rhiinocorp

[oddinary4bts]

The Forgotten Spaces | ch 9 (jjk)

☆summary: you've been dancing on the same dance crew since your teenage years, and you finally have an important role in it. It feels like life is taunting you when your rival comes back after disappearing for a year, ready to tease you every chance he gets. Will the teasing turn into more, or are you going to take him down with you?

☆pairing: photographer and dancer!Jungkook x dancer!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there is mature content in previous/later chapters)

☆genre: slow (SLOW) burn enemies to lovers, college!au, slice of life!au, angst (oop), smut and fluff

☆warnings: ending of that lil bit of miscommunication in ch 8, a very heartfelt conversation, probably some curses

☆word count: 7k

☆series masterpost here

☆a/n: Finallyyyyy, the angst is ending my friends. I hope you'll enjoy it <3 and also thank you to @moonleeai for her beta reading on this fic, I won't ever thank you enough, you're the best <3

☆Read What Was Hidden here, the fic that inspired this whole story, written by @daechwitatamic, one of my fav human beings on this app <3 It follows the story of Jo and Taehyung before The Forgotten Spaces

☆☆☆☆☆

For this meeting of our end of the world

It's with you that I want to sing

On the threshold of the memories the dead of today

Them that breathe for us

The forgotten spaces

Je t'écris - Gaston Miron (rough translation by me)

☆☆☆☆☆

Tuesday, September 25th

                You wake up slowly at first. Like a feather, softly falling, unbothered by the weight of the universe. It’s calm, like a forest in the winter when it’s snowing. It’s peace personified, like the world never held any wars or pain.

Then you wake all at once, like you’re struck by lightning, energized by it, electricity coursing through your blood. You feel his presence before you see him, and you think you’d be mad at him for lying next to you.

But when your eyelids flutter open to the sight of his purple room, all that fills you is peace again.

It grows tenfold when you turn and see him lying next to you, on his belly, hand reaching towards you. His mouth is slightly open, and he’s lying on top of the covers.

Which means he never meant to fall asleep next to you.

You haven’t realized how long his hair has grown before. Because right now it’s falling in front of his eyes, and you want to brush it behind his ear. It’s a visceral need, and the peace grows once more.

It grows and grows, and you reach and push his hair back, softly. Fingertips grazing his cheek, staying there as if they’ve found a home. He closes his mouth in his sleep and sighs, but he doesn’t wake up. He returns to his soft snoring a second later, and you just run your fingers along his cheekbone, tracing the planes of his face ever so softly.

But tomorrow has come, or is coming soon. And the peace grows again, until it bursts.

Until it bursts and aches, choking you up. Your hand rests heavier on his cheek as tears blur your vision, and the explosion of peace crushes your heart, until a sob finds its way up.

You choke on the sob, and quickly sit to move away from Jungkook. In this moment, all you can think is that he’s hers. Your brain produces the words like a litany in your mind, and you think it’s making you crazy.

You were crazy to come here in the first place. To think you deserved a spot at Jungkook’s side.

You grab your phone, and see that it’s the middle of the night. You don’t care one bit, and you call Jisung. Not Jiho, because Jiho doesn’t know how to drive, and she also has a midterm tomorrow morning.

Jisung doesn’t pick up, and you choke on another sob as you call again. This time, the call goes on voicemail quicker than it’s supposed to, and you receive a text a second later.

[4:46 am] Sungie: you better have a good reason for waking me up in the middle of the night🙄 [4:46 am] Sungie: what’s up? [4:47 am] You: can u come pick me up? [4:47 am] Sungie: what’s wrong [4:48 am] You: it’s complicated. mom kicked me out, and i’m at jk’s place [4:48 am] Sungie: wtf? [4:48 am] Sungie: i don’t wanna go outside😭 and i’ll kill your mom, but what’s new. [4:49 am] Sungie: omw

You sigh a breath of relief, but it breaks on your lips and you cry out, as the tears and the pain win once again, as they’ve been winning all evening.

You get up, you take a few steps, you stumble on something and catch yourself on the wall. You feel like you’re going to be sick, you’re tired, exhausted, and you wish for your bed.

But you don’t have a home anymore, do you?

Jungkook says your name. He says your name like you’re a prayer, and you break some more, refusing to even turn to look at him. You just stumble to your bags, pick them up and try to reach for the door.

Jungkook stops you with a gentle hand on your wrist.

He repeats your name, and you refuse to look at him. This time, when he tries to pull you in, you resist. You don’t want him to touch you, you don’t want him to hold you when you know it’s all just a lie. When you know tomorrow will come and he’ll be gone.

He’s forgotten you. He’s forgotten you too, he’s forgotten the pain he brings. And you think, if the world was ending, would he stand on the threshold of your memories together with you? Because you think you got lost in the memories, you forgot memories come and go.

“Let me go,” you beg, weakly, because you’re weak. Like you’ve been sick, and you think you might be. Maybe your broken heart festered inside of you, releasing toxins into your bloodstream until it rendered you sick.

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” he says in an equally weak voice, but he does let go of you.

You scoff, and you don’t say anything before turning the doorknob and opening the door.

“I’m sorry that I fell asleep next to you,” Jungkook says, and he sounds like he’s panicking. Like he doesn’t want you to slip through his fingers. But the tighter he holds you, the more you slip. You’re like sand: immortal in the way you’ll always slip through his fingers, like he’ll always slip through yours.

“It’s not that.” You drop one of the bags, because your wrist hurts almost equally as your heart. “Jungkook, you have a girlfriend, we shouldn’t be together.”

You eye your bag, deciding that it’s not worth trying to pick it up. You’ll ask Jo to bring it to you wherever you’ll find a home for the next few days. You’re walking away, striding away, running away.

You’re fleeing like he fled that night he told you about her. Part of you wishes you could rush to your mother’s side, could show her your broken heart and beg her for the love she is supposed to give you. Unfortunately, her maternal affection ran low far too long ago.

But Jisung is coming. That’s all that matters.

You’re at the top of the stairs when Jungkook speaks next. “I broke up with Laura.”

You still. As much as you were breaking a second ago, your heart just stops shattering. Just stops existing altogether for a moment.

“What?”

“I broke up with her Sunday morning.”

You turn to look at him. He’s barely visible in the purple light that escapes his room, and you can’t see his features. But you feel the weight of his gaze on you.

“What?”

“I’m not with her anymore. I wanted to talk to you about it tomorrow only, because I found you already vulnerable earlier.” He pauses. “That’s why I went to the studio in the first place.”

“Jungkook…”

You wonder if he’s breaking in time with you. You wonder if he too was vulnerable tonight, and if that’s the reason why he’s cried so much.

Did he care for her enough to ache from your presence?

“I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of you by telling you while you were vulnerable.”

You understand why he chose to do it that way. But you still hate him for it.

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know.”

“You’re a fucking idiot, Jeon Jungkook.”

You think he might be smiling. He does sound like he’s smiling when he speaks next. “Can I hug you?”

“I hate you.”

He laughs, and it breaks, and you only then realize that he wasn’t smiling. He’s crying, and he wipes a hand on his face.

“Don’t…” you trail off, and then you both startle as Jin appears in the doorframe to his room.

“Can you guys please shut the fuck up, it’s the middle of the night.”

You snort. It sounds like a pig, or maybe a hog or a boar. You actually have no idea what it sounds like, just that it’s hysteric, as is the laughter that erupts from you and Jungkook quite at the same time.

Jin just watches the both of you as if you’re crazy, and you are. You’ve suffered so much you’ve gone crazy, and you don’t even care.

You laugh longer than Jungkook, shedding tears that you dry mindlessly with your thumb. Tears heavy with emotions, different emotions than the ones that you’ve been feeling for weeks.

Indeed, hope has cracked some part of the pain, like a sunrise that shines through a veil of thick clouds, sunrays stubbornly refusing to be stopped by the bleariness.

You laugh for all the breaking that you did, and it’s no wonder Jungkook eventually moves to grab your hand and pull you back into his room. Only then do you stop laughing, and you say, “Jisung is coming to pick me up.”

That showers the both of you until you’ve calmed down, enough to be able to glance at Jin that’s still watching with the most disgusted expression on his features. When the two of you find him on his doorstep, Jin figures it’s better to dip, and he goes in, shutting the door softly behind him.

You think you see him winking at Jungkook before he disappears from view.

“Okay,” Jungkook lets out. “That’s okay, let me grab your bag.”

“You’re not angry?”

He shakes his head no in the faint light of the hallway, glancing at you as he grabs the bag you left near his door. “No. I understand that you need some space. And we’ll talk tomorrow, right?”

You nod. You nod because you’re done breaking. “I’ll call you first thing in the morning.” And then you feel infinitely stupid, because he’s blocked your number months ago.

Jungkook has probably thought about the same thing, because as he’s walking back towards you, he says, “I’m sorry I blocked you.”

You raise your hand, the one whose wrist is in a brace. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Just unblock me.”

“I…” he trails off. “I don’t know how to.”

You shut your eyes. “You’re annoying.”

“I’ll figure it out”, he promises. “I’ll figure it out and I’ll be the one calling you.”

You nod, and you look at him. “I… might be angry at you.”

“I deserve it.” He grabs the bag you’re holding, and then motions to the stairs. “You can punch me if you want, but we should go downstairs before Jin kills me.”

“Please do!”

You both laugh once again, and you think you hear a feminine voice scolding Jin.

You follow Jungkook downstairs, shining light with your phone so you don’t fall. Jungkook leads you right to the hall, and he puts your bags down by the door. He then leans down to massage his knee, and you wonder if pain has licked its fingers up his thigh the way it’s been licking its fingers up your arm.

But not in your heart. Your heart is done aching.

You glance outside, and you see that Jisung is already there. He must have been at Felix’s place. Jungkook notices too as he stretches, and you think you see disappointment on his features.

“Do you want me to carry the bags to the car?” he asks, gently.

You reach out between you, hand moving up until it’s cupped his cheek. He looks startled, eyes going round and looking between your two pupils a couple of times.

“I’m sorry I woke you up”, you say as you let your hand fall, because you have no idea why you did that in the first place.

“No, don’t be,” he reassures you. “I’m glad I woke up and could reassure you. I don’t like misunderstandings.”

You think he’s a little full of shit for saying so, because you wouldn’t have been in this position if he listened to you in July. But you refrain from telling him, because you’re going to talk to him tomorrow, and tomorrow only. When you’ll both be ready.

Tonight, you’re still going to cling to the fact that he cares.

He cares, and he hasn’t forgotten about you, or about the July night sky. No, he too still can see the stars that night.

And suddenly, you don’t fear tomorrow anymore.

*****

                Felix’s apartment is cozy in the morning light. But the absence of curtains in the living room windows has made it hard to sleep. You’re lucky you don’t have a class today. You usually do, a three-hour long class at 8 am, but the professor gave you a week off before the midterm next week. He’s still available for office hours, but you’ve had him before in another class. You know he’s not a strict grader. So you’re not going to make it to office hours, and you’ll try to catch up on more sleep before Felix and Jisung wake up.

