need to feed and the desire to sink his teeth into soft, pulsing flesh. 

He didn’t eat, but his stomach churned to expel the nausea. 

Keith slowly got up, slipping his arm out of Lance’s grasp. Lance frowned in his sleep, wondering where the warmth of his partner went. To ease him, Keith kissed the top of his head, whispering he needed to use the bathroom. It smoothed out Lance’s features, him mumbling a faint “kay...ove you...” before those beautiful whisps of imagination and ‘what ifs’ ebbed him back into a blessed slumber.

When Keith locked himself in the bathroom, he covered the small window far up above the toilet with its black drapes. He switched on his flashlight and pulled his shirt up, hissing as he prodded on the torn, scabbed skin. Purple veins popped out, the yellow and green of infection coursed its way around the bite, Keith suppressing the urge to claw at it. Make it bleed. Swallowing the wave of chipped nails and chilling, metallic shards. Anything so he could feel human.

If he were bit on the arm or leg, he could have easily chopped it off. Hacked at it away until he was sure he was safe, at ease to lose a limb than the life he grew to value. But no. He went out and got bit on the stomach. There is no amputating that.

To think he made such a rookie mistake.

“Hey Keith, lets check out the building over there!” Lance suggested, nudging him with his elbow. “The market is still a little ways away, and usually swarming with undead. Maybe we can find some nonperishable items in the food bank.”

Keith smiled. “Good idea. Hopefully some bottled water, too. We are running low. And we will need some medication for Shiro’s arm.”

Lance tapped his chin. “Hmm, we can try a couple of houses. Hospitals are hard. And it looks like this place is hanging on by a thread.” Lance glanced around, taking in the rotting wood, overgrown weeds, shattered windows, and lack of humans and zombies. It was a small town, afterall. Unlike the city, the place mirrored the dead in outcome. 

“Yeah, I had to save your ass last time we were at a hospital.” 

Lance pouted. “Hey, it’s not my fault there was a random torso underneath the desk.”

Still had to save you.”

“Keep talking and I’m chopping off your mullet.”

Keith shrugged and kissed him on the lips, silencing him at least for a good five seconds before his face bloomed with blush and began sputtering. “You--! You can’t keep doing that to win an argument!”

“Why?”

“Because--Because--” He fished for a reason, his hook coming out with very little. “Because you just can’t!”

“Smooth, Lance.”

Lance just shoved his hood over his head and tightened the strings. “You’re insufferable. I hope a zombie eats me.”

Keith went quiet. He almost forgot what they were there for. What world they are in. For a brief second, he felt like he was back in the time Before. When he was just a kid trying to pay off his school loans. 

Noticing Keith’s silence, Lance peaked from his hoodie. Keith’s eyes are far away, the shine dimmed and his body tense. He could have been mistaken for a statue.

Lance wrapped his hands around his limp one by his side, the other one holding a prepped knife. “Sorry, poor choice in words. If anything, I won’t be eaten.” Lance said, a feather of good fun disguising his comfort. “I’ll be saving the day. Like always.”

Keith, consumed by the past, snapped out of it and looked back at Lance. He melted, the crease in his brow and the infecting paranoia subsiding. Washed away with Lance’s warmth, leaving the mode of survival and embracing the rush of love through those beautiful aquas. 

“Yeah. Like always.”

So they went into the abandoned food bank, drunk on the sparkles and butterflies of those moments.

It was a two leveled house made to look like a business, the main foyer holding aged desks and shattered lamps. They checked for any zombies that could be lurking in nooks, crannies, and closets, taking slow footsteps and weapons drawn. The basement, which was flooded, was left unchecked until Keith flashed his light inside, calling to Lance that he was going to dive in and see if there is anything pidge could tinker with. Maybe find some canned food untouched by the murky waters. No doubt the flooding was caused by a broken, rusty pipe. It wasn’t that deep. Up to his knees. Quiet. harmless.

Or so he thought.

He saw what seemed to be an old package of bottled water, Keith not bothering to double check he was safe. He just went to the water, picking one up when it all went wrong.

It all went terribly wrong.

A hand wrapped around his ankle and pulled, Keith losing his footing and splashing into the dirty water, his nose flooded and throat choking for air. He tried to scream, but all that came out was gurgles and bubbles. Lance probably can’t hear him thrash, his face being shoved further down as he caught sight of decaying teeth and skin. His knife gone. He fought for the surface. Writhed and squirmed for his machete, pure terror coursing through his veins as his eyes landed on the teeth inching towards his stomach.

No, no no no no--

As he got hold of the hilt of his machete, red hot pain flared, Keith letting out a scream as a chunk of him is torn out. He pushed and kicked, refusing to be a meal on the zombie’s menu. He kneed the rotting corpse in the head, it releasing Keith as he gasped for oxygen. But he didn’t stop to fully breathe, for he plunged his blade deep into its head. 

His ears were ringing. The water tinged with crimson, his eyes seeing nothing as all he registered was the the fact he got bit.

He got bit.

He didn’t even hear Lance call from him above, Keith’s body moving on its own as he angrily sifted through the water, searching for another corpse to kill. To mangle. To destroy, just like they destroyed his future. It was bad enough he lost friends and family during the breakout. Now...Now he is doomed. Branded. Cursed to become one of them. To bring grief to the smiles he adored.

To hurt Lance, already seeing Lance’s serene blues morph into a drought of disbelief and teardrops.

When Lance found Keith due to him not responding to his calls, he discovered a motionless boy, staring down at the zombie and his machete soaked with blood. The face of the undead is barely recognizable, and Lance wondered what provoked Keith to unleash such brutality. 

“Keith?” Lance said again, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him to look at Lance. He cupped Keith’s face in his hands, asking desperately for a response. “Keith? Keith, are you hurt? Are you okay? Keith?”

He could only muster a weak hug as Lance held him close, shoving a bloodcurdling scream deep within until he was away from Lance.

He had to tell someone. But who? 

There was a light knock on the door, Keith shoving his shirt back down.

“Yeah?”

“Keith?” Shiro called. “You okay? I saw your light earlier.”

No doubt. Keith forgot Shiro was on watch tonight.

Keith opened his mouth to say what he usually says, an old habit he was good at. But he stopped, taking in the memory of earlier that day.

He had to tell someone. He had such a short amount of time left. He didn’t want to end up like one of them. But he also didn’t want to be alone. 

He took a breath.

“Actually, can you come in? I need to tell you something.”

By the end, the others remained in blissful ignorance, never hearing the choked sob of the dying boy and the drop of a flashlight, the protective glass shattering into a million pieces.

And as Keith walked up the stairs of his and Lance’s room and Shiro lost the sensation of drowsiness to the plans for the next day, Keith curled in the sheets. He kept Lance close, breathing in his smell of sweat and pine and working to memorize it. To savor the last little bit he had with his love, the tears not stopping until morning broke. 

Lance greeted him with a sleepy but soft smile. The sunlight not touching the couple, but might as well have with the radiance seeping from a simple glance. Keith wanted to bottle it up, hold it close to him until his dying breath, refusing to let the rain touch it. 

But life had other plans. The rain came early. And Lance was left speechless, worry etched in his tone as he asked Keith what was wrong.

“Nothing,” Keith said, wiping away his tears. “Just a nightmare.”

Lance wiped a drop from his cheek, understanding. “Ah. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No...I...” Keith struggled for words, split between telling him and sealing his mouth shut. He hid his face in the pillow, wanting nothing more but to disappear. “Not yet. It’s still fresh. I just want to stay like this for a little longer.”

“Hunk is going to be serving breakfast in a bit. We should go eat something.” Lance suggested, kind but also knowing the team rarely had meals like this. They scored in finding plenty of supplies for a week in the food bank. Hunk no doubt wanted to celebrate by eating a full meal rather than the beans and canned fruit they had lived on. 

Keith circled his arms around Lance’s middle, begging for five more minutes. Five more. That was all he needed to gain his bearings. To put his mask back on. To believe he had years left of life than a measly couple of days. Or was it a day now? He did not care. He wanted to focus on the now.

Lance sighed, but combed his hands through Keith’s nest of hair and kissed the top of his hairline, Keith turning into a puddle by the normalcy. The facade everything would be okay, thought deep down he knew it to be a lie. 

He hated lies. But this lie is the only one he can allow.

Soon, fatigue laid their sheets, Keith’s vision becoming scarce as the fingers of his lover whisked away his fears. Cascaded them to the wind, his nightmare temporarily being forced into remission. 

If he could choose, he would choose to die like this. Caressed and loved. His heart human and his mind content. 

Don’t break the illusion.

Don’t shatter.

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. Green deltas are for requested prompts.)

I'll fix what's broken. 

I'm not even sorry for writing this much Inazuma. I love Inazuma. I need to catch up all the years I haven't written content for it.

Also, yes, this ship? I ship it. It has a lot of my soft spots combined into one neat little burrito I immediately fell for it. I wish Akane was better written than what the anime gave us, sure, but it won't prevent me from imagining things and rely on a lot of personal interpretations. Thus this fanfic, which was supposed to be much grittier and edgier and stuff, with more focus on Akane being a more cunning spirit than she lets on, with a ton of regret and an insistence on the theme of fixing and patching things out.

You know what my mind told me instead? "ngh... soft..."

So instead, we all get fluff. I'll see if I can't fit the original idea somewhere, I still have 600-ish words written for it. I restarted this fic like 4 times before finally sticking with this version lol

but like see you soon for more angst on the flygon channel

-------

Dawn of a New Day

Summary: Akane watches over a dear friend.

Fandom: Inazuma Eleven (Ares/Orion continuity; post-canon) Ship: Akane/Haizaki (pre-rel, implied, can be read as platonic)

Wordcount: 1.5K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

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It’s not so bad, it’s going to be fine, Akane repeats in her mind. It’s not so bad, it’s going to be all fine.

Easier thought than applied, sure. The rational part of herself knows it’s not bad: people just happen to need surgeries, sometimes, and this one wasn’t anything bad. The surgeons looked fairly relaxed about it, the nurses told her it’d be fine, that it was nothing to get this worked up about. Yet, even knowing this, she was still worried: it was still a surgery, it wasn’t just like getting a flu shot.

 Still, in her heart, not getting worried is impossible. She cares about her friend too much not to be scared he won’t open his eyes again, stolen away from the world by a malevolent spirit. They’re too young to go to sleep forever, she figures, and she squeezes his fingers inside of her palm with even more strength now.

It’s funny, when she thinks about. Ryouhei has gone through so much, much more than her in fact, having fought against an enemy much bigger than he was, having faced adversaries coming from the entire world and helped save its order with strong teammates; and yet, she’s worried he won’t ever wake up from a surgery a lot of people have gone through just fine. It’s irrational, paradoxical in a way, but the feeling won’t go away, and she still has a vulnerable picture of her best friend right before her eyes.

 A nurse occasionally shows up to tell her she should be moving around and not stay on that chair, that it’ll be all well and good. Akane doesn’t bulge: she’s determined to be there for him as much as possible and, frankly, she doesn’t feel like she needs to go for a walk, she’s over that. Patience is the one thing she’s always had that she can put towards anything she wants and that’s a liberty she won’t give away for anything. She’s determined to stay here, this much is sure.

She appreciates the attention and recognizes some of the nurses passing by. She sometimes chats with them, they reassure her, she observes them do a few things here and there: changing an IV bag, updating vitals on their notepads, taking temperatures and pulses. She doesn’t say anything about that, lets them to their job: she’ll have to pay them back too, someday, but they’re less close to her than Ryouhei is, so she thinks of them as secondary thanks. She’ll give them flowers in the near future, she swears, because they often compliment those she brought to put in the vase of the room.