It’s hard to fall back asleep though. Indeed, your thoughts have been clouded with Jungkook. With the anxiety that you can finally talk to him now, that he’s not hers, but that you don’t even know if you have something to tell him.

He was soft yesterday. Willing to help, wearing his heart on his sleeve the way you reckon he did it that July weekend. It reminds you that Jungkook has a heart of gold. It took you years before you saw it, but now it’s blinding you.

Jungkook would go to the ends of the Earth to help the people he cares about. And he cares about you. You, with the flaws that make the mosaic of you. You, who’s never been able to love, and now you think maybe you’ve loved all along.

Because what was that hate for him, if not misguided love? Immature feelings, maybe. Though you wouldn’t call it love. You wouldn’t dare say you love Jungkook. But you do feel for him. You feel for him the way you feel for the early morning. It’s filled with possibilities, with calm and serene moments. It doesn’t ask for anything but offers all. And maybe that’s how you’ve been feeling for him all along.

You sigh, turning so your back is to the window, trying to block out the rising sun so you can sleep some more. It does nothing to how your heart’s been acting up, but you still force yourself to lie in silence, to enjoy the feeling of infinity today carries.

You’ve dozed off a little by the time movement is heard in the apartment, and your eyes flutter open to look at the ceiling, as you’ve turned on your back. You yawn, stretching a little, before glancing to the side.

You let out a high-pitched squeal at the sight of the shirtless man that’s standing there, and he startles just as much as you, letting out a sound that rivals with the one you just made.

He’s not Felix, and he’s not Jisung. In reality, you have no idea who he is. You didn’t even know Felix has a roommate.

“Who are you?” the guy asks, and the first thing you notice is his accent.

“Jisung’s friend,” you reply as you sit up.

The man seems to realize he’s half naked, and he folds his arms on his chest. It makes his biceps pop out, and you reckon he’s quite the sight to see so early in the morning.

You have the decency to blush at the thought, and you look down at the floor.

“He and Felix offered to let me sleep here,” you add, worrying at your bottom lip. “I’m not going to stay.”

The guy shrugs. “Hey, it’s okay. Just was startled.” He laughs a little, before glancing in the direction of what you assume is the kitchen. “Do you want some coffee?”

“Uh,” you let out. “Yeah, sure.”

Turns out the guy is called Chris. The accent you’ve heard at first is the unmistakable Australian accent, and he informs you that he’s moved here with Felix for college. You end up eating breakfast along with him, because he’s decided to make protein pancakes. You’re surprised at how good they are, and you’re idly chatting at the kitchen table when Jisung enters.

He looks between you and Chris once, before saying, “You’ve got explanations about how you ended up at Jungkook’s place last night.”

He’s got a firm authoritative tone to his voice, and you recognize him for the older brother he is to you. You let out a shy laugh, before shrugging your shoulders.

“I already told you mom kicked me out.”

Chris’s eyes go wide as saucers as he looks at you, before his gaze dips down to his pancakes and he focuses on eating them.

“Yes, but Jungkook?”

Felix appears behind Jisung, brushing sleep out of his eyes. “Leave her alone, Han.”

Jisung glares at his boyfriend, before shrugging his shoulders. “I just think it’s weird because he’s got a girlfriend.”

“They broke up”, you say in a defensive tone.

Because it’s Jungkook you’re talking about, and you’d always defend him.

Jisung looks so surprised you almost start laughing. And it’s weird that you’re in a laughing mood – you were kicked out yesterday for God’s sake. But at the same time, it feels like you’ve reached the limit of your breaking, and the morning holds the possibility of healing.

The morning, and Jungkook, you reckon. Because you know healing starts with Jungkook. Healing starts with figuring out where it all went wrong, it starts with the conversation you’re supposed to have later.

Some place you also can study, hopefully, because you’ve got a midterm on Thursday.

“You’re fucking shitting me,” Jisung lets out as Felix starts pouring coffee for himself.

You shrug, feeling shy as everyone’s gaze moves to you. “They broke up on Sunday.”

“And you were over yesterday? Boy’s not wasting time.”

You furrow your brows. “It’s actually a coincidence that I ended up at his place. And Jiji’s fault.”

“Jiji? She hates his guts,” Jisung points out, still not fully believing you.

“She told him to go to the studio, he found me crying about getting kicked out and he offered me to spend the night before I figure out what to do.”

“That’s fair enough”, Felix says, interrupting Jisung who clearly was about to say something vile about Jungkook.

Jisung frowns, but he sighs and lets the expression go. He fully walks into the kitchen, helping himself to some of the pancakes Chris made. “He hurts you again I’ll fucking punch him.”

“Sungie,” you whine. “You’re the one that wanted me to tell him how I felt.”

“That was ages ago,” he reminds you. “I also told you to move on.”

“We’re going to talk today,” you admit.

There’s a heavy silence that follows your words. Jisung looks at you like you’re stupid, Chris seems like he wants to disappear, and Felix scrolls away on his phone as if he hasn’t heard.

“You ask me to come pick you up from his place in the middle of the night and then you say you’ll talk today?” Jisung eventually says, voice low.

It makes you feel stupid, and it makes you realize that maybe, maybe talking to Jungkook will lead nowhere.

Maybe you’re just going to offer each other closure before you truly move on. But you think you still deserve the closure, you still deserve the moving on. No matter how you might feel for Jungkook, some things truly are just not meant to be.

And this morning you think maybe that’s okay.

“I didn’t know yet that they were broken up,” you admit. “He didn’t want to drop it on me while I was crying because of my mother.”

“Valid,” Felix lets out, offering you salvation from Jisung’s wrath.

“Please,” Jisung scoffs. He seems to realize Jungkook might have actually done it right, because he adds, “Whatever. As I said, if he hurts you, he’s dead.” He’s frowning again, shaking his head. “And I can’t fucking believe your mother. My parents will give you a room at home if you want.”

The pain comes back now, but it’s different. Dull, as if Jungkook took its edges and softened them last night.

“Thank you.” You sigh, looking down at your plate, and you know you won’t be able to finish eating. “I’m going to get an apartment.”

It changes the subject to apartment hunting, and Jisung does his best to not appear too pissed whenever you mention that Jungkook will be helping you. Because even if all you give each other today is closure, you know Jungkook will still help.

You think you might know him better than you know yourself after all.

You follow Felix out when he says he needs to leave for college. You reckon sharing a Lyft might be a good idea, because you’re still on the other side of town. Felix agrees, though he admits he usually takes public transport to go to college. You shrug your shoulders, saying you’ll pay, and it’s halfway to your college that you realize something.

You realize you need to stop spending and to start saving money, if you want to be able to afford an apartment. And it makes you feel strange inside, like you might still have more that can break.

You cling to the feeling this morning holds. But some part of you is growing weary, dreary, because you get to college before Jungkook texts, and he told you he’d text you first thing in the morning. You don’t know his schedule though. You can’t assume his morning starts at the same time as yours do, so you try to stay calm and not let panic rise in you.

Felix walks with you on campus, until you part ways because he has to get to class. You decide you’re going to squat in the library, with your damn duffel bag and school bag you’ve been carrying around since yesterday. You find a spot in a corner, and you get busy studying, figuring it’s a better way to pass the time instead of looking at your phone expecting Jungkook to call you, to give you a sign of life.

You like studying. As much as law is a hard subject, it makes you feel connected to your father, somehow, and you like it. You like the highlighters and the lo-fi medieval beats and the books filled with laws and ethics and everything in between. You like being in a library, looking like you’ve got your shit together. You think that, to outside eyes, you probably look like you do. You can invent a life to yourself here, one where you haven’t been kicked out. One where you’re the pride of your family, and where you go skiing in the Alps once a year, taking pictures that you hang over the fireplace.

Not that you’re a big skier, and not that you’d go to the Alps anyway. You’d rather backpack around the world, discovering cultures unheard of before.

But sometimes, you do wish your family would have worked. You do wish your father never left, your mother never cheated. And sometimes, you do wonder who’s your biological dad.

Not that it’s important, and not that you will know one day. Your mother says she doesn’t even remember his name, and he was just a back-up dancer in a foreign country. Not someone that you’d ever have a chance of running into.

You sigh, turning the page of the book you’ve been reading. It’s about international law, your favourite subject, and your hardest class this semester. Professor Wickham is a bitch, and she loves failing people. Loves the look of pure distress people throw at her during exams, because she insists on being there while her students take her exams.

She’s a bitch, but she’s also renowned in the field, and you’ve been trying to make a good impression on her forever. Even though she refused you last semester when you tried getting an internship with her. Even though your summer internship still ended being great.

You run a hand through your hair, and you reach towards the reusable water bottle you always carry with you. Your hand stops halfway when your phone lights up next to you, and you grab it, heart beating wildly in your chest.

To your dismay, it isn’t Jungkook, but Jimin texting you.

[10:17 am] park.jm: jk wants me to tell you he’s an idiot [10:17 am] park.jm: he’s not able to unblock u. But he wants to know where u are🫥

You can’t hold in the smile that decides to grow on your lips.

[10:17 am] You: my college’s library. he can unblock me on insta and dm here..🙄

This time, you laugh a little when you see the next message you’ve received.

[10:18 am] jkonthebeat: i’m fkg dumb [10:18 am] jkonthebeat: is there a cafe near ur library? [10:19 am] jkonthebeat: haven’t eaten yet and figured it’d be great to talk over a cup of coffee? [10:19 am] jkonthebeat: if u still wanna talk [10:19 am] jkonthebeat: like i’d understand if u’d rather not? plz don’t feel like you have to [10:19 am] You: Jungkook [10:20 am] jkonthebeat: …what? [10:20 am] You: yes i still want to talk. i’ll send u the location of a chill place [10:21 am] jkonthebeat: okay, yeah good. i’ll be there as quickly as i can [10:23 am] You: shared location [10:26 am] jkonthebeat: eta 35 min😌

You can almost imagine Jungkook panicking on his side of the screen, and it makes you laugh a little more. Some guy throws you a look from the table where he’s sitting, and you offer him a wry smile before looking down at your international law book again. You still have a few pages to read in the chapter, so you decide to do that before meeting up with Jungkook.

It’s really hard to focus when you know his starry gaze is waiting for you. You eventually make it through, though it takes you so long you have to jog to the café to make it on time. You’re out of breath when you get there, and maybe a little sweaty, which you reckon might be disgusting. But Jungkook arrives almost right in time with you, hands digging in the pockets of his sweater pants. He looks like he came in his PJs, and you offer him a small smile when his eyes meet yours.

It’s an embrace, the same way the sun embraces the Earth every morning. It feels like you’d feel lying down in the morning sun rays, letting them warm your cold skin from the lightless night. It feels like you’re safe, like you’ve journeyed around the world only to return to the same spot that you’ll always return to.

He’s cataclysmic, he really is. Like he created you that night in July, the same way you know you’ve created him. In truth, you reckon the cataclysm might be you two together. As if the stars wrote the story decades ago, as if the universe knew your fate from its birth.

You expect it to hurt, but it doesn’t. It’s peaceful. You reckon you deserve a little bit of peace.

“Hey,” he greets you, and you wonder if you’re imagining the pink tint on his cheeks.

“Good morning.” You glance over your shoulder, at the door to the café, before meeting his soft gaze once more. “Do you want to go in?”

He nods, laughing a little. “I got to admit I’m starving.”

“Well, let’s get some food for you,” you say, and you turn.

You’re about to open the door when he grabs the duffel bag from you. “Let me carry that.”

“Oh,” you let out. “I don’t mind, I’m getting used to it.”

He just offers you a no-bullshit look that leaves no room for arguing, so you chuckle before opening the door. He follows you inside, and you choose a table in a quiet corner before you go to order something. You settle on an almond croissant while Jungkook gets a coffee and a cinnamon bun, along with a muffin that ‘looks too good to be left there’. You roll your eyes at his comment, but he just offers you a wink.

It’s the wink you once thought was cocky. It’s not cocky at all anymore today, just teasing.

You’re back at the table and halfway through your croissant when Jungkook says, “Thank you for accepting to meet up.”

It makes you anxious, because the time has come. No matter how much you want this conversation to happen, you can’t help but dread it too.

“Of course.”

He worries at his piercing, big doe eyes watching you carefully. You feel as if he’s gazing right at your soul, and maybe he is.

Maybe he’s been gazing at it since the very first day.

“I’m going to start by saying I’m sorry,” he says, with a shy insecure voice you’ve never heard from him before. “Not that it changes anything. I can’t imagine how it must have felt for you all this time.”

Straight to the point. For some reason, you expected him to talk about your mother. But maybe he believes the subject to be over, or he’s been wanting to talk to you for too long about what’s been troubling his heart.

“It…” you start but you don’t know how to say it. You don’t know which adjective to employ, because all of them feel like you’re just trying to guilt him. And though you do want him to feel guilt, you know you don’t have to impose it on him.

He’s doing it to himself already.

“It’s been really hard,” you choose to simply say, because it’s the truth. “The way you did a one-eighty in just a few days? Like…” you trail off because you don’t know where to go, but Jungkook’s listening, waiting for you to continue patiently as he surveys you with those big eyes of his. “Like I felt horrible. The moment I told you we shouldn’t have…”

That’s what you wanted to tell him in July. Strange to think that the words are coming out now.

“I don’t think I believed it. Maybe I wanted to believe it, because it was scary, but I never believed it. And I’m sorry I said that.”

He’s still playing with his piercing, and it takes him a while to digest your words. “I knew, if that can make you feel any better. Not that I think it’ll feel better. But you have to understand that it really hurt me. Like…” It’s his turn to look for words, and you anxiously wait for what’s to follow. “I’m not a perfect person. I try to be, and I’ve tried even harder after the accident. But when you said that, I felt ashamed. Like I’m just someone disgusting. And I focused on it so hard the only thing I could think to do was push you away.”

And he did it. So easily, as if you were nothing but some weed he was taking out from his burgeoning flowers.

It hurts, that same pain you’ve grown accustomed to over the last few months. You want to flee, to disappear, but you know you have to face your feelings. Ignoring them brought you nowhere good, didn’t it?

“Did it help you feel better?” you ask.

A crease appears between his brows, and you wish to reach between you so you can flatten it away. Needless to say, you resist the impulse, and hate yourself for having it in the first place.

“It did?” he admits, though he sounds unsure. “I can’t lie and say I didn’t get scared too. It was terrifying. But I think I knew before you did.”

“What?”

“I think the night after I told you about the accident?” he says like a question, waiting for you to nod before he continues. “It changed something for me. I couldn’t see you the same way that I saw you before.”

You remember the day after he told you. You were angry at him, because he ignored the text you sent him when you woke up. Mostly because you were embarrassed that you acted like you cared, and you reckon you already did too. It feels like a lifetime ago, and for a mere moment you wish you could be back there and tell yourself to stop being blind. It’d save you a heartbreak.

“Oh,” is all you can think to say.

“So then it all culminated when you looked like you regretted so much,” he adds. You think you see him gulp. “Not going to lie, it actually really hurt. And when I hurt, I tend to turn into a very ugly person.” At that he can’t hold your gaze anymore, and he chuckles bitterly as he shakes his head. “Ask Tae.”

“You weren’t an ugly person”, you gently say after he’s stared at his half-eaten cinnamon bun for a while. “I hurt you, and you tried to move on. No?”

He looks at you again then. “Yeah. But I think some part of me wanted to hurt you too. And…” His gaze lines with silver, and his words die on his mouth. It makes you feel like there’s lava in your blood again, and you shiver. “And I did hurt you. I saw you wasting away all those weeks. You looked… so sad. And nobody cared.”

You don’t think it’s true that nobody cared. But you think you understand what he’s trying to say: nobody cared the way that he did, nobody can care the way that he does. Or so you like to tell yourself.

“It wasn’t just you, if that can reassure you,” you admit, eyes falling to his coffee cup as he picks it up. He doesn’t move to drink, just holds it, maybe because he needs to busy his hands. “There was my mom, and then Jiho growing distant, and all that shit. The internship was great, but it was rough too.”

All of it is true, though you know it wouldn’t have felt as gut-wrenching if you didn’t have to watch Jungkook loving someone else coincidentally.

“Thank you for saying so.” He clears his throat, tries a glance your way but decides to let his gaze drop again. He shifts in his chair a little, before saying, “I understand why you didn’t come to dance practice most of the time. And honestly, I didn’t like that you weren’t there. I know it makes me selfish, but I… I wanted to see you? Because…” He gulps, and you watch a tear as it rolls down his cheek. “Because then I could at least know that you were okay?”

You shut your eyes, nodding slowly. “It was just too hard to see you.”

“I know.”

There’s a pause in the conversation, while both of you fight the emotions that are choking you up. You expected you’d get angry at him, but all you’re able to feel is longing, the kind of longing that aches and burns and crushes your heart.

“I was a dick for not listening to you that night after practice,” he says, slowly. You open your eyes to look at him, catching his eyes on you before they flit back to the table. “I knew exactly what you were going to say, and I couldn’t hear it. I think if we had had this conversation then, I would have hated you.”

It’s your turn to gulp. “Why?”

“Because it was too soon. I was still neck deep in the embarrassment, and in the selfishness. But I wish I didn’t have to break your heart for the embarrassment to go away.”

“You think the ending would have been worse if I had told you that night?”

You sound like you don’t believe it. Maybe because for weeks you’ve kept telling yourself that it would have made things better. It’s hard to accept that it could have made things worse.

“Oh, trust me,” he says, scoffing. “I would have been very ugly. Remember all the fights we used to have? They wouldn’t have compared.” He pulls at his piercing, hard, and you think it probably hurts, but he doesn’t look like he cares. “I was ready to hurt you. That’s why I left.”

There’s an untold sentence there, but you hear it nonetheless.

I knew I was already going to hurt you anyway.

And that he sure did. But you find it hard to be angry at him today. You do let a silence linger for a time, only because you feel like cursing and crying at the same time, and you don’t want either to happen.

It passes, with your gaze diverting to the street outside. You watch a woman walking her dog until she’s disappeared from view, and then your eyes move up to the blue sky. It’s strange how sunny it is, when you feel like a tiny storm is brewing between you and Jungkook.

“Were you happy with her?” you ask, eyes still on the world outside.

It takes a while for Jungkook to reply. “I don’t know, honestly. I wasn’t sad by her side, I won’t lie to you, but I don’t think I was happy.” He chuckles sadly. “In all truth, I think I was punishing myself by being with her.”

It makes you look at him again, and this time your gazes connect like long lost lovers hugging after years apart.

“Punishing yourself for what?”

“For all the bad things I told you, all the times I tried to get on your nerves on purpose.” He shrugs. “For the way I purposefully decided to break your heart, and how I tried to ignore the consequences at first.” He speaks with conviction now, like that’s really what he’s been wanting to say all along. “I knew that being with her was hurting me, and I believed I deserved it.”

“But why?”

“Because… I feel like we’re going in circles, so I won’t repeat all that I just said. But because of all of that,” he says, and there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. “All in all, I just was a fucking idiot.”

You can’t agree more, so you purse your lips and nod once. “That you were.”

He doesn’t even fake offence, just chuckles a little before taking a sip of coffee.

“Do you really want to help me with the apartment?” you ask, thoughtfully, eyes glazing a little as your mind runs miles away from him, to the place of hurt that being homeless at the moment is bringing to you.

“Yes,” he answers softly. “Not even because I want to redeem myself or anything. Like I said yesterday, I do care about you. And I wouldn’t let you go through a situation like this alone.”

You inhale shakily, blinking away the sudden tears. You won’t cry again.

“Okay.”

There’s another silence, only interrupted by the regular café sounds. You only then notice that there’s some music playing, but it’s so low you can barely make-out the song. It sounds like some indie artist you’ve heard once before, but it’s hard to tell.

“Do you think…” he starts, but he doesn’t finish. Instead, he eats a bite of cinnamon bun, as if he’s giving himself time to collect his thoughts. “Do you think we could be friends? Like… I don’t think I deserve your friendship, after everything that’s happened, but I’d forever be thankful if you still gave it to me.”

You don’t even hesitate before you say, “Of course, Jungkook.” You’re choking on tears again. “Of course we’re friends.”             

He’s crying too. “We can put it in the past?”

You bite at your lip to keep a sob in. “It might take some time, but yes, I think we can.”

“Fuck”, he curses, then he adds your name like it’s his favourite line from his favourite poem. He says it softly, carefully. “I am so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

He shakes his head, stubbornly blinking his tears away. “No, but like… this is all my fault. I think I’ve never fucked up so bad in my life.”

“Jungkook…”

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you.”

It sounds like a promise, with forever laced to it. And maybe that’s what you are to him, a forever he can’t bring himself to let go.

It’s what he is to you too. Because, for all that Jisung and your father said, you didn’t want to move on from Jungkook. Some part of you always believed you’d find your way back to him, and today, you know you weren’t wrong.

And you’d go through the pain all over again, for eternity, just to experience this moment with him right now. This new cataclysm, the one that creates instead of destroying. It creates a world between you, and you find yourself excited to explore it. Yes, the scars will stay, but scars make us who we are.

Scars mar Jungkook’s skin, mar your heart and his too. Scars are the reason why your heart started opening up in the first place, and scars are what makes you want to hold on to him today. They brought you to him, brought him to you, and the pain that they carry, like everything in life, doesn’t last.

No winter lasts forever, no night can stop the sun from shining when the morrow comes.

But you’re right. It’ll take a while before you’re able to fully forgive Jungkook. The look in his eyes tells you that he’ll be with you every step of the way. It tells you that he’d die for you, and maybe he already did. Maybe you both died for each other, and that’s what the scars truly tell. A story of a complicated love that destroys and creates.