 His room isn’t unlike the one she had to stay in, except it’s meant for two and the other patient isn’t here anymore. She’s seen him leave when arriving with the bouquet and a rare plushie she’s grinded at the claw machine for, packing his things away and slipping a “have a nice day” at her before disappearing forever from her sight. It leaves her alone with the passing nurses and her friend, whose hand she holds even if she starts having a cramp from having her fingers in the same position for so long, watching the time go buy on a clock, looking at the sky through the window, glancing at him and smiling to herself about how peaceful he looks like this, both eyes visible.

It’s a rare sight of tranquillity, now that the things that caused them turmoil are over. He deserves this rest from the world.

 She has lost track of time passing, more focused on staring at his chest rising and downing softly, slowly under the covers. It’s an innocuous detail nobody pays attention to, usually, yet she can’t help but find it soothing to watch now. It has a different meaning, here, giving this attention more sense. It’s a vision of serenity, of calm after a violent storm. It’s a gentle warmth she welcomes.

To be honest, Akane spent so long merely watching the window with an empty soul and eyes staring into the void that she doesn’t mind finally spending time for something dear to her, hitting home. This is an unconventional way to spend time with a childhood friend, sure, but this she also can’t mind: in a way, it’s like Ryouhei felt, watching over someone and never getting an answer. The main difference is that she was certain he’d wake up sooner or later, even if she nourished all those irrational worries, when he never knew when she’d do so, if she’d even wake up someday. She’s glad and relieved to be able to say she’s won over her previous ailment and is currently making up for all the time and the lies.

 Her eyes flutter, tired. She finally glances at a clock: it’s already fairly late in the evening, nearing the very early morning. Visiting hours are closed, but she’s been allowed to remain: perhaps her already existing links with the nursing staff allowed her to do that. She’s going to fall asleep soon, even if she doesn’t want to, starting to lack in energy. Ah, that’s a shame… She’d have at least liked to be there when he’d wake up. Not that he’d need her to remember why he’s here, simply because she wants to be the first to say him hello in the morning.

She should have drunk coffee before getting here, but she doesn’t feel like getting up and fetching a can downstairs. What if he wakes up while she’s gone? She doesn’t want that, does she? She’ll remain by his side, now, so she can finally be truly forgiven and make up for her mistakes, clutching the plushie close to her chest.

 She still ends up falling asleep, eventually, slowly dragged into Morpheus’s arms. Her dream is nothing out of the ordinary: it’s abstract and colourful, as she walks around a beautiful garden with fountains made out of crystal shimmering under the summer sunlight. She always feels like she’s been here before, but never knows why, the reason remaining in the shadows of the nearby forest she used to be trapped in. It’s peaceful and calm, gentle like the breeze going through her untied hair.

She follows a golden path, the breeze still blowing through the meadow, flowers slowly dancing to it as they perfume the air. The prize waiting for her at the end of the path always changes and, this time, it’s a familiar pair of eyes she carelessly runs towards.

 It’s already shining outside when Akane finally comes to, eyelids fluttering back open, the discomfort of sleeping in a chair making itself known in the background. The first changes she notices are on her: she now has a jacket on her shoulders, whose scent has never been hers, and there’s a cushion in her back. Someone’s undoubtedly been there while she was out. It’s a given, considering this is a hospital.

She hasn’t moved much in her sleep, she realizes, considering her hand is still in the same place as it was before she fell asleep. She doesn’t dare move it as she otherwise stirs to further wake up, immediately greeted by a familiar voice.

 “Tch, don’t tell me you’ve been here all night…”

It’s groggy and obviously tired, most likely still tinted with some anaesthetics. It’s accompanied by a smirk on his face, eyes half-closed.

“Good morning, Ryouhei,” she replies with a smile, noticing her own voice to still sound tired and not entirely awaken yet. Maybe he’s only woken up recently too.

Despite his hostile words, which lack the bite he tried to put into them, he puffs, “good morning, Akane.”

 She takes his hand in hers, trying to shake away the lethargy she feels in one of them.

“Go to bed, you look like crap,” he tells her again, but his fingers trying to hold hers betray him.

“I’m happy to see you’ve not changed while I was asleep.”

“Tch, like I even would… That’s just a tiny operation…”

 To her slight surprise, Ryouhei loses his smirk.

“Wait… You did stay here all night, did you?”

“I did! It was the least I could do after you’ve watched over me for so long!”

He tries to shove his head in his hand, but the way he’s positioned makes it funny to watch.

“I told you that it was fine… You didn’t need to do that, geez… ”

“Maybe I didn’t need to, but I really wanted to…”

The hint of red she sees on his face makes her swoon on the inside, like she’s getting tickled under her skin. A weird, yet not uncomfortable feeling.

 They shortly fall into silence, neither of them speaking, as she watches the sun rise from the window, peeking through the curtains. The dawn is beautiful.

“…thank you, Akane,” she hears getting mumbled by a boy looking the other way.

“It’s nothing,” she replies, hands closing in on his.

 It tastes like childhood again.

[roseonhissleeve]

Have A Little Faith: Chapter Twenty

“Grief is in two parts. The first is loss. The second is the remaking of life.” - Anne Roiphe

content warning: mentions of domestic abuse

“Rachel?”

I spun around and my eyes immediately began searching for Harry. I located him within seconds—he was smiling and chatting with Gemma, both of them perfectly content. My heart was beating out of my chest, hands sweating. I could feel drips of sweat roll down my back as well, and I had to close my eyes to stop the world from spinning around me.

“Rachel, are you there?”

I shuddered slightly at the voice, my hands shaking and chills running down my spine in the worst way possible.

“What do you want?” I whispered softly, unable to utter his name. My gaze was still attached to Harry as I stood perfectly still, trying not to call attention to myself. I didn’t want anybody thinking that I was a freak.

“I…fuck, Rachel, I…I can’t…” I heard a small sob come from the other end of the line, which caused my eyes to wide as I tugged at a loose lock of hair that had fallen out of my braid. There was something wrong…something was definitely wrong, and despite my best judgment, despite everything that he’d done to me, a little part of me was worried. 

“What’s going on?” I murmured, turning my back to Harry as I lowered my gaze to the ground. I knew that if he saw my face in the state it was in, he’d know something was wrong instantly.

There was a long pause, and I turned around once again to look at Harry who was now dancing with one of the older ladies. I thought I recognized her from the bakery. The silence on the other line continued, and all I could hear was Elijah’s breathing.

“Eli, what the hell is happening?”

I heard another soft sob, and what I heard next quite possibly broke my heart into bits.

“My…Rachel…fuck, Rachel, my mom…she’s dead.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“Rachel, my mother….”

She’s dead.

She’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead.

I replayed the words in my head over again, but they didn’t make sense. Even though I knew it was coming, it still didn’t make sense, and I suddenly was overcome with a wave of guilt for detaching myself so much from my reality back home. I could feel the blood pounding in my head as the feeling in my limbs slowly disappeared—I was suddenly quite unaware of the presence of the hundred-or-so people surrounding me. I was in my own world, trapped again.

“Rachel?” I heard Elijah’s voice choke out over the phone, causing me to lose my footing a little in my heels. I caught myself before I had the chance to fall over, but I was definitely drawing some attention from the other guests. There were some whisperings around me, and I quickly walked over to an unoccupied corner of the backyard.

“What…what happened?” I exhaled, nibbling on my lower lip gently as I fiddled with the fabric of my dress. I was beginning to feel claustrophobic. Tears began forming behind my lids, and I clenched my jaw in an attempt to prevent a meltdown right then and there.

“She w-was just sleeping, fuck, she was sleeping and I left for the evening…I was so tired…she was sleeping and she died and I wasn’t even there.” He wept on the other line, and I squeezed my eyes shut tightly as I held my hand clamped in a fist. I bounced up and down on my heels before beginning to pace back and forth, doing anything and everything to not lose it.

There was a small part of me that yearned to reach out to him and hug him. That small, tiny fraction of me that used to mourn for the man that he was when I fell in love with him—the more forgiving side of me, the me that always tried to see him for the good things he was. My first instinct was to tell him that it was okay, but that instinct was buried deep. I was no longer that woman.

She died alone.

“Pam?”

“Yes, honey?”

I lowered my gaze to the knitting needles that were in my hands and the deep blue yarn that rested on my lap. A few days ago I decided that she needed a hobby, something to learn, so I asked Elijah to go out and buy us some pairs of needles and yarn. We were both absolutely horrid at it—the scarves that we were attempting to make looked like they had been through a paper shredder, but it kept us busy and amused. We spent more time laughing about our inability to knit than on the knitting itself.

“Do…Do you ever get scared?”

I looked up at her after I spoke, my hands falling still in my lap. Her lips were pursed and her eyes were slightly crinkled. For a split second I could see hints of Elijah in her features.

“I’d be lying to you if I said that I wasn’t scared shitless every day.”

My eyes widened and  the corners of my lips tilted upwards at the sound of profanity leaving this sweet older lady’s lips. It was perhaps the first time I’d heard her say anything worse than “oh, shucks,” and it made me giggle a little bit. Her eyes lit up as she chuckled a bit to herself before continuing.

“Of course I’m scared…but these are the cards that I’ve been dealt. And I can either give up, or I can accept them and be at peace.” She explained, a serene smile on her features.

I thought for a long moment.

“What would you have done differently?” I continued, completely in awe of her words. “If you could have another chance, if you knew that this would be it…would you have done anything different?”

I watched as she smiled, her fingers adding another stitch to her (kind-of) scarf as she pondered the question.

“I want to say no, because I really do think that everything happens for a reason. Everything that I’ve done in my life has made me what I am…but I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t have regrets. I think that I would have done a lot of things differently with Elijah, with his father.”

“He’s never told me about his father.” I commented, my interest in the conversation peaking. A part of me felt like we maybe shouldn’t be talking about it without Elijah around, but I also knew that I would never get it out of him.

“His father…” She sighed lightly, closing her eyes at the memories that were running through her thoughts. “Rachel, when people face hardships in life, they either grow stronger because of it or they choose to give into the worst part of themselves. Elijah’s father…well, he was the latter. But despite it all, Elijah adored him…I never understood that, how he could love someone who abused him so deeply…but I realized that I was doing the exact same thing. Loving someone who didn’t deserve it in the slightest, and harming myself in the process. So I picked up my things and I took Elijah and I left.”

My eyes widened momentarily as the weight of what Pam had said sunk in.

“I left when Elijah was about ten. I should have left sooner…his father passed away about a year after. Drunk himself to death. And every single day since I left him, I’ve wished that I would have left sooner…but a part of me still loved him, despite it all…and that’s okay, Rachel. It’s okay because there was a reason I fell in love with him, and that doesn’t make me naïve or stupid or clueless. Do you understand?”

It suddenly realized that she wasn’t only talking about herself anymore.

“Have you thought about what I said the other day? About leaving?”

“No, ma’am.” I lied, eyes attached to the material between my fingertips as I attempted to free a knot in my knitting that I’d unwillingly formed minutes before.

“Rachel.” She repeated, and I looked up from my task to look in her eyes. They were serious and solemn, and it brought a chill to my bones. “This isn’t all there is. You know that, right? These four walls…this is my reality. Not yours.”

My jaw clenched as I looked deep into her eyes, and it felt like she could practically see every corner of my mind.

“I can’t leave you here, Pam.” I argued.

“Of course you can!” She disagreed, setting her knitting down as she furrowed her brows. “Promise me, Rachel. Promise me you’re not going to wait until I’m in the ground to leave, to see what else is out there. Because if you do that, he’ll always need you…he’s always going to need you. And if you don’t leave now, you’re never going to let yourself go.”

“What kind of person would I be if I left when the two of you need me the most?” I admitted, my voice weak.

“You’re a kind person, love…” her lips wobbled a little as she spoke, but she continued with a strong tone. “But in being kind to my son you’re being very, very cruel to yourself. And you deserve your own kindness more than anyone else. Certainly more than he does.”

“Rachel?”

I swallowed thickly, lifting my hand up to my mouth to cover my trembling lower lip. Harry was bound to know by now that I had wandered away, and I needed to keep it together.