The story of the cataclysm of you and him. The story of the forgotten spaces where you always met. Because Jungkook meets you, even in the darkest corners of your heart. He doesn’t balk from it, doesn’t fear the worst of you. And you’d meet him in the desert, in the dance your hearts share, the one his body can’t experience anymore, but his soul and yours know by heart.

Maybe he’s been your forgotten space all along, and you his.

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[anki-of-beleriand]

A heart Made of Glass ch.12

Summary: Ten years ago you left Wanda and the Avengers to heal your broken heart. You never stopped being a hero, just as you never stopped being in love with her. But life had to go on.

Now, after all that time, she is back and with her is a young woman needing help and an enemy that may not be as afraid as Wanda to lay a claim on you.

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Powered!F!Reader - Scarlet Witch x PoweredF!Reader - Past Wanda Maximoff x Vision

Warnings: Angst, drama, mentions of cheating, fluff, violence, smut, Switch!Reader, internalize homophobia, hurt, comfort, Wanda being a complete mess, anger management issues, jealousy, Requited/Unrequited love, idiots in love, swearing, mentions of alcohol. More tags as the story progess.

Author's Note: This story is a continuation of Dirty Little Secret I was really surprised at the response I got for the story, I did all the tags you guys ask for but if I forgot someone please do not hesitate to tell me. Thank you for the support.

Okay, this chapter had some tricks in it that are surronding Reader and Wanda, this is their story and this time around Reader would need to make the right decision if she wants to get what she wants and what she needs.

Please, do remember English is no my mother tongue so forgive my grammar, spelling and funny mistakes.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Epilogue

Chapter 12

In a different world

The universe started with a spark of bright golden light.

Loki Odinson had seen it several times, he had witnessed the birth and death of multiple universes and timelines that were destined to perish in a myriad of colours that would soon be forgotten. He had sat on the throne, and while he was not a King himself, he could recall the faces of all of those poor souls that disappeared into the nothingness, just as he could remember the beauty behind the first spark of life.

However, what he was experimenting right now was nothing like it.

Whatever, or whoever had decided to intervene had messed up with his own spell and everything had exploded into nothingness. A single spark of red, green and golden then, nothingness. Black spaces that disappeared without any traces left behind.

Loki started at the empty space that was Wanda and Y/N’s basement before he sighed. He sat down shaking his head, a headache approaching just as he thought on the oncoming conversation he would need to sustain with the Avengers.

“Fuck.” The word rolled out of his lips in such a natural way, he could do nothing but leaned back against the wall.

What the hell just happened?

What did he do?

What did Wanda and Y/N do to get this reaction?

The silence soon became deafening, Loki located the book Strange had died trying to recover. He frowned while leaning over to pick it up, the spell was done correctly with all the right wording as well as the right drawings on the ground. So, why did it go wrong? His eyes scanned the pages, re-reading the passages over and over until his heart dropped at one particular line, something he had overlooked the very first time he read that passage.

“…this, however, may be counterproductive if there is a magical or multiversal energy interference, the amount of energy converging at one point may created an unexpected result and…”

Loki knew the rest by heart, he knew there could be troubles but…well, how many energies were involved in the spell? He had counted on those signatures coming from Wanda and Y/N, he had even counted on his but…was there anybody else out there? Was there anybody else at the other side of the multiverse?

“Shit.” Loki stood up fixing up his clothes before flickering his hand to open a portal. He needed to face the consequences of his acts, and the first stop would be the Avengers Tower and Steve Roger’s office.

The former Captain America was going to enjoy telling Loki ‘I told you so’, just before hitting him in the face.

With one last glance to the basement, Loki turned around and left the place.

He never worried to test the energy fields around, or to tap into the timelines flickering in front of his eyes. It never occurred to him that, as soon as the explosion happened, a new singular timeline appeared right before his eyes just to blend itself with the other timelines flickering in front of Loki.

No one but the Watcher could see it, The Watcher stood in the sidelines furrowing his brows and waiting.

The world would either collapse in itself, or it would fix the anomalies by itself.

Either way, he was watching history, and the future of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.

_________________________________________

Darkness had always been your friend.

You were born in it, and it had been your weapon and your refugee in the hardest of times. That was the main reason you didn’t panic at first, everything around you was filled with the purest form of darkness with a single touch of coldness that sneaked inside your clothes. The hairs on your arms stood up, a shiver went right through your muscles making you groan as you finally experience the pain in your body.

Your mouth opened inhaling deeply filling your lungs with gusts of cold air, your chest contracting itself just before you started coughing. It was then you opened your eyes, and the darkness that you had experienced moments ago was nothing but you woke up from unconsciousness.

The first thing you noticed were different white dots in the sky winking back at you. You tried to grasp a single thought, seeking around your mind for a coherent idea but it was almost impossible to do so when the rest of your body was finally receiving different stimulus in the way of pain and coldness.

“Y/N!” A familiar voice called to your left, you tried to sit up but a single hand placed itself on your shoulder pressing you to the ground.

“Ease there, pal, you were really hurt back there.”

Even if you didn’t get a chance to sit up, your world started spinning around. The voice was so familiar, yet so different to what you were used to; with some reluctance you turned your face to the right and soon you found yourself looking at yourself.

The other woman offered a tentative smile, though the way she was squinting her eyes and the pursed of her lips told you she was just as confused as you were at the moment. Soft footsteps approached you, America Chavez was wearing a single cut on her cheek and a bruised eye, this time around you didn’t let you counterpart to stop you, you sat up to check over the teen kneeling beside you.

“America, are you alright?” Your eyes rolled back for a moment, your knees fell harshly on the ground while you held yourself with a single hand placed on your leg.

“Y/N, please…” America winced lightly glancing at you then at your counterpart. “I think you were the one that suffered the most…”

“It was my fault, actually. So, sorry?”

You blinked a couple of times, shaking your head made the headache worse and the dizziness settled on your lower abdomen. You lifted your face blinking a couple of times before checking America over, the young woman softened her features with her cheeks colouring pink while her lips tried to offer a single smile. You tried to ignore the other Y/N for as long as you could before turning around to settle your eyes on her.

Just like America, she was wearing a single cut on her forehead with her clothes dishevelled but otherwise nothing else. With some reluctance you lifted your eyes looking deep into those eyes that you knew so well.

“This is the weirdest shit I have ever had to live to date.” You finally said shaking your head, “I hope it is the last weird shit ever.”

“Agreed.” Y/N tilted her head furrowing her brows while giving you a quick glance. “Before this happened, I’m afraid I was in your body fighting with someone that got lucky…so…”

“So, that’s why I feel like this?” You cracked smile, your counterpart nodded mirroring the smile on your face. “Okay, got it, so…what the hell is going on?”

America and Y/N glanced at one another then at you, it wasn’t until then that you decided to take a good look at the surrounding area. The place in itself was nothing strange, yet you got a feeling that this was not your universe or even that of your counterpart.

The sky was completely dark filled stars but as you got to observe them above your head you realized there were not your stars. The constellations you had come to know thanks to Natasha and Carol had been changed and were replaced by different forms you did not recognize. With a single frown you lowered your eyes to find yourself in a plain of land filled with dried grass that extended beyond what the eyes could see. It was an empty land, with nothing beyond the darkness of the night without any moon it was hard to actually see something that could give you an idea of your location.

The sound of whistling called your attention, and soon you found yourself being wrapped tightly by two pair of arms. Before you could protest or ask what they were doing, you experience the sharp bite of wind, A cold, merciless breeze that soon turned into a whirlwind that left as suddenly as it had come.

“Wh-what the hell?” Your eyes opened wide, your teeth chattering while America and Y/N leaned back wincing.

“We need to move.”

You furrowed your brows shaking your head, “move where? I can barely see you two, how are we going to see the path or…where the hell are we?”

America sighed standing up, she stretched her hand to you offering a tender smile.

“You haven’t figured it out?”

You stood on weakened legs, your mouth opened ready to protest until you finally realised it. While it was true there was nothing much to see beyond the darkness and the starry night, you could see America and your counterpart just fine. It took you but a few minutes until, you lifted your hand and the shadows followed you giving you a good glance of what was around you.

“We can manipulate shadows, the night in itself is darkness and filled with the main source of our power.” Y/N stated matter-of-factly while standing before you, you nodded curtly feeling foolish for not even thinking about it.

“Are you guys going to tell me what’s going on?”

America grabbed your hand, then turning to Y/N she shrugged also grabbing her hand as well.

“We may as well update her while we continue walking.”

“We saw lights coming from what we think was a village a few kilometres away, were trying to get there until these weird whirlwinds came in and we couldn’t carry you anymore.” Y/N explained shrugging. “We’re guessing once we get to some sort of place filled with civilization we will know more…”

“Why didn’t you try to travel through the shadows?” You asked ready to do so when the warning tone from your own voice stopped you.

“I couldn’t do it without leaving America here, and I have a bad feeling as soon as I tried it…so…” Y/N shrugged looking ahead of her, “I always follow my instincts, they have never failed me.”

The comment sent a sharp pain straight to your heart.

Your instincts had never failed you either.

Nothing else was said after this, the three of you were following the direction America had pointed out but you were just lost not really knowing if this was the right path or just a wild guess. The temperature was dropping even more, soon your teeth were chattering alongside those of America and the other you. You felt a sharp pain through your head, whatever had happened before you woke up had left your body quite bruised and right now all you wanted was to find a bed, an analgesic and something to eat. For a brief moment, an intrusive thought came forward in the form of Wanda, panic rose through your chest and filled your mind but before you could ask anything about her your counterpart spoke.

“I still don’t understand how everything came to be,” she spoke with a tone of voice you were familiar with, you let your eyes wandered around the landscape holding onto every word resounding into the darkness of the night.”

“I remembered when Wanda and I saved America the first time, and then trying to safe her from these creatures chasing her down.” Y/N trailed off with her memories making her falter, with a single shake of her head she continued, “I know I was out for a while, so you can guess how surprised I was to wake up in the arms of someone that wasn’t my wife…”

“Not really.” Your reply was filled with coldness, tension building up in your body, “I have always had the luxury of waking up alone in my bed.”

America winced lifting her head to glance at you, her dark eyes begging you to listen before jumping in whatever discussion you wanted to start.

“Agatha Harkness.” The name reached the inside of your mind with the memory of the file you read on her, not only that, but also the different videos you saw surrounding her story inside of Wanda’s world.

“That was the woman you woke up to every day, Y/N.” America chimed in shyly, she lowered her gaze squeezing your hand tenderly. “She had been dragging Scarlet and Wanda around, draining them of their powers and leaving them defenceless for quite some time, and since…well, since Y/N was under her spell…”

You opened your mouth to speak, you wanted to say something but finding your counterpart’s eyes on you whatever argument you had built inside your mind came crumbling down and soon you were given their side of their story.  Little by little the story started making sense, the building of a different world and the intrusive dreams you were having in the last couple of weeks, the purple and red magic surrounding you on that day as well as the mixed-up realities that ended up with you thrown into another’s body. You had always known that Wanda was special, and powerful, you never imagined just how much.

America had been a part of the plan, of course. Her powers would be very beneficial to someone like Agatha, and your powers would make sure no one would ever find her. Everything was about the most basic reason of all: Power. You pursed your lips disgusted; you were dragged into a confrontation with Wanda because there was a woman chasing after power. You had been running from Wanda for more than ten years, and all it took was this woman to ruin everything.

And now, now you were walking down the darkness of the night with a girl that could travel through different universes and your counterpart, a woman that got the life you had dreamt of a long time ago.

“Life is not fair.” Y/N stated glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, “but it is what we have, and we must…”

“…deal with it, take what it is being offered and try to be happy with it.” You finished shaking your head.

“Ah, so not everything is lost, I see.” Y/N allowed a single smile to break on her face, you pursed your lips snorting.

“You don’t know the story.”

“But she does, that’s why she told you those very same words, didn’t she?” Your counterpart stopped all of a sudden, you let out a heavy sigh before turning to face her.

America was standing in between the both of you, her brows knitted together with her gaze travelling around the terrain before settling on the both of you.

“Look, I know that you and Wanda had a different experience than mine, I’m glad you did because…” You trailed off holding onto your emotions, “I don’t wish on you the pain I went through…”

For the very first time ever you saw your own face breaking into a broken-hearted smile, with those eyes losing all light and those lips curving into a crooked smile. It was you looking back, and you understood right there and then that you weren’t the only one.

“You forgive her?” You asked with a hint of hope in your voice, you hated how the question left your lips and how your counterpart understood what you meant.

“How could I not if my heart beats for her?” She replied clenching her eyes closed, her hands rested upon your shoulders before you found yourself looking into your eyes. “There is a difference, though, isn’t it?”

“You guys were not together…” You started but she merely tilted her head.

“You know it wouldn’t matter if we were a couple or not, she chose someone else when we have always chosen her.” Y/N squeezed your shoulders lightly. “The difference is that I gave her a chance because I want to do so, you didn’t because…”

“I don’t believe in second chances! If I have done so she would have broken my heart all over again when she went into her imaginary world with Vision!” You exclaimed enraged, surprising Y/N and America.

The other woman furrowed her brows, she was ready to argue back with you and asked questions about the imaginary world. It was quite evident a lot of things had happened in this strange world and Y/N could only imagine the pain and rage engulfing your heart at the moment.

America could see darkness surrounding the three of you her eyes opening wide almost losing into the shadows until her eyes caught glimpses of red and purple right ahead.

“Guys?” America stuttered lifting her hand and pointing to the distance.

You two stopped your discussion turning around to see the same sparkles of red and purple. It was a formation of dusty colouring breaking into the darkness of the night sky, you turned to the left to see Y/N frowning with determination and America shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

“It’s not that far away, I mean it could be at least one kilometre?” Y/N faced you holding onto the previous tension of your conversation with her, you clenched your fist shrugging.

“Looks that way.”

“Are we…” America started but you lifted a hand to silence her.

“Before we jump in to do something I think we need more information, we don’t even know what we are going to find over there.” You looked out of the corner of your eyes; the lights were still gleaming pretty much intensely but you could tell your two companions didn’t want to stay still and do any planning.

“What do you propose?” Y/N asked lifting her chin, “you know pretty well those sparks of crimson are Wanda’s, and we know this woman, this Agatha has been using purple magic. Are you really suggesting we stand here or keep walking in circles?”

“No! All I am asking is to first think about what we are going to do! We’re not even sure where we are much less what we are going to find there.” You asked back lifting your hands in the air and stepping back, the pain you had forgotten in favour of the discussion came back making you winced.

“Look I know you guys think the world of Wanda, and that’s cool, I guess your Wanda,” this time around you pointed to your counterpart trying to remain calm, “she is all love and kindness and that’s fine. The Wanda in world had a total breakdown that enslaved a bunch of people in a reality she created for herself and that microwave she called husband, so forgive me if I’m not going to jump in without any additional information.”

Your tirade echoed through the night, your voice carried by the wind with a dropped in the temperature. The moon that had been travelling with the three of you flickered all of a sudden, and the darkness grew around the three of you. America didn’t miss the flickering lights of crimson and purple, but she couldn’t stop herself from grabbing your hand in hers, the warm she shared with you made you shivered and with some reluctance you lower you stare to her. Even in such a darkness you could see her brown eyes gleaming with emotions.

“You still love her.” America mumbled squeezing your hand tenderly.

You clenched your jaw tilting your head to the side, America bit her lower lip glancing from you to Y/N.

“I don’t know why this has to be so complicated, but she needs you.” America took a deep breath stepping closer to you. “Wanda is sad, and I know she messed up and that forgiveness should not be given just because you feel that way. But she really needs you, she and Scarlet.”

“Look, I don’t know what happened between the both of you.” Y/N stepped in making sure you could not look away from your own eyes. “But the woman I love is out there, being it in this dimension or another Wanda Maximoff would always be MY Wanda and I won’t leave her out there to get hurt. If not for you, then at least do it for me.”

It was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by darkness and coldness that your heart finally gave in. With a nod, your dropped your shoulders in defeat missing the smile coming from America but never missing the satisfied glance coming from your counterpart. The three of you finally turned to the source of the magic, and without a simple plan you three started making your way to the source.

You were not prepared for what was waiting for you over there.

Agatha Harkness smirked at the woman kneeling before her.

In less than a year she had made it possible to crumble away the legend of the Scarlet Witch while placing herself as the most powerful witch in the multiverse. Her smile never faltered, not even when the world spined around changing into a familiar setting; a place and time Agatha had suffered before but that now she could alter with a single flicker of her hand.

The place was filled with passersby ignoring the presence of the two women; nobody seemed to care that one of them was on her knees with a single neck shackle made of light red and blue tied to a crimson necklace Agatha wore on her chest.

“What do you think about this arrangement, dear?” The dark-haired woman asked, her eyes dropping to the kneeling Wanda who was shooting her a stare filled with anger. “Personally, I think this could be more lively, but don't worry soon enough we will have a show to die for.”

Her laughter was accompanied by a flash of violet, and soon the scene changed and they were transferred to a great marketplace located at the centre of the village. Everyone had reunited around four pillared pyres that were guarded by at least ten knights all dressed in black.

Wanda lifted her face, her ears twitched hearing the sound of angry screams cursing someone she couldn't make out yet. Agatha stirred in excitement; her smile grew until it was a crooked grin with just a hint of madness behind it.

“Here they come…”

The crowd spread around just as four figures came in walking on naked feet wearing red robes and bruised faces. The hatred and fear coming from the crowd was quite evident as the torches and the pitchforks drew wild patterns above the townspeople’s heads. The light of the torches ignited the night, Wanda tensed under the grip of the woman standing beside her, the hairs on her arms raising up while her eyes narrowed to follow the events unfolding in front of her.

The four women were pushed forward, each one of them had a single knight standing behind them with heavy hands they were dragged to the four pillars tied to them facing the crowd. It didn’t take her too long to guess what was about to happen, and what exactly were those pillars; the pyres had been set up to ensure everyone could see the women died. The crowd cheered cruelly, laughing and cursing while the four women glared at the people with more bravery than they actually felt. 

“This was my coven.” Agatha spat out, her hands sparkling with a mixture of red and purple, “they saw my power, they read my intentions and instead of supporting me they dared to try and stop me…”

“I wonder why.” Wanda couldn’t hold the sarcasm behind her voice, Agatha pulled harshly on the ropes holding her neck making Wanda fall on her back.

“You really are more daring than your counterparts, dear. I would be careful, if I were to be honest I don’t need you alive.” 

Agatha caressed the necklace smirking at Wanda, the woman couldn’t hide her anger and the magic that was pulsating inside her was not enough to protect her from Agatha’s anger. Soon Wanda let out a scream of pain, her body twitching painfully until he couldn’t keep her eyes open and all she could think about was the searing pain on her limbs.

“It has been so long since I was just a lowly witch like them, afraid of fire and the angry crowd. I grew to be magnificent, to have power beyond anyone’s imagination…” Agatha continued with his rambling observing with gleaming eyes as the Major of the town stood forward proclaiming the sins of the four women.

“I just had to find you, Wanda, you and that so-called Scarlet Witch.” Wanda took a deep breath, half hearing the woman while watching with horror as the night above her head flickered from one setting to another.

“It was not easy, you know?”

Agatha flickered her hand to the right and soon Wanda was on her knees watching as the world around her changed. It was like watching a movie in a dome. The world changed to day and night flickering images of Agatha dragging her burnt body through the ground whispering spells that only she could hear. The image soon changed showing the passing of time, Agatha looking around the world and stealing the magic of others while seeking something out of desperation.

She finally found it after more than a century.

Wanda opened her eyes at the familiar setting, Kamar Taj stood under stormy winds and heavy snow. Agatha sneaked around, distracting the inhabitants of the temple by provoking landslides that would certainly have killed innocent people if it hadn’t been by the protectors of the temple. She had enough time to steal a single book.

“Y-you…you stole the..th-e…the Drakhold.” Wanda leaned forward resting her hands on the ground, she was shocked to find the snow under her hands was real and that everything she was seeing was not an illusion but a real event.

Her mind was trying to comprehend what was really happening. Her knowledge of the Darkhold had not been as broad as it had been for Strange and even Loki. But she did know one thing or two about the origins of her powers, Chaos Magic had been called and it gave her the power to bend reality and life in ways not many could access to. The darkness inside her had been contained by her family and her loved ones, but the same could not be said by others, apparently.

“I did.” Agatha finally answered tilting her head, soon the scene changed and they were taken to a place Wanda was familiar with.

Westview.

“Yet, I was still not strong enough, or the only one with powers beyond our imaginations.” Agatha made a face, stepping forward strolling down the streets with Wanda following her. “When the Avengers showed up it was quite evident that people with powers could no longer be hidden. It was my time to shine until you, my dear Wanda, showed up.”

Wanda saw herself in a building in Sokovia, it was a place she was familiar with yet the story that was unfolding in front of her had nothing to do with what she had lived once. Her other self struggled to control her powers, to live her life, to be who she was supposed to be but failed every single time. Agatha had never been too far from those events, and whenever Wanda failed, Agatha would clutch the young woman closer to her. The red and purple magic intertwined without anyone noticing.

“What did you do?” Wanda asked, finding herself in the middle of the square in Westview. It was a beautiful day, with the sun shining right above their heads and not a single cloud in sight. 

Agatha smirked, her eyes changing colours to one of deep crimson, “I finally became who I am supposed to be, and soon my dear I will have all the power to bend the universes at my will. And now, I will finish what I started all those months ago with your pathetic counterpart and you will help me out with this.”

The world suddenly exploded around them, Wanda clenched her jaw closed, lifting her eyes to the sky to see the runes above her head.