“I’m here,” I croaked. “What do you want from me?”

“Look…I’m—I’m not asking you to come back, your mom told me that you aren’t coming back, I know that…but her funeral’s in a couple of days and…fuck, Rachel, she loved you…She loved you so much, when you left…” I heard him struggle to keep his composure over the other end of the phone, and it caused a pang in my chest. “Well, she would’ve wanted you to be here.”

My lids fell shut as he spoke, and the words left my lips before I even had the chance to think about them.

“I’ll be there.”

“Okay…” I heard him sniffle, his voice struggling to keep it together.

I hung up the phone without another word and exhaled an audible sigh, and I took a breath before spinning around to look back at the party that was taking place. I shoved my phone into my clutch in a clumsy manner and brought my hands up to my eyes, wiping away at the tears.

I had to leave.

But first, I had to talk to Harry.

I walked back to the more occupied area of the backyard, my eyes scanning all the people. A few of them flashed me a smile which I was way too distracted to reciprocate. I quickly located him standing by our seats, and it only took a few moments for him to make eye contact. I could tell that he had been looking for me, and there was a shift in his face when he saw my own expression.

It took everything inside of me not to fall apart right there and then.

He crossed the dance floor faster than I’d ever seen—he was in front of me within the span of ten seconds, and his hands immediately found their place in mine.

“What’s wrong?”

My face crumpled a little bit at the sound of his voice, so caring and understanding.

“Do you remember when you told me that…that we could leave the wedding whenever I needed? That we could just g-go?” I struggled to keep my composure, and he could tell; he took another step towards me so that there was less distance between us, so that he could act as a barrier between me and everyone else. So that nobody else could see the tears rolling down my cheeks.

“Let’s go.” He said simply. He slipped his coat jacket off his shoulders and draped it over my own. It was something I desperately needed; I immediately slipped my arms into the large sleeves and wrapped myself up in the garment, inhaling his scent. It made me feel safer, and I followed his movements as he guided me towards the house and back up to his room, his hand securely in mine the entire time.

The moment we entered his bedroom I walked over and took a seat on the edge of his bed, and I watched as he shut the door behind him and locked it. He turned around, his eyes softening with care as he laid eyes on me. He closed the distance between us in a total of three steps and immediately knelt in front of me, his hands on my knees as his brows furrowed with concern.

“Baby…talk to me.” He murmured, reaching to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear.

“I just…I need a minute, please, I need a minute to think and figure everything out, please just give me a minute.” I rambled, lowering my gaze from his features to the ground. I couldn’t think while looking into his big worried green eyes, I really couldn’t.

“Okay…Okay, love. Take as long as you need.” He reassured, standing up off of his knees to press a kiss against the top of my head.

I could feel all my walls slowly building back up again.

But then again, had I really ever tore them down? The past several days with Harry had been magic—but they’d also been a fantasy. We were tucked away in a fantasy and the real world was out there waiting for me; this was merely a reality check.

“I need to leave.” I whispered, standing up off the bed and taking a few steps away.

“What…Where’re you going?” He asked hesitantly, and I could sense the fear in his voice. The last time I said I needed to leave, I said goodbye to him and we thought we’d never see each other.

“I need to go back home, I need to go soon. I need to be back, something happened, I can’t explain but I need to go now.” I sobbed the last word, blinking away tears as I shook my hands up and down in front of my frame, an attempt to rid myself of the trembling of my fingertips.

“Ro, what’s going on? Are your sisters okay, is everybody okay?”

“I can’t tell you, Harry, it’s too—”

“Don’t.” he argued, standing up and walking around me, planting himself in front of me once more. “No. You’re not pushing me away again, Rosie, I’m not letting you.”

“Harry please, I can’t—”

“You’re my team mate, Rosie.” He interrupted, bringing his hands up to my cheeks softly so he could bring my gaze back up to his. I saw the warmth in them, the kindness and empathy, and I exhaled a delicate sigh. “I…you know, the past couple of days I’ve been struggling to think about what to call you. What we are, and I mean, I didn’t think we really needed a label. I always thought that we were kind of beyond them, kind of...undefinable? But today when people were asking me if we were dating or if you’re my girlfriend, I had no clue what to say. Girlfriend sounds so…casual. Ordinary.  Anyone can have a girlfriend…you’re more than that. You’re so much more than that, Ro.”

“Harry—”

“Ask me what being team mates means.” He insisted, and I could see his eyes pleading me to hang on for just a little while longer.

“What does being team mates mean?” I whispered shakily, finding that I felt a bit more grounded the longer I looked in his eyes.

“It means that we do it together,” he explained, “whatever it is, we do it and we go through it together. It means that whatever happens to you, happens to me as well. It means that when you’re about to fall apart, I step up and catch you. And the other way around. It means that we have each other, no matter what. It means that I trust you and you trust me, and God, Rosie, it means that you don’t have to do it all alone anymore…it means that we don’t run. Please, don’t run from me…”

His words resonated in my head long after he finished speaking, and the tears were still forming behind my lids.

I looked in his eyes, and I could tell that he meant every single word he spoke.

I felt a wave of serenity wash through me, and suddenly I felt every muscle in my body relax. With every passing moment that he looked at me, I believed him. I believed it all…and I didn’t know how, but for the first time in a long time, I believed that I was worth it.

You don’t have to do this alone anymore.

“I…I have to tell you something.” I whispered, exhaling shakily. There was still a corner of my mind that was shouting no, that was yelling and screaming at me to stop. Telling me that he won’t feel the same, that he wouldn’t understand.

But finally, the braver part of me was winning.

“I have to tell you something and I don’t know how you’ll take it.” I explained. He nodded his head slowly, his mind obviously searching for possible explanations to what I could be hiding.

“I…Well, I had…fuck.” I muttered to myself, turning around and taking a few steps before angrily kicking off my heels that I’d been wearing the past few hours. I inhaled softly and tried to form a sentence, but I was struggling to form an explanation.

“S’okay, baby,” he reassured, his voice calm and patient, “take all the time you need.”

I nodded my head, my back still turned to him.

“Have you tried saying it out loud?”

I fiddled with the hem of my sweater as I sat in the large office chair. I was frustrated, angry and exhausted…but most of all, I was just sad.

The woman who was sitting in front of me had kind eyes. They were big and blue. Serene, like the ocean after a stormy day. She had short hair, only about four inches long, and it hugged her features and made her look like a fairy. She was pale—her lips were delicate and perfectly designed for smiling.

“Rachel? Have you tried vocalizing it?”

“Vocalizing what?” I asked, tucking my hair behind my ear.

It was my third session with her. The first two sessions had been spent entirely in silence.

I felt guilty about it. My parents were paying good money for me to be able to see Dr. King, and I didn’t want to waste her time, but there was nothing I had to say. I was here because my little sister asked me to come to therapy, and that’s it.

“Whatever’s bothering you…the reason you’re sitting here.” She explained, her voice soft.

“I’m here because my parents told me to come here.” I stated stubbornly.

“Why did they ask you to come?” She continued to prod, setting her notebook on her desk. She leaned forward slightly, resting her hands atop of her lap.

“Because they’re parents.” I retorted angrily, my eyes looking everywhere except for her face.

There was a long pause, and her voice was stern when she spoke next.

“You can leave, then.”

I glanced at the time, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Don’t we still have another twenty minutes?”

“Well, Rachel, if you’re not willing to put in the work, I’m not sure why we’re wasting our time.” She stated plainly, leaning back in her chair as her eyes scanned my features.

“What does that mean?” I argued, my defenses at an all-time high. “That makes no sense. What, you meet with someone two times and then what? You realize that they’re too broken for you to fix so you toss them aside? What kind of doctor are you?”

“Do you think you’re broken?” She replied, tilting her head to the side as her eyes softened once again.

I exhaled a soft huff, lowering my gaze to the ground as I realized what she was doing. If I wasn’t already so constantly riled up I wouldn’t have been dumb enough to fall for it.

“I…I don’t know,” I admitted, sitting down in my chair again as my gaze attached to the book that rested at the corner of her desk.

“Here’s the deal, Rachel,” she began. “Therapy can be a bitch. It’s not a vacation, it’s not necessarily fun to do—it can be draining, it’s emotional, it’s not pretty all the time, and at least fifty percent of the time it’s hell. I didn’t get into this profession because I think it’s thrilling. Therapy and recovery after trauma like yours might be one of the hardest things that you will ever have to go through—you will have to relive parts of your life that you would rather forget about, and you’re going to have to ask yourself questions that you’d rather not know the answer to.”

“Wow, do you do your own marketing?”

“But,” she continued, ignoring my snarky reply, “there’s a reason why people do it. I’m not promising instant results, and I’m not saying that it’ll come easy. But if you stick with me, and if you have a little faith in yourself, you’ll be glad you came. But you have to put in the work, Rachel, because nothing worth doing ever came easy.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to make guarantees.” I bantered once again, jaw clenched tightly.

She looked at me for a long moment and I thought she was going to kick me out again.

“How’s this for a guarantee? We’re going to go through hell and back together, you and me. You will feel pain and sadness and loss. But I swear to you that at the end, you will rise like a phoenix from the ashes.”

I stared at her for a long time, lips pursed and fists clenched. My mind was racing—she’d definitely managed to shut me up, and earned some of my trust in some weird way. I exhaled a sigh, leaning back in my chair, my words unsteady and barely audible.

I could feel my lower lip quivering softly, and I closed my eyes…I was so tired of being angry.

“My fiancée would beat me every night when he got home from work.”

“A few years ago, I met a guy.” I began, taking a seat at the edge of Harry’s bed. “I was…I guess you could say I was a hopeless romantic when I was in high school. I was a late bloomer so I’d never had a boyfriend, and I was waiting for a long time for something…swoon-worthy, I guess, to happen to me. So when Elijah walked into my life, well, I fell head over heels. Hard.”

“He did all these huge gestures for me.” I continued, replaying the memories in my head. I felt Harry come closer to me and take a seat beside me, but I refused to look at his features—I knew that if I did, I would lose it. “He would bring huge bouquets of flowers to my locker during breaks, he would always kiss me right there in the hallways. At the time I thought it was romantic, but now I know that it was really just his way of being possessive. Showing that I belonged to him. He was the golden boy—he was student council president, he drove a motorcycle, he was never alone because he had friends all over the school. And when he picked me of all people…well, I thought that made me special.”

“He took me out to expensive dinners but refused to let me meet his parents. He bought me expensive jewelry but never wanted to listen to my favorite songs,” I mused, my voice surprisingly steady, “And one day he offered me the diamond ring…the one I’d always dreamed about. My parents both told me that they didn’t approve, and I think even my sisters hated him. But with him I thought I was special, and the within the next couple of months I moved in with him, several hours away from home.”

“The first couple of weeks it was a dream,” I admitted, lowering my head in shame, “he brought me flowers every day when he got back home from work, and we had his friends over for dinner every week…but eventually the flowers stopped coming.”

“About two months in…” I began, pursing my lips softly. This was the hard part. “He came home from work one day and was absolutely torn. Heartbroken. He…his mother was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. There was no hope, really. That…I want to say that night changed him, but maybe it really just brought out the side of him that I had yet to see.”

“Rosie…” Harry murmured, his voice soft.

“At first he only hit me on his bad days.” I continued, swallowing thickly as I clenched my fists a bit. I closed my eyes, my lower lip trembling.

But my voice was surprisingly steady.

“He would come home from a visit to the doctor with his mom, or a particularly irritating day at his work, and he would just…I would slip up. I’d accidentally drop a plate or I would forget to make sure that there was enough alcohol for him in the house, and he would…”

That’s where my limit was. I hiccupped a little sob, more involuntary than anything, and I felt Harry’s hand at my back. I looked up at him and as soon as I did I saw that there were tears forming in his eyes as well.

“I thought that it was my fault,” I choked, holding my hands up to my chest as I continued, “I thought that if I tried harder to keep him happy, that maybe he’d be better. I told myself that he was going through a tough time, that he was losing his mom, and that it would be selfish of me to not forgive him because he was going through hell. So I forgave him…fuck, I forgave him over and over again…and I let him beat me and hit me and use me, almost every single night…”

“I was hollow.” I concluded, sniffling as I looked up into Harry’s eyes. “I numbed myself, and god, Harry, I was so alone…he took me away from my family, he didn’t let me out of the house for days on end. Eventually people stopped looking for me, they stopped checking in, and I lost all of my friends…I was lost. I was so, so lost, and every single day while he was at work I would just lay on the ground, because his bed felt too disgusting, I would lay on the ground and I would ask myself over and over again how it got that bad, how I ended up there. And I still don’t know, Harry, I still don’t know.”

“Come’ere.” He whispered softly, opening his arms.

I crawled into his embrace quickly, wrapping my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. My face burrowed into his shoulder as I choked out all the sobs that I’d held back. My limbs were all shaking, and the tears were streaming down my cheeks steadily, staining Harry’s dress shirt.

But he was there.

His arms wound around me tightly, tighter than they ever had before. I was still wearing his suit jacket, so I was quite literally enveloped in his warmth—I could feel his lips at my head, pressing kisses over and over again to my temple. He ran one of his hands up and down the length of my back soothingly, repeating the motion until it caused a wave of peace to rush through my body. I sunk into his embrace.

“I’m right here…you’re here with me. You’re with me now, my love.” he repeated, the depth of his voice resonating in my belly and bringing me warmth. “Shhh, it’s okay, I’ve got you. I’m not letting you go…I’ll never hurt you…Shh, it’s okay. You’re so beautiful…it’s okay, angel…”

I didn’t know how long we sat there like that. It could have been hours—eventually I fell silent, my face still hidden in Harry’s shoulder and his arms still wound around me. He continued whispering sweet nothings into my ear and he never complained, he never even attempted to break the embrace. I could feel his body shake under me with anger, but I knew that none of it was directed towards me.

He was there, and I knew he meant it when he said he wasn’t letting go.

He was my team mate.

“Are you still with me, beautiful?” He murmured after a little while, his lips at my hair.

“Mmm.” I sighed, tightening my hold around him a little bit. After a few seconds I exhaled a sigh and unwound my arms from his neck, only enough to pull away so that I could look at his features.

When I looked into his eyes, there was no pity—there was only understanding, compassion, and something else that I couldn’t quite put a name to.

“Thank you.” He whispered, lifting his hands to tuck my loose strands of hair behind my ears. He pressed his palms to either side of my face, cupping my cheeks as he brushed his thumbs across the area under my eyes, wiping away any tears that were left.

“For wh-what?” I sniffled, palms resting on his shoulders as I blinked a couple of times to get rid of the stinging sensation leftover from all the crying.

“For letting me in.” He explained. “For trusting me. It can’t have been easy.”

And that’s when I knew.

That’s when I knew that I was completely, undeniably in love.

“Rosie, why are you leaving?” He spoke hesitantly.

“Oh,” I exhaled, closing my eyes, “I…Elijah’s mother died. Pam. And I know how that sounds, I really do, but she’s the reason I left, Harry. She was the only person I had, the whole time. She’s the reason I left…I think…I think she understood what I was going through more than anybody else. She saved me.” I explained, my eyes tearing up once again as I thought about her. I brought my own hands to Harry’s face, settling them on either of his cheeks. “Harry…if it wasn’t for her, I think I would still be there, with him. I…I think I quite literally owe her my life.”

I watched as he furrowed his brows, deep in thought.

“Okay…but I would like to go with you,” he said, tilting his head to the side slightly, “if you’ll let me. If it’s okay with you…”

“Harry…are you sure? You just got back home,” I stated, brows furrowing, “this is my problem, you don’t have to—”

“Oi…what did I say?” He replied, offering me a small smile as he playfully tugged on my braid. I caused a smile to form on my lips, a genuine one, and I leaned in to press a tender kiss against his cheek before replying.

“We’re teammates.”

“That’s my girl.”

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[im-a-riverdale-slut-blog]

Apricity C3

CHAPTER THREE -跳动的心

Mixing both sides of the tracks seemed like a recipe for disaster, but maybe that didn’t mean something bad? Just because she was born into class didn’t mean deep down Madsie wasn’t as dangerous as Pea - so what chaos would these two hurricanes cause together?

You know when you’re a kid, and its Sunday morning, sitting in bed in your favourite pyjamas, the soft, worn-down material gently caressing your skin, and although it’s early, and the birds morning song echoing outside, you’re watching your favourite TV show and you feel like there is nothing better in the world, this ball of content and excitement in your stomach? That’s exactly how I’m feeling.

I woke to the birds chirping, the sun beams sneaking through the sides of the curtains and the heat radiating through creating a warm atmosphere. And before five minutes passed, a massive grin formed on my face as I recalled the night before. A small squeal escaping my lips as I rose my hands to cover my face as I’m sure a blush crept on my cheeks.

“I swear this is the only place in Riverdale people care about.” I laughed as Sweet Pea and I sat in the booth at Pops, the one furthest in the corner, hidden away. The laugh that came out his mouth was angelic, despite the bad boy vibe that emitted from him. “It’s the best place in Riverdale, apart from the Whyte Wyrm on the Southside.” Just as I was about to answer, Pop Tate came over with two menus in hand which he placed in front of us. “Good to see you Sweet Pea, and especially with a young lady.” He raised his eyebrow at the teen before walking away, at which Sweet Pea laughed to himself. “I like your tattoo.” I said, as it once again caught my attention as a vein popped right through the centre of it when he laughed. “Why’d you get it? Every tattoo has a meaning, right?”

He raised his fingers to lightly trace over it, “I’m a part of the Southside Serpents, a gang, and every member has one.” My eyes widened slightly at the mention of him being in a gang. “Don’t worry, princess, we’re not bad, that’s not us, that’s the Ghoulies. Jughead’s a serpent too, his dad is the leader of us all.” At the mention of Jughead being a gang member made me laugh cynically, not being able to imagine the beanie-clad kid with a snake tattoo and in leather. “So, is the Whyte Wyrm like your… ‘hangout’?” He nodded lightly, and his lips parted slightly as if to talk but a strawberry milkshake was placed in front of us pulling us out of conversation, “On the house.” the old man smiled before returning back behind the counter. “Take me one day, Sweets.” Smirking at me, he took the cherry that sat atop the swirl of cream and placed it into his mouth, “I’d love to, princess.” There was a brief silence, where the air around us was filled with comfortability, as if we were friends that had known each other for years.

“Okay, Mr. Tall, Dark and Mysterious, tell me something about yourself nobody else knows.” He cocked his eyebrows in suspicion and surprise, but quickly shook his head with a chuckle at my antics. “I hate tomatoes. I think they’re pointless and a waste of time.” Rolling my eyes playfully, I crossed my arms and leant back into the soft material of the booth seats. “Dig a little deeper.” Sighing, he copied my stance, his muscular arms folding as he thought hard, and as I looked into his eyes I swore I could see tiny little cogs turning and twisting as he dug through his brain. “I still have my nans wedding ring, in the original box. I kept it after she died.”

My heart was pounding at the thought of last night’s events, at the thought of the beautiful, raven-haired guy with a ridiculous name that asked me out but before I could think more about it, my phone pinged loudly, resonating throughout the silent room. Looking at the screen, it read: Meet me at the park in 30 minutes – Vee x.

*    *    *

After meeting at the park, she took me to this beautiful river; it was soundless, and serene. Besides the echoes of our shoes, the only noise that could be heard was the satiating song of the birds sat in the trees that surrounded us, as well as the flow of the water, washing down the river. “I don’t think our lives have ever been this peaceful,” Ronnie sighed, in a tone of content, as if she was finally happy with how life had presented itself. 

“Our lives definitely weren’t peaceful when our tea parties didn’t go our way,” We laughed, remembering the countless play dates we shared as children which we had supervised by anyone but our parents as they were whisked away in their studies, discussing and planning business strategies and campaigns. “I don’t think Smithers or Wentworth appreciated the tantrums when they refused to put on tiaras and tutus.” We stopped, sitting on a rock placed beside the river. “Eventually they obliged, we were, kind of, their bosses,” Veronica laughed, taking in the view before us.

“Mija, why don’t you and Madsie, go to your room and maybe get ready for bed?” Hiram instructed, as he gestured for his business colleagues to step into his office. As usual, we both nodded, hiding away into Ronnie’s room, away from anything business related. “So.” She started, as she took her hairbrush and patted on the bed for me to sit. As I did, she combed my hair, the butter-coloured locks falling to my waist. “For your 14th birthday party… you have to invite Dominic!” I felt a red hue form on my cheeks while a quiet giggle escaped my lips, “No, I can’t.” I said quietly, trying to hide the excitement in my voice. Out of habit, I fiddled with my hands, twisting the silver rings that were located along my slender fingers. “Why not! C’mon, you like him, he likes you, this is your chance!” She slightly shook my shoulders, making us giggle at my hopeless crush. And that’s all it was – a hopeless crush. Dominic had been one of my best friends forever, and I never want to ruin what we have. Especially over something as stupid as a crush.

“And what about you Vee? Which dashing boy will you be taking as a date to my party?” She sighed, standing up from her position on the bed and walked over to the dresser, taking out a bag of her facial creams and silk shorts and shirt. “Honestly,” She paused, sighing once again and placed a blob of moisturiser onto her fingertips, “Wes, if anyone, but strictly as friends, platonic friends. I’m not the boys-orientated girl out of us.” Rolling my eyes, reached out of my bag across the bed and pulled it to my chest, a mischievous smirk forming on my face. “Your parents are going to be busy for a while, right?” I asked, carefully reaching into my bag. “Yeah, why?” Ronnie asked, tentatively walking closer to me, each stop slower and slower as she rubbed the cream into her olive-tinted skin. “I thought,” I dragged out my words, pulling out a couple of sticks from my bag, twiddling them between my fingers, they were white in colour with one having blue striped over the paper and the other green. “We could have some fun… take off the stress of boys, and school and parents…” Ronnie returned my smirk, taking one them from my hand and downing it without any more talk. “Where did you get these?” She asked, as I joined her motion, taking the Jingle Jangle, and we threw the packaging into her bin. “Nick St. Clair,” She nodded, shrugging off the curiosity of my dealer. “Maybe, I’ll take him to my party, he always knows how to have fun. Who knows?”

We talked for a while: about New York, the time between Ronnie moving to Riverdale, her new life and it felt like nothing had changed. She did seem kind, caring and a new person but I couldn’t let myself be caught up in the web of lies she’s stuck everyone else in, I wouldn’t let myself. I knew deep down that she would never change from who she was, is. Manipulative, fake, deceitful and a murderer. After that night, neither of us were going to change who we were – it was too engrained in us. A permanent stamp, burned into our soul and in the DNA that made us who we were.

After saying goodbye to Vee, I went back to the Five Seasons and as I placed my hand on the door handle, I overheard mutterings and I paused. For a few seconds I let myself linger, trying to overhear the inconsistent muffled voices through the door but to no avail, I simply opened the door slightly before I heard the voices raise into shouting and then into screaming. “Stop! Richard. This isn’t going to help the business in any way, it’s stupid, foolish and will ultimately lose us so much money!” I didn’t want to move but I didn’t to listen to it anymore. The battle in my head rendered me unable to move, my feet stuck to the ground, every muscle, and every bone in my body frozen exactly into place. “But what if it goes right, Natalie. Yes, it’s risky, I’m not denying it, but it will work out, trust me.” For about a minute, they argued back and forth and I remained where I was.