“You…” She gritted her teeth, her eyes closing right away trying to gather her thoughts and power to stop the woman standing beside her.

Agatha chuckled darkly, her gripped on Wanda tightened allowing the influx of memories to invade the mind of the redhead. It was a life she was no familiar with, a suffering she had not experiment in the same way but that generate in her an understanding of the mess this world was in. She could see the moment Agatha entered the story, the failures and the almost victories until finally she got what she wanted.

A weakened Wanda Maximoff without anyone in the world to stand by her side.

Power.

And a way to get away with her plan.

“You…you won’t win.” Wanda finally got out; her eyes gleaming dangerously at the other woman who made a face rolling her eyes.

“I already did, dear. You just haven’t realized it yet.” Agatha let go of Wanda stepping away.

The brunette straightened up lifting her arms in front of her, her hands creating a purple mist while the necklace she wore zealously around her neck gleamed with intensity. Those eyes that moment’s ago had been brown, were now a deep black and the world around Wanda trembled under the electric shift of power the witch was gathering around her.

“Now, I have all the pieces in place, in my world…under my rules.” Agatha stated tilting her head to the side, “I will bend everyone to my will…and you, Wanda, will be nothing but a bad memory.”

The sky above their heads changed into darkness, the temperature dropped and Wanda felt the heavy weight of the atmosphere overwhelming her. She could sense her counterpart weakening inside the prison Agatha had chosen for her, her thoughts were still a mixture of memories she couldn’t quite place while the heavy emotions running through her soul threaten to overwhelm. Wanda could read the intentions behind the woman standing before her, she could read the hatred and violence behind those dark eyes. Lifting her chin to the sky, and her eyes showing off her own magic she decided if this was going to be her end, she would face it with defiance.

The ball of energy flickered in Agatha’s hand, the world stood still and the with smirked ready to give the final blow.

Agatha was so concentrated in her final goal, she never noticed she was no longer alone and what she though was illusions of her own invention were actually three people she didn’t think would be a problem until one of them stood right in front of her shielding Wanda from an imminent dead.

You had crossed the protective barrier around the strange town with a single thought in mind. Your intention was to get this over with and go back to your life on Norway, your heart beating fast while your mind protest for the easiness in which you were trying to go back to a life in which you were ignoring the woman that had never left your heart. It looked easy, just do your thing and then fixed whatever mess you were in and then…go back.

But the universe and the Powers That Be decided that it wouldn’t be just as easy as a flickered of your hand.

As soon as the three of you crossed the barrier you were face to face with flashes of memories that presented you with a film of the lives of Wanda and Agatha. The stories of the coven and the search for power, as well as the fall of Sokovia and Wanda’s struggles with her powers and her life.

“This is so wrong.” Y/N stated clenching her fist while stepping forward until she was finally standing beside you, the both of you stood on an empty street hearing the sounds of muffled conversation.

“Any plan?” You finally stated ignoring the piercing pain in your heart, your counterpart shrugged nodding to the darkened street that was flashing a mixture of red and purple.

“I think the best approach is a straightforward one.”

“Humph, so go there and just start fighting?” You replied with your lips breaking into a single smirk.

“Yep, pretty much.”

“That doesn’t sound like a solid plan.” America mumbled unsure, she furrowed her brows turning to you and then to your counterpart.

You turned to America placing a hand on her shoulder, “but it is what we have. You are going to stay here and wait.”

“But…I can fight! I can help!” America stepped back frowning, “I won’t be left behind…”

“I know you can fight, kiddo.” You replied tilting your head, “and that’s why you are staying behind.”

America opened her mouth to protest but Y/N came forth shaking her head.

“You are our backup, America. If anything were to happen to us and Wanda…” Y/N stated dropping her gaze for a moment, she turned to you until finally she locked eyes with America. “You need to do anything you can to ensure Agatha won’t scape, you understand?”

America pursed her lips, a part of her understood the mission but another part wanted to go straight ahead and face the woman that had been chasing her through the multiverse. America clenched her fists before nodding curtly and stepping back. You offered a single smile, your hand squeezing comfortingly the shoulder of the teen.

“There would be time, America, for now just watch our backs.”

“I will.”

“Good then, let’s go.”

You nodded curtly allowing your powers to spread in front of you, there was resistance when trying to reach the shadows and for the very first time you understood what your counterpart meant about your instinct. Everything in your body was screaming danger as soon as you came into contact with the shadows, your body shivered under the piercing weight of a million needles. You clenched your jaw closed stepping into the shadows with a single thought in mind.

Wanda.

Without any hesitation and moving through the invisible obstacles in that universe you appeared right before Wanda and Agatha just in time. Your eyes went black with your right arm lifting in front of you and creating a protective barrier just as Agatha’s hand came into contact with your shadows.

There was a flickering of power, the older woman snarled a curse lifting her left arm in the same fashion and launching a second attack. Your eyes opened slightly only for your shadows to slithered away grabbing the woman’s midsection to pull her away.

The world crumbled for an instant; Agatha was completely shocked to see not only you but your counterpart standing right in front of her. The woman straightened up, sweat rolling down her forehead while her right hand closed around her necklace and her other hand summoned the Darkhold.

“You really are a pain in my behind, but at least I won’t have to go around looking for you.” Agatha stated tilting her head to the side, her annoyance giving way to a confident smile. “Now, how about the two of you are good girls and give up, I would hate to spend my time submitting you to get what I want.”

You spread your feet positioning yourself in a fighting pose, your eyes narrowing slightly while the woman in front of you got her magic ready. But before Agatha could do anything at all, another set of shadows grabbed her arms putting them back making her woman lose her grip on the necklace and the Darkhold, your body tensed when Wanda stood up behind you, her voice quivering slightly as she pronounced your name with reverence and love.

“Hey, I hope you didn’t forget about me, Agatha dear.” Your counterpart said winking at Wanda while flickering her hands away, Agatha grunted freeing herself with a blast of energy and stepping a few feet away.

“Hn, I didn’t expect this.” She stated summoning the Darkhold, the world around the four of you changed, shaping itself in a familiar setting you had come to hate in your mind.

Westview.

Agatha never wavered in her confidence, if anything it seemed to grow the same way her magic was doing at the moment. You took a fighting stance, your shadows flickering around waiting for your command. You glanced out of the corner of your eye, Wanda had been trying to stand up but her knees and feet seemed uncooperative. Before you could offer any help, your counterpart came in wrapping her arms around Wanda while placing her forehead against Wanda’s one.

“Hey, love.”

“Hi.” Wanda replied with easiness, Y/N sighed in relief before placing a single kiss on her wife’s cheek.

“I miss you.” Y/N said softly, your heart shrank with emotion when your mind caught up with what was really happening.

You furrowed your brows, sweeping around the place until your darkened eyes fell on Agatha who was smiling playfully at you, her right hand playing absentmindedly with the necklace.

“Where is…Wanda?” The question left your lips before you could stop it, Wanda and Y/N both glanced at one another before they set their eyes on you.

A sinking feeling settled on your lower stomach, you were afraid of the answer when you realized this Wanda was trying to look everywhere but you. Tilting your head, you finally got a good look at your surroundings where the suburban houses filled out the imaginary world; the Wanda you had come to know from another universe held onto your counterpart tightly though right now her green eyes had been focusing straight ahead of you.

“Where is she? Wanda?” You asked again, this time around there was a demanding undertone that the other woman couldn’t ignore.

“Agatha has them under her control, she is using a powerful and dangerous book, Y/N.” Wanda could tell her answer was not of your liking, she stepped forward ready to join you and her wife in the fight glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes.

“You don’t know where she has Wanda?” You asked again never taking your eyes off of the older woman standing before you.

“I have my suspicions but I’m not sure how to interfere with that.” Wanda winced trying to ease out the pain on her neck, you frowned pursing your lips while taking a closer look at Agatha before your eyes found the same house you had come to know as Wanda’s place.

“Well, then let’s get this over with and get Wanda back.” Your arms stretched to the sides, the silent command spurred into action the shadows around you flying straight ahead to try and get Agatha.

Before your counterpart and the other Wanda could help you out, the creatures summoned by Agatha launched their first attack. A great explosion was heard while you evaded the flashing balls of power sent over by the witch.

The fight soon broke over, you didn’t notice it but the dome surrounding this part of the universe tremble sending waves of energy all through the world until they came into contact with the timeline and America. The young woman lifted her head, her eyes gleaming brightly as she tapped into her powers; bouncing on the balls of her feet she waited. America could hear the sound of explosions and the muffled sound of conversations and screams, she glanced at her hands thinking about the lessons she had been learning in the last couple of months. She closed her fists, opening them again before lifting her face. This people had been putting their lives on the line for her, they had been trying to protect her without expecting anything in exchanged. It was about time she helped them.

With a glance to the sky, America took a deep breath closing her eyes for a brief moment. As soon as she opened them, her lips curled into a single smile.

Time for payback.

The street had been completely destroyed during the fight.

There were no more homes standing up, or nice cosy gardens decorating the suburban setting. The world soon became a mixture of nothingness with the flickering holograms of reality that you could not touch. Agatha had learnt a thing or two since fighting with Wanda, you could see her ability to hold onto her powers while also making use of those she had stolen from your Wanda.

You shook your head hating the thoughts running around in your head, the overwhelming emotions that seemed to try and govern your decisions. You tried to focus your energy on what was right in front of you, the problem you were facing went beyond your own emotions. There would be a time for you to deal with them.

Agatha lifted her left hand above her head before letting it fall fast to her side, the sharp pain of your skin being pierce made you grunted. You could feel the wounds on your arms, your eyes igniting in a deep black that soon went right ahead to engulf the witch in front of you.

At some point, Agatha had become faster than your attacks, she stepped aside flickering her hands and soon two more creatures appeared out of nowhere.

“Is that all you got?” You asked almost losing your concentration when you heard the voice of your counterpart in the back.

“Get away from my wife!”

Agatha smirked grabbing her necklace, tilting her head she settled her eyes on you.

“Oh, dear, you would be surprised with the number of tricks I can bring on you.” Agatha stepped forward, her feet never touching the ground. “I could make your dreams come true; I can be what Wanda never was for you.”

You pressed your lips together taking into a fighting stance.

“You know nothing about my dreams, and I am certainly not looking for a replacement.”

Agatha snorted her hand gripping tightly on the necklace, soon a red mist grew from the space between her neck and chest and the world around her turned crimson. Agatha stretched out her arms and the whole world vibrate around you changing in the blink of an eye.

“Are you sure? I can tell by the pathetic way you are always looking at her, but the way you talk about her that there is nothing else you want more than her…” Agatha’s voice rose above the new scene, your eyes flickered around while your stomach dropped when you realized where she had taken you to.

For a brief moment you could make out the screams and grunts of the fight going on right outside this small world. You took a deep breath trying to get a hold of your powers ignoring the runes glowed above your head a clear sign that this was still being controlled by Agatha. You creased your brows knowing that your options were limited if the other woman decided to use her magic at its full potential. She was playing with you, leading you on and one until it was quite clear she was mocking you by placing you right in front of a memory that had broken your heart at some point.