Building up my courage, I walked in and aimed straight for my room, ignoring and avoiding all contact and conversation with my parents – not wanting to alert them in anyway. Over all the years, they had never fought, or at least I’d never seen them do it, they were always this picture-perfect couple. Shakily sighing, not wanting to overthink the situation, I pulled out my phone and hovered over one contact. And I debated whether it was a good idea to call them, if I was being heedless and should let it go. Without further thought, I pressed it down and it dialled. It rang a few times before they picked up. “Hey, princess, what’s up?”

“Um- can,” I paused, playing with the hem of my shirt, biting my lip subconsciously, “can you come over?”

*    *    * “I don’t know how you just snuck me past your grandad but-” Sweets had just made into my bedroom, I closed the door slowly, trying not to wake anyone. “Grandad? That’s Wentworth – the butler.” I said nonchalantly, but Pea quickly shot me a look of surprise and confusion, his eyebrows raising and his lips parted slightly. “Butler? Perks of being white, rich, skinny and pretty, right?” He said, kicking off his shoes along with his jacket and laying on the bed. “Now,” He said, reaching out his arm as if for me to lay next to him, and rolling his eyes as if to say ���It’s a cuddle for fucks sake, not sex’, “Talk to me.” Huffing, I copied his actions and took off my shoes and sat beside Pea, his strong arms pulling me further into him until I felt the rise and fall of his chest, and surprisingly felt solaced by someone I barely knew. “My parents were arguing and I know it’s not even that big of a deal but it’s not normal for them and I don’t want them to split up.” I felt his body stiffen and then move as he sat up, “Hey, hey, stop.” Looking up at him and into his brown eyes, they were filled with unease, “People, couples, argue, it’s normal. They’re not going to split up.”

Smiling slightly, feeling better just by his presence, he got up and opened my wardrobe. “Let’s look through the princess’ ball gowns, shall we?” I shuffled closer, sitting on the edge of my bed, watching him flick through the masses of fur coats, blouses and skirts. He pulled out my pink fur coat, and as he did his head caved back and his face became disgusted. “I can’t believe you murdered and skinned an animal for this.”

“What do you mean? It’s faux.” I said, crossing my arms, and shaking my head. “Fucking faux my ass. You definitely skinned a care-bear for this.” He laughed, chucking the coat at me, and shivering in disgust at the baby pink fluff ball he had held.

“Does all of this,” he paused, turning and gesturing to the masses upon masses of clothes, shoes and handbags littered in the wardrobe, “make you happy?” He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow, waiting for my answer. “Yes.” I lied. I thought it did. But I never made that choice, from the minute I could comprehend life I was having dress fittings, hair appointments and blue box presents – I never had a choice in whether I liked my lifestyle. “Really?” He questioned, walking over and gently placing his thumb under my chin to look into his eyes. There was a sparkle in his eyes, something that compelled me to tell him the truth. “I don’t know. It’s lovely and the clothes are beautiful but, would I prefer jeans and something more casual? Yes. Would my parents kill me? Probably.”

As he sat beside me, he placed his hand over mine, and our eyes met. “Why are you so caught up in others opinion of you?” He said, his face confused, “And you’re not?” I retorted, standing up and pulling away. “You hold back from doing things just because they don’t fit your ‘image’, and you shouldn’t. Live the life you want to live; it doesn’t matter who or who doesn’t see because it’s for you.” His voice was slightly raised, as if annoyed or angered. “Me stopping myself from…wearing jeans and a t-shirt, because of my posh girl image, is like you, not going to a dog shelter because puppies don’t match your bad boy image. We both do it.” My arms were in the air, and I laughed lightly at his reaction.

“Okay.” He huffed, picking up his boots and lacing them up. “Where are you going?” I asked, puzzled. He ignored my question, doing up his coat and chucking one at me. “Pea!?”

“We are going to the dog shelter. If that’s what it takes you to do something that fucks up your image, I’m going to do something that fucks up mine.” Shaking my head, I shove the coat back at him “No.” I laughed, at which he got up, standing directly in front of me. He towered over me, a giant grin adorning his face, a mischievous grin. We stood staring at each other for a few seconds, taking in the others stance, trying to read one another. Rapidly, he picked me up, his giant hands gripping my hips tightly and threw me over his shoulder. “C’mon Rapunzel, let down your hair for once,”

*    *    *

When we arrived, my heart swelled at the sight of all the puppies: some sleeping, some playing, some eating. “Sweets!” I squealed eagerly, clutching his arm as I tried to calm myself, at which he laughed at me. Throughout the field of puppies and some older dogs, there were groups of them. An old-looking, greying golden retriever sat watching as these pug puppies started chasing each other around, their tiny yet mighty barks attempting to initiate a play fight with one another.

Out of all the puppies, one caught my eye. It was a tiny grey husky puppy, curled up into a ball in the corner staring at their surroundings, a wallflower. Just as I saw it, Sweets had taken a liking to her as well as he dashed over there and as picking it up smiled so widely I felt myself match his happiness. “She’s beautiful.” I sighed as I gently ran my fingertips over her coat, the soft fur tickling my skin. “She’s a beauty,” he agreed, and put the dog down. “And I’m not only talking about the dog.” He confidently, crossed his arms, his signature smirk appearing on his face. “Smooth.” I laughed, flippantly shoving his shoulder. Which he rolled his eyes at, before grabbing my hand and encasing it in his much larger ones. And as he looked at me, my stomach fell and my heart began racing, “Guess what?” He whispered, loud enough for only me to hear. “What?” I managed to force out, the lump still stuck in my throat, showing no sign of moving. And my heart pulsated so irregularly and sharply, I swore it felt like it was going to cut right out of my chest, right there and then. “I’m going to get it. The puppy.”

TAGLIST:

@quinn-e-dawson @misskarynie @mildy-human

[wxnnabe]

May I please have some proposal/wedding/honeymoon hcs for Fugo with a female s/o. Thank you lovely.

Of course you may! I hope you enjoy~

-It takes time to get close to Fugo, and even more so for him to consider sharing a lifetime with an s/o. Though if he is truly committed to them, and they have overcome trial after tribulation together time and time again, he might even start to dream of a life with them without even realising it himself.

-It’ll be Bruno or Narancia that helps him realise that they should “just get married already”. While he almost had Narancia’s head for exclaiming it as loudly as he did, surprising both Fugo and his s/o, Bruno gave him a look that told him it wasn’t an unpopular sentiment within the group, and he started to think it over, giving the jewellers in the city more thought than he previously had and browses the stores with Bruno and occasionally Trish. He won’t buy anything straight away, he needs time to entertain the thought while he seriously thinks it over.

-It’s not until a good few months after that Fugo actually believes that he could have a life with them, that he wants to have a life with them, for sticking by him; for giving him interesting conversations that last all through the afternoon and night, for calming him when he’s to angry to think straight and for not being afraid of his almost firecracker nature, and for giving him stability, someone to fall back on, somebody to trust and love and care for, and know that they will do the same. He’ll start acting a little off…but it’s nothing that would upset them. His s/o will merely think that he is a bit more loving with the way he stares at them with a soft, serene smile on his face. They wonder what he must be thinking about, and whether or not they’ll bother wearing their underwear to bed tonight.

-When he finally finds the ring, it’s one that has taken a long six months of deliberating, declining and waiting for a better style, a better colour, better shaped ring; Trish mentions with an annoyed tone that it the ring was one of the first ones he’d looked at with her, but he waved her off as he made the purchase. It is simple, yet holds an elegance to it that makes it hard to take his eyes off it. Once he’s brought it, he’ll spend the night “strategising” the next mission: which is just him sitting in their bed and staring at the ring with mixed emotions, part of him was happy, and the other part of him was anxious beyond belief.

-He’ll wonder whether an elaborate proposal was in order, only to clear the thought from his mind as soon as it popped up. Thinking about planning the wedding was something that he was dreading; he didn’t need make himself go through any more, and it would be embarrassing if they were to say no. They had talked occasionally about they’re future, and while they seemed happy with the idea of it, the thought of proposing still scared him to the core. He wasn’t used to putting his heart on the line; then again, his s/o had done so countless times when opening him up, and given him a warmth and comfort that he had not felt before. He wanted to be with them, as did they, but there was a voice of doubt that had trickled into his mind everytime he reached for his suit pocket, and he found himself unable to ask the question he so desperately wanted to say.

-It’s only when that voice of doubt gets silenced on a cool autumn evening when he actually proposes. He knew what he was going to say, but it wasn’t scripted or planned. His mind would rehearse the proposal over and over as he tried to make it sound perfect on the way to a mission, or waiting for Narancia to solve an equation he would check, or simply in his quarters, away from everyone else. His s/o and him are in a peaceful and comforting embrace, and they whisper softly how they love him, and how they look at him, and even with their eyes glazed with sleep, they still look at him with a gaze that makes his heart soar; it’s the sort of gaze that holds pure love and content, and he knows that if he had any doubts, they don’t mean anything to him now. Just as softly, he tells them as he kisses their head and pulls the ring from his pocket,

“Marry me,”

-It’ll surprise them, (and wake them from their tired reverie no doubt) but as they say yes he feels an almost giddy feeling take over himself as he slides the ring on their finger. Speech be damned, Fugo would trust himself and give them a rare smile that reflected his excitement and thanked them. If they ask him why, he’ll laugh and respond that he hasn’t felt this happy in a long time, if ever, and that he’ll treasure the memory forever. They give him a warm grin and tell him they’ll be holding him to that.

-He’s not that much different than he was before the ring was on their finger to how he acts with them now that it’s there, but he does have moments where he realises just how real this all is and will smile to himself. If anyone’s around, they won’t bother him because they haven’t seen him this happy for such a long time before. When he does tell the gang, it comes with mixed feelings, but they generally all wish him well. Bruno is overjoyed, and will offer him a bright smile and a congratulations. Narancia and Mista are gaping at the words and it takes a bit for them to realise, but will be excited for him, with Narancia letting out a cheer and Mista pulling him in and interrogating him on just how and where he proposed (Did he remember to dim the lights? Did try to organise some special outing with his s/o then give it to them then?) Abbachio will sip his wine before telling him not to let all this get to his head and screw up their next mission, but the small upturn of his frown suggests he’s truly happy for his friend. Giorno, too, gives his congratulations with a warm smile. As busy as he is, he’s offered his hand in helping with the wedding, and his smile widens when Fugo comments he’d better start collecting pebbles for him if they’re to have enough flowers for the reception. Trish has sent her congratulations to the couple and insisted they wait until she has returned from her Europe tour to organise their hair, makeup and outfits for the big day. 

-Fugo is stubborn about a few small details like the flowers and making sure the colour scheme compliments both their tastes nicely, but he also understands that there are things that they should do together. While he would prefer a smaller gathering with close friends and their s/o’s family (he doubted his family would even return the rsvp, and if they did, it certainly wouldn’t make the night pleasant for Fugo), but if his s/o really wants a big wedding, he’ll relent. It’s a big job, with decorating and catering and organising gifts, and his s/o will have to be patient if it gets too overwhelming for him and be the one to clear the table and let him have a break. Once it’s finished, though, all those late nights spent double-checking the number of chairs, tables and cutlery at the reception and whether it’s all within their pricing range will pay off.

-Fugo will be overwhelmed by emotions when he’s waiting at the altar. He is happy and nervous at the same time, and he tries desperately to quell his nerves. Narancia, who stood by his side, would be rocking on his toes in anticipation, and he listened to the soft sound of his shoes tapping at the ground to steady his breathing. When he hears his best man let out a gasp of “whoa!” he comes back to where he is and turns to see his s/o, only for them to take his breath away. They’re beautiful, they always are, but seeing them dressed to marry him, of all people, puts a smile on his face. A few tears threaten to fall as they walk up to the altar to meet him, and can’t help but let out a happy chuckle when they return his smile with their own. He may manage to hold in his tears at the start, but his emotions will get the best of him when he reads out his speech, and Narancia (bless him) will come to his rescue, pulling some tissues from a box (Fugo doesn't bother to question how he fit the box into his suit, or why he has it in the first place, and thanks him quickly before continuing.) If his s/o starts to cry he isn’t worried that they’ll run out of tissues, at least. (although at the rate Narancia and Mista are dabbing at their own eyes…)

-The reception is joyful, big or small, and the guests will have to fight for the bride and grooms attention, because Fugo won’t be able to take his eyes of his s/o for the rest of the night. Once the meals are served, he wouldn’t mind getting up and dancing. He’d enjoy it even more if his s/o joined in, and after Mista and Narancia pulled him up for a couple of songs he’d give them a smile that had them getting out of their seat and joining them. If they were worried about their dancing skills, they definitely wouldn’t with the mood and the way everyone was smiling and cheering them on even though their moves are clumsy. No-one would ever live it down if Fugo’s s/o managed to “out-dance” him, especially not Narancia.

-Their honeymoon would be somewhere in countryside Italy. It’s a small town; one that Mista mentioned visiting while in his homeless youth following the simple life with fondness. After some investigation, Fugo found a lovely cottage villa in the outskirts of the little town, with a nice view of the endless green fields and a small forest that lies next to it. It’s a quiet little town, and the people there are friendly and pleasant to them. They would spend their time exploring the town, maybe doing some hiking or horseback riding through the forests and fields, or visiting a farm and picking some fresh (and quite delicious) fruits and vegetables to cook together later that evening. They do clean up the villa a bit themselves; and though he wouldn’t say it, he is jealous that normal couples get to do such mundane chores with each other daily. It’s such a break from the fast-paced gang life he is used to, and he wishes for a time where they can move to a town like this and wake up late everyday, come home and cook dinner and talk about their days, to wash dishes and laugh at his s/o who managed to get some soapy water on their nose, and to hold them in his arms as he reads them both to sleep. It’s a very relaxing honeymoon, but it holds sweet and warm memories that will be treasured for a lifetime.

[theantthatwrites]

Demoniac: The Parasitic King (Part 6 FINALE)

It was mild at first. Merely a pang in my stomach here and there. I thought that maybe I could fight the urge to feed. A foolish notion, of course. Love, friendship, family; strength, determination, and willpower. It doesn’t matter in the end. Hunger conquers all.

I managed to last a couple weeks. I kept my struggle a secret during most of that time, but the truth came out when I collapsed one evening. Michael and Klaus carried me to my bed, and once again I found myself suffering just as I did shortly after arriving in Demoniac. Even so, I refused to give in. I couldn’t bear the thought of harming another one of my friends.

It snowed all during the time I was bedridden. Klaus said it was a blizzard the likes of which he had never seen in either of his lives, and that nobody was getting in or out of the castle as long as it persisted. I couldn’t look for myself, weak as I was, but judging by the bitter cold seeping through the walls of the castle, he wasn’t exaggerating. The weather didn’t bother me though. I couldn’t tell if that was a side effect of my demonic form, or if I was just too hungry to freeze.

As the days passed, my condition became worse and worse. My eyes became an ocean of blood, similar to the one I sailed upon against my will not so long ago. My body shrivelled and dried, and my fingernails fell pathetically from my hands to the sheets. I trembled nonstop, not from the cold, but from the sheer stress on my organs. I could barely speak; my mouth emitted dry scratching noises instead of words. Far worse than all of that however, was the smell that constantly tormented me from morning until night.

That delectable aroma. That tantalizing scent. The sweet, beautiful smell of blood. It was all around me. Nobody even needed to be nearby any more for it to reach my nostrils. I was surrounded by it, engulfed by it. I wanted it. Needed it.

I tried so hard to fight it; to let myself die from hunger if it meant my friends could survive and I no longer needed to bear this terrible pain. Gods, I swear I did! But…I just wasn’t strong enough. My body demanded food and I couldn’t deny it any longer. One night, after a great deal of effort, I lifted myself out of what I planned to be my deathbed and hunted for my next meal.

The world outside of my bedchamber was still and silent. The frozen fluff falling from the sky only seemed to accentuate the atmosphere. Even in Hell did snow have the magical ability to create a serene quietness.

I hastily peeked around the hall to see if any unwelcome witnesses were nearby. Thankfully, not a soul was in sight. All that I saw was an empty hallway that looked to me as if it was spinning.

I walked slowly and carefully in order to keep my balance. It wasn’t much help. The seemingly shifting wooden floor made for a potent combination with my weakened state. I needed to place a wrinkled hand on the chilled wall just to make sure I didn’t fall.

With my sight being more of a hindrance at this point rather than a boon, I decided to close my eyes and let my nose find the way. If there was any saliva left in the desert that was my mouth, I’d have been drooling. That divine aroma made me shudder with excitement. I desired it more than all the riches in the world. The scent was overwhelming, seeming to bombard me from all sides. Even so, I managed to focus in on the closest source.

With eyes shut and hand planted firmly upon the wall, I followed the smell of blood like a babe trailing its mother. My rumbling stomach begged and pleaded for me to hurry. Door after door passed beneath my bony hand, the rough wood brushing against my fingers. I took deep breaths, partly to follow the trail, and partly to indulge in the fragrance. I made a right at the intersection at the end of the hall.

As the scent of blood grew stronger, so did my eagerness. I picked up the pace, desperate to reach my prize. Faster and faster I tread. If I was capable, I’d have been running. Even so, my footsteps were strangely and mercifully silent. Was that also a talent of my demonic form? I wasn’t going to complain if it was, however.

The trail led towards the end of the second hallway. I opened my eyes and faced a closed wooden door no different from the dozen or so others I passed. No different, except for the fact that this one hid a delectable meal behind it. I gripped the handle and turned it, half expecting it to be locked. I breathed a sigh of relief as the handle offered no resistance. Honor among thieves, I mused.

I peered through the shadows, attempting to make out whose blood it was I smelled. From where I was, I couldn’t quite see with the figure being wrapped in thick blankets. I crept closer, careful not to make a sound. When I reached the bed, I saw two mandibles opening and shutting in a steady rhythm.

Michael slept without a care in the world, completely unaware of the danger he was in. My heart beat as fast as a horse’s hooves and my pulse raced. As I pulled the blanket away from his neck, my hand shook from both excitement and strain. I inched my mouth closer, yearning for that first bite. Before I did, however, I abruptly stopped, using what willpower I had to pull away.

Was I really going to do this again? I already murdered one friend, and now here I was ready to do it again. Was I really so despicable? I silently sobbed, expecting guilty tears to well up in my eyes. But they never came. My body couldn’t make them in this state. I needed food. If I didn’t eat, I was going to die, probably sooner rather than later.

I thought back to my first bout with starvation. That night when I overheard the others talking, Michael insisted on allowing me to stay, and then showed nothing but friendship from that point on. I probably would have been kicked out if it wasn’t for him, and in all likeliness would have already been dead. And yet…

I plunged my fangs deep into Michael’s neck like a viper. I sobbed as his blood flooded my mouth. Like David before him, Michael awoke as I fed upon his life, and like the fish demon, he too was paralyzed by my bite. His eyes were wide with fear, but they also hid another emotion, one that hurt nearly as bad as starvation: sadness.

I wanted to apologize and beg for forgiveness, but I couldn’t stop. I was drunk on blood. I needed more. I needed all of it. I drank to my black heart’s content, guzzling every drop of blood held in Michael’s veins. He tried to struggle, but it was futile. The paralysis caused by my venom appeared to be insurmountable.

When I was finished, I left Michael’s body alone in the dark, just as I did David’s. The others would find him and the search for a cause would begin all over again. Guilt pierced my gut as I lied in bed looking at the ceiling. This time, tears did come when I sobbed.

That night, I was visited once again by that strange dream. I was a king being led through an angry crowd of people by my shackles as my castle burned around me. The mob spat and pelted me with stones while a knight roughly tugged me along. I withstood the abuse in silence.

My walk of shame ended once I reached two men that were separate from the crowd. One was of plainly apparent noble birth who wore expensive garments and jewels, and gripped a parchment in his hands. The other wore a black hood and held a massive axe at his side, the handle digging into the dirt. The knight turned me towards the crowd and kicked me behind the knees, making me kneel. The mob went silent.

“King Vladimir Belmorne,” bellowed the nobleman as he read from his parchment. “From the moment you claimed the throne from your late father, you have taken every opportunity to exploit your subjects, who looked to you for leadership. You unfairly taxed the people of your kingdom, using the coin to fund your extravagant and overindulgent lifestyle. You commissioned sculptures and other works of art be built in your honor, yet never compensated those who made them a reality. Even worse, you started an unpopular war with our neighbors, claiming it was a preemptive strike against a potential attack, when in actuality you just wished to expand your rule. You spilled the blood of innocent people while you feasted safely in your massive castle.”

The nobleman continued. “You used the suffering of others for your own benefit. Your tyranny ends today, however. The people will no longer stand for it!”

The audience roared in agreement, calling for my head. The nobleman silenced them with a quick raise of his hand. “Do you have any last words before the people take back their kingdom?”

I seethed with hatred as I stared out upon the commonfolk gathered to witness my death. My fists clenched in my shackles. “You worthless street urchins have no idea what you’re doing!” I howled. “I am your KING! You’ll all die without me! I hope you are all looking forward to Hell, because that’s where you’re going with the rest of the king slayers, you fucking traitors!”

The mob hissed and booed. As they did, the nobleman nodded to the headsman.

The hooded executioner lifted his massive axe. He muttered beneath his breath as his weapon cleaved through my flesh. “Fucking parasite.”

[saiyukisecretsanta-blog]

Recipient: Akiko Natsuko

Writer’s Name: Del

Profile Links: Tumblr, AO3

Title: Snow Drop 3: After

Characters: Cho Hakkai, Genjo Sanzo, mentions of Son Goku, Sha Gojyo, and Yakumo

Pairing: Gen 383 (i.e., the piece involves notably more friendship/companionship/support than romance)

Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Part I: Sanzo

“…I’ll kill you.”

That was what he’d said, when the kid had almost asked.

He’d meant it, too. He’d turned the idea over and over in his head before the kid had even opened his mouth, and he’d concluded that he had no interest in seeing the kid suffer, or tear a town to shreds, or get himself irreparably damaged or eternally damned.

Sanzo frowns. He pulls in a shallow breath through his teeth, and fixes his weary eyes on the shortest of the three huddled forms trudging in front of him through the snow. For all he knows, the kid is hurtling headlong towards a fate worse than anything he could ever imagine - though, he acknowledges, that doesn’t exactly rule out a whole lot of possibilities. He’s prided himself on a few things throughout the years, but creativity has never been one of them.

A gloved fist shoots sideways out from under the kid’s cloak, and makes clumsy contact with the figure walking directly beside him. A shout shoots upwards, rising like a gunshot through the muffled quiet of the snowy landscape, and the next thing Sanzo knows, a flurry of blows joins the flurry of snowflakes. It’s as if Gojyo and Goku have taken it upon themselves to whip up a winter storm in miniature; their stupid, squabbling scuffle, much like a snowstorm, is completely expected, and it’s completely mundane, and it’s a completely natural phenomenon, and it’s the kind of thing that Sanzo takes an inordinate amount of grudging pleasure in complaining about - but it’s also the kind of thing that warms the heart, just a little bit.

Not, Sanzo thinks as the two dumbasses ahead of him start kicking each other with their heavy boots, that I’ll ever let them know that.

In his musings, Sanzo’s steps have slowed somewhat; abruptly, he realizes just how far behind the rest of his party he’s fallen. That’s what comes from getting all caught up in your head, dammit, he thinks, feeling his frown deepen on his chapped lips. He mutters a tight-jawed string of expletives, and he stifles a shiver, and he picks up his dragging feet, and he forces himself to surge forward with new force and vigor. Not for the first time, he curses his human stamina, and, not for the last time, he curses his travelling companions’ boundless energy. For good measure, he curses the cold and the snow, too. As he shuffles unenthusiastically forward, he squints up at the thick blanket of grey overhead. Maybe the sun will set soon, and maybe it won’t. In this ghastly, gods-damned weather, it’s impossible to tell.