It was playing in slow motion, the video and the room with everyone just as shocked as you were to see Wanda in the arm’s of another. The passing of time, every single moment that you had suffered the betrayal while facing your sadness alone in a world of pure darkness. Your fit closed, the shadows on your feet stirred violently sensing your anger when you heard Agatha laughing. Mocking you.

“How did it make you feel knowing she was happier with a man?” Agatha purred making sure to be as far away from you as she could. “How did it feel knowing you were never going to be chosen in this world? In this universe? I bet it pierce your soul knowing you were the one destined to be alone.”

“Shut up.”

“I can make it go away, I can help you out…say the words, and I will make sure you get what you want.”

Your knees gave under your weight, furrowing your brows you tried to close yourself to the mocking film playing around you trying to focus on the fight. Agatha chuckled tilting her head, this time around the runes above her head pulsated and the two creatures grew before your eyes attacking viciously at your counterpart and Wanda making sure that your conversation and fight with Agatha wouldn’t be interrupted. Agatha centred her eyes on you, her hand grabbing the necklace while the same video seemed to be on replay.

“She won’t be a problem for you anymore, and after I’m done with you…you won’t have to worry about the pain of your broken heart, dear.” The laughter sent shivers down your back, but it was everything you were waiting for.

Your lips curled into a smile, your right hand twirled clockwise and the shadows broke into waves catching up with the witch. Just as you had located her, ready to give her a lesson, the woman was ready to use the magic Wanda and Scarlet were giving to her to make sure the next stage of her plan could be completed.

It never happened, though.

Your attack never stopped reaching out to your objective, while Agatha tried to return the hit she was surprised by a sudden punch to her face. The punch glow white, and her body bounced back and forth until she lost the hold on the necklace, America Chavez didn’t stop there and your shadows went straight to hold onto the witch to bring her down.

Everything happened so fast, your eyes went from America to Agatha and finally to the object on the ground. The necklace bounced on the ground, and without thinking too much you went right ahead to grab it. The object was warm to the touch, you could tell by the vibrations that magic had been contained between the object and this magic could only belong to one person. You closed your hand around it, you could sense Scarlet deep inside your mind. It didn’t take you too long to recognize the woman that had been haunting your dreams as of late, right with her you could also sense Wanda trying to hide, trying to survive.

“NO!”

The scream coming from Agatha was everything you needed to drop the necklace and stomp on the piece of jewellery creating an explosion that blew you and everyone around you away.

“Humph…” Your mouth opened letting out a shaky breath, your body hurt all over while your eyes got use to the sparkling lights that appeared before them when your head hit the ground.

“Y/N!!” You tried to sit up, a pair of arms held onto you for a brief moment until you were capable of making out the figure sitting beside you.

America had her brows creased; her eyes shone with worry while she tried to hold you up. The fighting was still ringing inside your ears, your counterpart was finishing the last of the dimensional creatures while you could spot her Wanda holding back against Agatha. For a brief moment, panic rose inside you the sudden need to throw up became almost to much just as you leaned forward trying to stand up your eyes looking frantically for the women that had been haunting your dreams and reality as of late.

“They are unconscious…” America started but she could not finish her sentence as you stood up without any warning.

“Wanda…” Her name escaped your lips without meaning to, at that moment with your body exhausted and your mind already carrying the weight of so many memories and thoughts all you could do was staggered forward until you reached both women.

You stood on shaky legs glancing from Wanda to Scarlet, both of them unconscious wearing the same bags under their eyes and the bruises all over their faces and arms. You hesitated not really knowing where you should focus your attention until, as an afterthought you went to Wanda. Turning her to the side you ensure she was comfortable, her lip had a deep cut and her forehead had traces of a scratch that left her with blood and dirt. She looked thinner than you remember, with her face wearing still the same defeated expression she wore to your home all those months ago.

“Wanda.” You said her name again, this time around firmer and demanding, your hand trying to help her out until you heard her exclamation of pain. “Wanda, are you alright?”

The young woman stirred in your arms, her eyes flickering slightly until she opened her lips and let out an exclamation of pain. You put her back on the ground, turning around you could see Scarlet was stirring awake as well while the fight seemed to have no end.

“Y/N…” You turned to see Wanda’s eyes fluttering open, her green orbs looking back at you with sadness and tenderness that had your heart beating a tad bit faster.

“Hey, are you alright?” You leaned in but Wanda looked away helping herself up, you tired to assist her but your body froze for a moment unsure on how to proceed with the woman sitting before you.

“I…I am a little sore.” She replied, her eyes never leaving the form of Scarlet, Wanda furrowed her brows glancing at her hands then back at the other woman. “She…she is…Scarlet Witch.”

Her words trembled as she pronounced them, her face lowered thinking to herself knowing full well your attention was on her. She remembered the moment she had separated herself from the legend, the words of Agatha had haunted her at that moment when she realized there was something inside her giving her powers a deeper meaning. She had hated that idea, and the world that had been created out of it.

When Wanda finally dared to look up she found herself looking into your eyes. Her heart stirred with emotion, the words that wanted to pour out of her mouth entangled around her throat for she knew it was not the time for a heart-to-heart conversation. She wished everything had turned out different, but after her confrontation with Agatha and everything she had discovered whiled trapped in that reality she knew what she needed to do.

“Can you…help me up?” She asked shyly, you nodded curtly stretching your hands for her to take them.

She was cold under your touch, and a little sweaty.

Her cheeks coloured pink, and her eyes glanced everywhere but at you. You felt a piercing pain going through your chest, but you ignored it while helping the other woman up. For a brief moment, you thought she could walk on her on until Wanda’s legs trembled and almost gave up on her. You caught her just on time, her body pressing against yours making your traitorous heart stopped for a brief moment.

“How convenient, Wanda.” Scarlet was on her knees; she had sweat falling down her face breathing hard and glaring at the two of you though her eyes were completely focused on Wanda. “You…you don’t do nothing, yet you get to be with her.”

Wanda tensed in your arms, she took a deep breath while pushing you away taking one step at a time until she was standing before Scarlet. You lifted your eyes to see America just as focused on the two women as you were, the sound of the fighting was till rumbling in your ears but it was almost impossible to pay attention to something else that wasn’t the scene playing out in front of you.

Wanda held herself up, conscious of the hatred inside the eyes of Scarlet.

Inside her own eyes.

“We don’t get to be with her.” Wanda mumbled dropping her shoulders, tears gathering in her eyes as she spoke. “I’ve been trying to make amends but I just…”

“You always failed, and you make it worse.” Scarlet spat out lifting her chin in defiance, her position on the ground was not an inconvenience. If anything, it gave her the power that Wanda couldn’t show at the moment.

“I tried to reach out to her, to make her world and mine…to…”

“I know.” Wanda offered a weakened smile, looking out of the corner of her eyes she could see you had your attention on the both of them. “I tried to do the same. I just…I can’t do it alone, and I’m tired of failing every time. I don’t…”

Wanda swallowed down her tears, she leaned in lifting her left hand until she was cupping Scarlet’s cheek. Red mist appeared in Wanda’s hand, and soon her eyes as much as those of Scarlet were shining brightly.

“It hurts so much.” Scarlet said letting the tears rolled down her cheeks. “I just…

“I don’t want to be alone, and I don’t want to be without her.” Wanda finally said her own tears falling down her face.

You clenched your jaw, looking away for a moment while your chest felt a myriad of butterflies fluttering inside.

“But I can’t keep fighting alone, or divided.” Wanda stated, she wiped away Scarlet’s tears before adding. “I think we need to be one, you saw just how powerful we are together and…”

“You need to fix this, or we would never…”

“I know, but this may not end the way you want it.”

Scarlet drifted her attention to you, her eyes found those of yours and in there you could read everything you had been so afraid to interpret the first time. There was pain and sadness, emotions that broke into her heart in ways you could only imagine, and then there was love. You looked away stepping back under the intensity of such a stare, you missed the broken smile on Scarlet’s face and the defeat she wore while facing Wanda again.

“I know, I think we will cope when the time for that comes.” Wanda nodded in understanding; her hands gleamed brighter than ever while Scarlet placed her hand on top of hers.

“I promised you I won’t give up.”

“Good, then let’s do this.”

The crimson mist grew around them glowing with a bright, red light making you trembled under the intensity of the magic. You could see America kneeling down, her eyes going wide open as they stare the scene unfolding before her eyes.

Wanda and Scarlet were no longer two different entities.

Standing before you was a single woman, her head was adorned with a red crown that made match with the bodice and the black leggings. Wanda stood there with magic coming from her hands, her eyes a deep shade of red that gathered the power you had always known she had in her. The woman stood still for a moment, she glanced at her body and her hands before her face lifted to stare at you.

You tried to hide your expression, your lips parting to speak but not words came out. Wanda hesitated before nodding her feet moving slowly until she turned around making her way to the fight.

“Is she gonna be okay?” America stood right beside you, squirting at the woman now using her magic to help her counterpart in the fight against Agatha.

“I think so…” You trailed off finally realizing that even though the both of them had finally become one, Wanda was still wearing the bruises and the exhaustion on her face.

“Are you okay?” America asked quite concern, you turned to her offering a half smile.

“I will be.” You sighed scratching the back of your neck. “Stay here and be careful.”

“What are you gonna do?” The teen asked slightly scare, you offered her a half smile turning towards the fight that was a tied between the Wandas and Agatha.

“What we came to do, just stay out of trouble and be ready to help us go back home, okay kiddo?”

America doubt there was anything she could do, but she didn’t contradict you. With a single nodded of her head she watched as you ran towards the fight, your shadows already creating a protective barrier around you and Wanda. Something, America though, you probably were not aware of.

_____________________________________________________________

Loki rolled his eyes once more, he was tired of hearing the fight going on in the meeting room while he stood by the window waiting for the right moment to intervene.

The world outside was highly active, Monday had always been one of the busiest days in the calendar and that day was not the exception. The young god leaned forward, his fingertips touching the window while his eyes observed the golden and green lights of the timelines. His eyes soon fell upon the one he did not recognise, a red line that he could not tamper with but that he was certain contained the answers to the questions everyone in the room were posing.

Loki turned around his eyes finding those of Billy who had not leave his side ever since Pietro brought him into the Avenger’s Tower. The young boy had his eyes narrowed, his hands playing with invisible threats only he could see.

For a brief moment, Loki stood there observing the child with growing curiosity. Billy was tapping the air with his fingertips, concentrated in something only visible to him. Loki frowned with his mind already forming an idea of what exactly was happening.

“Billy, what are you doing?” The question was low enough for the child to hear it but not for the rest of the room to notice it.

Billy lifted his face this time around his eyes went wide opened showing off the innocence of his age, but also the brightness he had inherited from both his mothers.