“If it’s any consolation,” comes a gentle voice, rising thinly like stale smoke from one of the cloaked figures up ahead, “I’m of the belief that we should take shelter soon.”

Sanzo nods curtly. “Fine by me.”

“I thought it might be.” Hakkai turns to look over his shoulder, and he smiles. “Are you cold, Sanzo?”

As if in response, a fierce and violent gust of wind sweeps savagely through the mountain pass, knocking Sanzo’s hood off of his head and whipping at his grimy hair. Sanzo tugs his hood back on, hunches his shoulders, stuffs his hands underneath his armpits, and pins Hakkai with a flat and unfaltering stare. “That,” he says, unamused, “is a dumb question.”

And so, they walk on slowly, in soft, snow-stifled silence.

It’s not his fault, Sanzo decides as they soldier on together through the snow, that his thoughts keep sliding back to the kid’s unasked question. He couldn’t blame the kid, not really, for his inability to actually say the words - and, in truth, Sanzo admires the kid for having the balls to start asking the question at all. He remembers how loud the kid’s voice had been when he’d begun to speak, and he remembers how abruptly the kid had cut himself off, too. Did he shut himself up for my sake, Sanzo wonders vaguely, or for his own? Either way, Sanzo recognizes, it must have taken the kid a hell of a lot of effort to reel his question in like that. Self-control and restraint weren’t exactly the kid’s trademarks.

Self-control and restraint.

Sanzo starts.

Shit, he thinks.

Almost involuntarily, Sanzo feels for the familiar weight of his banishing gun at his hip. He’s seen what it’s like when the kid goes crazy, but he has no idea what to expect when the tightest-wound bastard he knows finally lets loose. Gojyo and Goku, he knows, have both witnessed it firsthand, but it’s not like they bring it up in idle conversation. And, really, it’s not like Sanzo can get upset with them for not wanting to talk about something like that. For one thing, Hakkai, limiters and all, would probably rip their freaking heads off if they dared to broach the subject. For another, Sanzo suspects that Gojyo and Goku don’t have an especially strong desire to revisit those memories, if they can help it. Sanzo can’t be sure, of course, but he has an inkling that Hakkai, unbound and unlimited, is scary as all hell.

When daylight begins to fade, Hakkai shepherds the party into a tiny, tidy, tucked-away cave, and he busies himself, bustling incessantly with crockery and clotheslines. (“Our cloaks are soaked through,” he’d said, with that cloying chuckle of his, “and unless there’s a dramatic change in the weather, I doubt we’ll be able to do without them tomorrow.”) Gojyo and Goku eat noisily by the fire and then lounge lazily on the floor, and before long, the sounds of their snores begin to rise and roll gently through the cave.

Sanzo huddles, solitary and silent, in a shadowy corner. He watches. He smokes one cigarette, and then he smokes another. He thinks. He sleeps, and he wakes, and he sleeps again, and he wakes again. He thinks some more. He lets his eyes wander to the edges of the cave, where Goku and Gojyo sprawl and snore side by side, looking deceptively carefree and serene. He lets his eyes wander to the center of the cave, where Hakkai perches, back straight as a rod and shoulders quivering, staring like his sorry life depends on it into the dying vestiges of their cookfire.

A quiet pop rises from the flames, and the light in the cave shifts, catching and glinting, for the briefest of moments, on the three small pieces of metal clipped almost inconspicuously to Hakkai’s ear.

And Sanzo, once again, frowns.

He heaves a sigh, and he rises. He shuffles, deliberately making more noise than is actually necessary, but Hakkai doesn’t turn around. Poor bastard, Sanzo thinks, something almost like sympathy twisting in his gut. He has no doubt that Hakkai is lost somewhere inside the darkest corners of his own head, and that, Sanzo imagines, probably isn’t an excessively fun place to be.

I owe it to him to let him know, Sanzo resolves, fingers brushing his gun once more. If nothing else, Sanzo needs the party’s only healer and best driver to be sharp and ready for when the snow finally lets up. Hakkai has yet to get so caught up in his own shit that he gets negligent, or stupid, or makes the rest of the group pay for his mistakes - but, truth be told, Sanzo wouldn’t put it past the guy. Maybe it would be an accident, and maybe it wouldn’t.

Either way, that’s not a risk that Sanzo is willing to take.

Part II: Hakkai

He’s not about to pretend that sleep will come to him easily. It would be pointless, because it would be a lie, and lies, he has learned, help no one.

Small untruths, he established some time ago through careful deduction and occasional practice, are another matter - but lies, he is certain, help no one.

The flames play tricks on his mismatched eyes tonight. He’s never found the act of staring into a fire excessively pleasant, but he knows that other people sometimes take comfort in it - Gojyo, for one, has expressed that on more than one occasion, and he cannot deny that he often sees a pale wash of relief cross Sanzo’s face when, at the end of a long and trying day of travel, Hakkai sets wood and kindling ablaze and stokes it to bright and bolstering life.

Hakkai, for his part, has not thought of fire that way for a long, long time. Fire can wreak deadly havoc, if it is not kept in check - and Hakkai, through long hours of consideration and contemplation, has concluded that no true comfort can be found in a thing that can kill.

Hakkai gazes deep and darkly into the flickering flames. If I wanted to, he muses, I could burn my own hand. I could burn away all of my flesh. It would be easy…

He fancies that the fire shows him familiar faces. He sees leering thugs with pointed ears and pointed sticks. He sees wide, wild eyes bulging from hollow sockets. He sees lovers, husbands, wives, sisters, brothers, rent asunder and wrenched apart by madness and sadness in brutally equal measure. He sees children, hungry for blood and hoping for victory, too simple and too ignorant to guess at their inevitable fates. He sees a smiling father, a kindly spark of stray warmth amidst the cold.

All of them had been sane, once.

And, Hakkai notes numbly, all of them are dead, now.

The tips of his fingers, he is mildly shocked and more than a little bit angry to discover, are trembling. Why? Hakkai dares to ask of himself. Why is this happening? What have I done wrong? He stretches his fingers as far as they can go, and then curls them tight into a clamped-down, clenched-up fist. He has been rigorous and unforgiving in the training of his body, and even more so in the training of his mind. But still, he thinks, furious, still, I lack control! And if he cannot, by the force of his strong will, control something as small and as simple as the state of his ill-formed, ill-fated, ill-used, hands, then surely -

A faint click, followed by a sharp hiss and a satisfied sigh of contentment, sound softly through the cave.

I should have known, Hakkai thinks dimly. I should have known that he would be awake on a night like tonight. Rain and snow, he reasons, aren’t wholly dissimilar, when all is said and done.

Sure enough, a series of even footsteps soon falls upon the gravelly ground and echoes dully in Hakkai’s distracted ears. They approach, and they stop, and the next thing Hakkai knows, Sanzo has dropped down to sit beside him, a cigarette in his hand and a scowl on his face.

“Too cold to sleep, huh?” Sanzo asks.

“What,” Hakkai says, keeping his words low and slow and even, “gives you that idea?”

Sanzo takes a long drag on his cigarette as he considers the question. “You’re shaking.”

“Am I?” Hakkai runs a nervous hand through his hair. “That’s funny, Sanzo - I’d scarcely noticed.” Small untruths, he thinks again, glancing at his pale fingers and seeing the way they still tremble.

Sanzo shrugs. “Sure,” he says.

Hakkai can read the blunt disbelief in Sanzo’s expression. He licks his lips, and scrabbles desperately for a verbal defense of some kind. “I suppose,” he says, “that I shouldn’t be surprised, should I?” He turns a sickly smile on Sanzo, and he lets out a short, light laugh. “After all, that sort of thing is the human body’s natural response to subzero temperatures, isn’t it?”

Sanzo’s face is impassive. “The human body,” he repeats.

Hakkai internally curses his poor choice of words.

At a loss, Hakkai turns slowly away from the fire and towards his fellow sleepless companion. The flames have cast strange shadows on Sanzo’s sharp face, throwing its angles into strange and stark relief. The shadows make Sanzo look both oddly young and very old at the same time - and, curiously, Hakkai can’t help but think that they lend Sanzo’s sharp face an uncanny touch of softness, too.

Sanzo takes another pull on his cigarette. “Look,” he says, thickly.  He pauses, pursing his lips and sending a stream of smoke up towards the roof of the cave. “You don’t have to worry about that, Hakkai. All right?”

“Excuse me?” Anger flares, sudden and hot, in Hakkai’s chest. “Frankly, Sanzo, I don’t believe you’re qualified to say something like that.”

“Oh, no?”

“No.”

“And why might that be?”

“If you can’t figure that out for yourself, then I’m not sure this conversation is worth having.” Hakkai grits his teeth, and turns his gaze back to the fire. “Perhaps,” he says darkly, “I’ll speak with Goku about it. He’ll understand.”

For a moment, the only sounds in the cave are the crackling of the fire and the restless rumble of snores.

And then, Hakkai cringes, and he hangs his head.

“I’m sorry, Sanzo,” he says. “I was cruel, and I didn’t need to be. It’s just - ” He pauses, hesitating. What, he wonders, can I say to a man who has never known this fear? How can I express to him what it’s like to slip entirely away from your mind, and then return to it again? How can I show him what it means to witness your full potential from the outside in, and to see that that potential can only be realized through madness? He swallows, and he clenches his fists even tighter, and he does his damnedest to ignore the twisting shapes in the flames, but always, always, try though he might, they resurface before his penitent eyes.

It’s only when he feels a rough hand settle on top of his own that he finds he can pry his gaze away.

Hakkai stares, shocked, at Sanzo. Sanzo, in turn, levels Hakkai with a look that’s shot through with cool distance and disinterest. Hakkai opens his mouth to speak, but for the second time that night - and the third time this day, he thinks, remembering how he felt when Goku had almost expressed aloud what he himself was holding, locked up tight, inside his heart - he can find no words.

“I saved your life once,” Sanzo says. “Never doubt that I can end it just as easily.”

Despite himself, Hakkai feels a sardonic smile twist at his lips. “That fight,” he reminds Sanzo, “was hard-won.”

“I got what I wanted, didn’t I?”

Hakkai’s smile grows, just a little. “Yes,” he acknowledges. “You did.”

Sanzo’s hand tightens on top of Hakkai’s. “I need you to sleep,” he says. His voice low, and markedly unenthusiastic.  “You know how inconvenient it is for everyone when you run yourself ragged like this, right?”

“Yes,” Hakkai says softly. “Yes, I do.”

“It’s a real pain in the ass when you get sick, too - so, if you’re actually shaking because you’re cold, you better find yourself a blanket or a cup of tea or something. Got it?”

The smile upon Hakkai’s lips grows even more. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, I’ve got it.” He can’t help but be amused; it’s just like Sanzo, after all, to disguise his genuine concern as a matter of practicality.

With that, Sanzo stands. As he traipses back to his lonely corner of the cave, he stretches, working the kinks out of his spine and his neck. “I want to be on the road early tomorrow if the snow clears up,” he says. “Think you can make that happen?”

Hakkai nods. “Of course.”

“Good.” Sanzo plunks himself down against the wall of the cave. “Sleep well, you moron,” he says, closing his eyes, “or I’ll kill you.”

Hakkai opens his hands. To his great surprise, they’re not trembling anymore.

That, and that alone, gives him the strength to ask one more question.

“…Sanzo?”

Sanzo grumbles incoherently, before he lets one drooping eye slide open. “Yeah?”

 “That’s just it,” Hakkai says. “I’m not sure that’s what I want.”

Sanzo flashes Hakkai a tired smirk. “Better insane than dead, huh?”

“I… truly don’t know…”

Sanzo’s hand strays to his hip, and his smirk melts, becoming sad, and sorry, and empty. “I wish things were different, Hakkai,” he says quietly. “I really do.” His eyes gleam, bright and fierce, from where he reclines in his corner. “But the truth is, that isn’t your choice to make.”

[imaginexmeintheuniverse]

Talking to the Moon

A lovely anon requested: "hey im such a huge fan of your writing!! i was wondering if maybe you could do a peter x reader based off the bruno mars song 'talking to the moon' please? thank you so much if you do!!!"

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Stark!Reader

Warnings: very few swear words, mentions of implied death?

Word Count: 2, 651

Summary: Fast forward a few years from now, Reader is an advanced S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and Tony Stark's adopted daughter who's gone on an undercover mission and Peter Parker wishes there were things he'd said before they left.

Masterlist

A/N: This song is so good and I had too many ideas I couldn't sort them out which is why this ended up being a huge mess. I apologize in advance for this. The reader and Peter Parker are in their early twenties. I literally wrote this under the full moon which I think is pretty awesome. Also, as you may be able to tell, I've been catching up on Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Talking to the Moon by Bruno Mars

You've been gone for six months now. A little more than six months actually; 191 days as of tonight to be exact. 191 days ago, you got the offer to go on the undercover mission of a lifetime, the duration indefinite. 191 days ago, you had to leave immediately without so much as a goodbye to anyone. 190 days ago, was when you last communicated with the boy- now man, you are in love with.

The day after you were whisked away, you managed to slip an encrypted message through your adoptive father, Tony Stark, to let Peter know that you were okay. It was totally illegal and you spent the whole night encoding and encrypting when you should have been getting your rest for the mission.

You knew your father had the means to keep tabs on you throughout the project and you knew he'd give the team updates about you. You were never safe, but at least you were still alive. Little did you know, for the past two months you were totally off the radar and no one had any idea if your cover was blown, or if you were still alive.

For a while you didn't think you'd make it out. All you could think of in those moments, was that you might die without ever telling Peter how you felt.

I know you're somewhere out there

Somewhere far away

I want you back, I want you back

You never led a quote-on-quote "normal life". Your parents, who were also S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, were taken from you at a young age due to a mission gone awry. The number of agent casualties during that mission were the highest in a very long time, your parents included in the devastating death toll. They had trained you throughout your childhood, so when your skills were evaluated by the organization after their passing, you sent straight through the academic and recruitment process. Not long after being put in the system, they stuck you with Tony Stark for a bit and he decided to adopt you since you had lost everything, and he saw an unbelievable amount of potential on top of having grown to love having you in his life.

The academy was a boarding school, but Tony would bring you back to New York as often as he could. You grew up around the Avengers and considered them your family. Whenever you were over, you'd always hang out or train with them, leading you to acquire a wide variety of skills from each of them. As much as you love them all, you've always had a bias towards your dad's work with software and technology which was a large part of why you two got along so well. It was during one of your visits home that you had met Peter Parker.

Peter Parker has been in love with you ever since then. You weren't like anyone he'd ever met before. Besides the extremely impressive fact that you were a prodigy, having attended the academy at an earlier age than would normally be allowed, and graduating with honors. You trained with the Avengers while still attending the S.H.I.E.L.D. academy, and joined in on multiple missions. At first you assisted as Clint and Natasha's apprentice or under your father's wing (or sidekick as some may call it) for their individual missions, and now you had quickly grown to be your own hero as well as an official member of the team.

Being around the same age, you and Peter basically grew up together, seeing each other from your awkward teenage years to your still awkward young adulthood. Essentially being raised by agents your whole life, you were never the trusting type, but you trusted your father's judgment. If you're being honest, the first time you met Peter you couldn't quite believe that he was the friendly neighborhood genius from Queens your father told you about, because he face planted into a wall after seeing you. He was so stressed about making a good impression on you, that he somehow made the biggest fool of himself whenever you were around. At first you kept your distance from him like you would with any person you didn't know and observed his behavior. You brief social interactions consisted of you giving him short answers and curt nods, and him being a stuttering mess. He always maintained the excitement of a child and told really bad jokes which led you to worry that he might not be mature enough.

Eventually, you happened to come back home and came across him and your dad working in the lab. You watched them for a while before entering to greet them and he dropped a box of screws all over the floor. Witnessing how smart and professional he was while working, you decided to give him a chance. After all, you were both still teenagers and he just liked to have fun, but having grown up so quickly, you didn't know what that was like.

You soon found the thick walls you had built to protect yourself from the world crumbling down at the hands of the sweet boy with the big brown eyes. You had endless conversations about absolutely anything, but also felt most content in the comfortable silences. He charmed you with his sense of humor, bringing out the goofy side you didn't think you had.

When you'd fall asleep on the couch while marathoning the Star Wars movies he'd introduced you to, he took in all your features and how serene you looked when you're sleeping. He remembered every detail of all the stories or theories you've ever told him. During training, he memorized every way your body moves and was left flabbergasted at all the different ways you could kick his ass every time. He memorized the way your face changes when you were happy and the sound of your laugh as if it were the last time he'd see you.

He loves every bit of you and he never told you.

How could he not tell you? He saw you every day; when he'd go to the Stark Tower for work, during training, on missions, when you'd go out for lunch or hang out, and sometimes you'd even help him out with keeping the city safe. You spent all the time you possibly could together. Every time he would either forget about his insecurities and bask in the happiness you brought him, or he'd give himself lame excuses as to why he couldn't tell you, and later beat himself up about not being able to confess his feelings. You are best friends - or were- he doesn't know anymore and it's driving him insane.

The pressure of being a hero is getting to be too much for him. Crime rates have gone up recently, and when that happened in the past you'd always be more than happy to help him out. With you, he feels strong enough to save the world with you by his side and him by yours. Without you, he feels like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He wants you back.

My neighbors think I'm crazy

But they don't understand

You're all I have, you're all I have

Peter gets back to his apartment, hanging out on the fire escape after his nightly patrol. He stumbles, wincing as he slowly eases himself to a sitting position with his back against the wall. The jump in crime rate and the stress, not to mention the injuries that are adding up, are taking an immense toll on his body. He slumps down, taking a long and painful breath. He pulls out his phone, letting his thumb hover over the phone icon not knowing whether to bother or not. He can't give up.

He calls Tony, like he has every single day for the past two months, even though he had just been in contact with the man a few hours ago.

"Peter, I'm going to tell you what I've told you every day for the past two months: no one's seen or heard from Y/N. If anything changed I would tell you."

"Please, there must be somethingyou can do! Anything- Something we haven't thought of yet-"

"Listen, no one has heard from her, and none of us have the clearance to get that kind of information!" Tony snaps.

"Mr. Stark you don't under-"

"Understand?! She is my daughter! My pride, my joy, the one thing that doesn't make me feel like such an asshole when I go to sleep at night- And now I don't know if I'll see her again!" He sounds nonchalant and sarcastic like he usually does, but Peter senses the immense pain that lies underneath the surface.

"Please- I-I love her!"

Tony goes quiet on his side and speaks in a softer tone. "I know, Peter. I know." Peter's never heard Tony's voice so full of sorrow and he feels his knees go weak at the thought that something really bad might have happened. It was highly unusual for Stark to show that much emotion. Which is why Peter's heart hurt a thousand times more at hearing the pain of your father. "Peter, you need to concentrate on keeping the city safe right now. If there is even the least bit of trivial information that surfaces, you'll be the first one I call. But for now, you have a responsibility to this city."

"Yes sir."

After hanging up, Peter gets up and leans on the railing, burying his face in his hands with his elbows supporting his weight.

"I know it's pointless and I don't know why I keep doing this, but I don't know what else to do," he mutters to himself. He looks up at the moon, throwing his arms up in the air and releases a frustrated shout, "Give me some sort of sign!"

"Hey!" Someone calls from the street. "No one gives a shit!"

Okay... Not exactly the sign he was looking for, and yet he can't help but consider it as one. For all anyone knows you could be gone for good. He refuses to believe that. You've never given up on him and he sure as hell won't give up on you.

He can't give you up. He just can't.

You're all he has left.

At night when the stars light up my room

I sit by myself...

Talking to the moon

Trying to get to you

In hopes you're on the other side talking to me too

Or am I a fool, who sits alone, talking to the moon?

He sits on a chair that he's permanently left in front of the big window that leads to the fire escape as me places a bag of his choice frozen vegetables over his bruised ribs. It's become a ritual that he hasn't failed to complete every single day since you've been gone; call Tony for updates after nightly patrol, then pour his heart out to the night sky while he takes care of the damage done to his body.

"I don't know why I keep doing this either. Maybe I'm being foolish, but I hope you can hear me."

He had no idea how to tell you everything he feels for you before you left. So here he is, talking to the moon, telling it everything he wishes he could say to you, hoping that the moon will somehow deliver his messages and make you feel loved wherever you are.

"I miss you, your dad misses you, everyone misses you- but you probably already knew that," he starts, in a light tone as though he was pretending to be happy for your sake. "Aunt May's been worried sick about you. I told her you left for a long work assignment overseas- which I guess technically isn't lying to her, but she knows something's wrong. I think she sees it in my eyes every time I visit her without you by my side, and she still always has extra food prepared in case you do show up as a surprise or something." He chuckles, but the sound he emits holds more sadness in it than it does humor.

"I remember the first time I saw you smile; it lit up the whole room. I walked in on you reading a book in the compound's kitchen early in the morning. You were in you pyjamas; flannel bottoms and a large t-shirt with the pi numerals on it- I remember that moment precisely because it was the first time I saw you as just another kid my age. You always acted so grown up because your childhood was just another memory of time that was robbed from you. Anyways, I guess you read something funny because you smiled wider than I ever thought you could- it wasn't directed towards me, but it made me feel so happy." He feels the similar sting prick the back of his eyes.

And like he does every time,  he averts his gaze away from the moon, ashamed to have you see him cry. He fiddles with the frozen bag in his hands, and like he always does, he forces himself to keep going. "And the first time you smiled at me, it lit up my whole world. I knew then that I never wanted you to stop smiling, so I made it my personal mission to make you smile at least once a day." Peter watches his tears drip down, onto his bruised hands. "It was about the millionth time you had bested me in training, and you had me face-down on the mat. I don't know what made that time different, or if it was some dumb thing I said, but that day everything changed. Every time you beat me, I fell harder for you- Literally."

When he files through all his memories it's always bitter sweet. His happiest moments are with you, but when the daydream is over and he realizes that you're not there, it leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He sees you everywhere he looks, but when you disappear, he feels the back of his eyes sting. Thinking about how much he loves you but can't have you, it makes his heart ache. Lately, his thoughts of you bring him pain and he wishes it would just go away.

He rises from his chair and makes his way back out to the edge of the small balcony to get as close as he could to the moon; to you. "Every day, it gets worse out there, and I'm terrified. It's not about life or death, or getting hurt that I worry about anymore. What if I get injured bad and I forget even one single moment I had with you- I, I can't even imagine my life without you in it. I can only think of you and everything else is a giant blur." He looks all over the sky, remembering all the times the both of you would identify every single constellation you could see, and finally back at the moon that seemed to shine brighter than it ever had. "I love you more than anything, I hope you know that."

But he could never forget you. Even if he wanted to- which he would never, he couldn't. He knows that eventually, the pain will subside and be replaced by happiness. He knows that can't start until he gets past the denial stage.

Maybe it's finally time to move on.

"Goodbye, Y/N."

Just as his last tear falls and he turns to leave, something catches his eye in the street below. There's familiar silhouette of a person with their head tilted up to look at him and he can see the faintest sparkle coming from their eyes. The figure steps into the light of the moon, revealing their features.

It can't be.

There you are, looking up at Peter Parker with glassy eyes and a nostalgic smile. Your hair has been cut and dyed a different color, and you have fading scars and bruises all over your body, yet in Peters eyes, you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. He sees you and yet doesn't believe his own eyes. It's not until you speak that he realizes it's not just another dream.

"Peter?"