“Mommy always says to follow my instincts.” There was conviction in his tone, his hands tapping still as if waiting for something.

“And, what are they telling you?” Loki knelt to be on the same height of the child, Billy tilted his head creasing his brows before answering.

“Uncle Loki, momma and mommy need my help…look!”

Loki looked in the direction Billy was pointing to, he gasped with his eyes wide open and a smile forming on his lips.

“Billy you are a genius.” Billy offered a timid smile glancing at Loki shyly.

“Really?”

“Yes, and I think thanks to you we are going to be able to help Wanda and Y/N.” Loki could see the excitement in the little boy, he couldn’t help but smile back.

Without giving to much attention to the room, Loki sat right beside Billy closing his eyes before letting his magic to spread around. Billy was slightly confused at first, he had continued working on invisible threads trying to get into contact with them. Now there was something different, with his uncle sitting beside him Billy could sense the magic. He pressed his lips together before sitting down and, imitating Loki, he closed his eyes and just went with his instincts.

_____________________________________________________________

Whatever power she had tried to drain from Wanda and even Scarlet was no longer active to give her the stamina or even the strength to keep up with the fight. She was not even up to sustain the world she had created by tampering on the Chaos magic she could barely tolerate.

Wanda Maximoff gathered her power while circling the woman in front of her, she could feel the hurt she had created for her counterpart had reached out beyond the boundaries of the multiverse and it was something she would not tolerate. Beside her she could sense Y/N, a close shadow that was ready to jump in when necessary to offer protection and support; Wanda couldn’t help but smile.

“You won’t win.” Agatha tried to put up with a fight, she tried to hold onto the last threads of power inside her to get into the fight but she could no longer hold onto her powers for far too long.

You came from behind her your hands wrapping around her wrists while your shadows covered her feet spreading through her legs and body. Agatha was struggling, her eyes going wide open just as she started chanting in a language you did not recognize. Wanda opened her eyes wide, she stepped closer spreading her arms and chanting just the same, the runes trembling right above your head just before a myriad of images surrounded you breaking the darkness before going completely white.

“NO!” Agatha let out a guttural exclamation, her elbow hitting you square in the face but whatever strength she had in her to fight was haltered by your counterpart finishing what you started.

Wanda knew at that moment why she had been feared by Agatha, the power that was held inside her sent electric waves through her body. The power concentrated on her hand, and soon a single jewel showed on her palm while her counterpart continued with the ritual. The runes appeared right above her head, and without any indications, she started chanting as well.

You stepped back falling on your ass, blood rolling down your nose just as you saw the black figured being swallowed by the jewel. There was a moment of flickering lights and then, it stopped. Both Wanda’s stood right in front of the other, the jewel resting comfortably on the hand of Y/N’s wife.

The jewel took into a purplish colour, falling to the ground with a single thump.

The world went silent.

The darkness around you grew, with the stars twinkling right above your head.

Everything was still, with only your hard breathing breaking the tension around your ears. Your body was aching, your mind filled with memories of the past and the present all of them pilling up to overwhelmed you line of thoughts. You closed your eyes trying to forget and wait for everything to be back the way it was in the last year.

But you knew it was just an illusion.

Your world had been shaken up the moment Wanda and America showed up at your doorstep. The fight with Agatha brought back the memories you had tried to forget, it brought with it the truths you were not ready to face. You had always thought that you could outrun your motions, but the world has always taught you this was not possible. Not for someone like you, and certainly not for someone like Wanda.

When you opened your eyes you saw Wanda, your Wanda staring at you, but before anything could be done or said her eyes rolled back passing out of exhaustion. You caught up to her on time, her body falling on yours your face a mask of pure concern just as you ensure she rested comfortably on the ground.

You knew everyone was looking at you, but you decided to ignore them while checking Wanda over to make sure nothing else happened to her.

“Are you alright?” The other Wanda came to you, her voice sent shivers down your back, you didn’t dare to lift your eyes for fear of revealing far too much.

Instead, you nodded taking deep breaths while feeling the ground under your knees, without thinking too much about it, your hand brushed Wanda’s hair tenderly. The attention you were giving to her was something you never thought you would do again. The woman standing beside you shifted her weight and soon she was sitting right beside you; this time around you did turn around only to see her staring at you with big, curious eyes.

“She is still unconscious, but I believe she is no longer two halves of the same person.” Wanda lifted her face to the sky, her lips parting slightly. “Her magic is still erratic, but I believe she would be okay.”

“What about Agatha?” Your question entangled in your throat, scrunching up your nose you decided to conceal your emotions not ready to face the conversation or to address the white elephant hanging around you two.

“She will be trapped in this jewel until you and her decided what should be done with her.” Wanda handed over the jewel, you pursed your lips in disgust before grabbing the artifact.

“The book she had with her, it is the Darkhold, isn’t it?”

“It is.” You nodded this time around locking your eyes with hers.

“Are you taking it with you?”

Wanda broke into an easy smile shaking her head, “it’s not mine but yours. It would be better off in your world, where it belongs.”

“It should be destroyed.” You leaned back resting your hands on the ground.

“It should, but that would be your prerogative not ours.”

Your eyes drifted around the place before they settled on America and Y/N, both of them were engaged in a heavy discussion and you could teel this was the moment America had been waiting for a very long time. The feelings of guiltiness and sadness had been quite evident in her when you two met, right now this was the chance the young woman was waiting for to make amends. To reach for forgiveness.

“So, any idea how we are going to leave this place?”

Wanda nodded leaning back until she pointed to America and your counterpart.

“She is ready to use her powers, I believe she is the only one that can help us right now.”

Not sooner had Wanda said this the world started to tremble, the light of the stars flickered until they disappeared one by one. You straightened up with Wanda standing up as soon as she noticed this.

“I guess…we should try it right now.” You stood up turning to glance at the darkened world, everything was coming in and out of reality with the ground shaking for small periods of time.

“It was a matter of time.” Wanda placed a hand on your forearm, you couldn’t help the tension on your muscles the other woman softened her features stepping closer. “You will be back, and she will need help to recover from this.”

“I know.”

“Are you ready for that?” The question caught you off guard, you knew what was expected of you and what you could do with the woman that had broken your heart at some point.

You could hide behind that excuse until the end of time, but it would run out of any validity at some point. Sooner or later, you knew you would have to face Wanda and decisions must be made. The Wanda standing before you softened her features, her words would made your mind pound with the imminent decisions you would need to make.

“How deep is your anger, and how deep goes your love for you to not face what your heart already knows?” Wanda leaned in and you found yourself in a embrace you didn’t know you miss. Her voice was just a whisper, but it was everything you needed at the moment. “I won’t tell you what to do, but I will tell you my love to follow your instincts. They had never failed you.”

America glanced around the group with a nervous smile.

She glanced at her hands then back at you and Y/N, the words of encouragement were ringing inside her head while she tried to gather the courage to move onto the next step.

“Just think about it, kiddo.” Y/N stated grabbing the hand of her wife, America almost winced at those words because her mind had been a myriad of thoughts since they delegate the task of going back home on her.

You fixed the unconscious woman in your arms, putting her closer to you while looking over at America. The young woman closed her eyes, ready to open the portal when Wanda stopped her.

“Wait, America.” The redhead stepped closer placing her hand on America’s shoulder. “Remember, it is more than opening a portal, is about opening the right one.”

“I know, I know…it’s just…easier said than done.” America pursed her lips, she took a deep breath closing her eyes.

“Then, let yourself be guided by your emotions and what you remember of the place you want to go to.” Wanda squeezed the shoulder of the teen tenderly, and for that brief moment America felt it.

It was vague but it was there.

The same kind of energy she had felt on Wanda and Y/N, it was familiar yet different. She had felt it when she first fell upon that universe, the twins had carried with them a strange kind of energy that seemed to engulf the best of Wanda and Y/N.

America closed her eyes and, without thinking to much, she followed the familiarity of that energy. Her mind bringing over the memories of her time in that land, finally easing out her fears and trusting in the women she had surrounding her.

The young woman clenched her fist, and with a single punch she opened the star-shaped portal.

All of them were ready to go home.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

[envysnest]

Snakeskin (Sephiroth/Reader) (ch. 13/?)

AO3 / Pillowfort

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14

Tags: First Time, Reader-Insert, Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Frank Discussions of Past Rape/Abuse, Everyone is Queer, Canon-Compliant (if you squint), Pre-Crisis-Core Seph, Slow Burn, i continue to disappoint my friends and family, sephiroth is a virgin and in this essay i will, Reader is a Cis Woman, fluffy sex, Praise Kink, Gratuitous Biochemistry

Summary:

You are a young biologist, fresh out of graduate school, working in Shinra's R&D Division under Professor Hojo. You had long since given up on finding a partner and starting a family, preferring instead the company of your cell samples and your scientific instruments.

As the conflict in Wutai worsens, you strike up an unexpected friendship with a First Class SOLDIER.

(Sephiroth/Reader Slow Burn)

TW's for this chapter: Dissociation, trauma flashback, body horror/violence (related to the trauma flashbacks). Comfort and soothing comes with all of these events!

—

A door closed. You startled awake. How long had you been lying there? The water was still hot. Condensation dripped from the mirror. You looked down at your hands, where the water had wrinkled your fingertips into little raisins. When you sat up, the wine made your head spin.

Someone was in the apartment with you.

You held your breath, held very very still, and listened.

Did Sephiroth have cleaners or other people over? What if someone saw you? You looked desperately at the open bathroom door, wishing you had closed it behind you. The person (intruder, whoever they were) was humming to themselves and puttering around the main living space. You heard bags hit the floor, zippers and buckles being undone. A ghoulish image filled your head: a Turk, sent to fetch you, waiting to pounce just beyond the door. No touching, they’d say. The ethics board will be notified. 

You drew your knees to your chest; the tub water sloshed violently. 

The intruder called out your name. “Are you in the bathroom?”

Sephiroth. 

Oh. You loosened your grip on your knees. “Yes,” you called back. When would you stop being so paranoid? Sephiroth had trusted you with a key, after all; it wasn’t as if he had people coming and going freely. You had almost forgotten he was due to return home.

“Everything alright in there?”

“Yes,” you called again, for lack of anything else to say.

There was a loaded pause. You could hear his footsteps in the kitchen.

When he finally spoke, his tone was breathless with laughter:“Did you fall in?”

Please kill me. You rubbed your face with your hands. “No, Seph,” you sighed. “Just in the tub.” 

“Good,” he replied; you could still hear the laughter in his voice. “Because if I had to conduct another rescue, I would lose my mind.”

You smiled. When you relaxed your arms, you felt pain seep out of your muscles. You had been tense, holding in fear of— 

What? Sephiroth being angry with you? 

You thought back to your earlier worrying: it was so easy to disregard his feelings when the man himself wasn’t in the next room, unpacking from an arduous mission. You felt a little childish about how you had behaved the past week. He deserved so much better than your petulant attitude. It was his first…Thing. In the next room, Sephiroth began whistling. He should have an agreeable partner who didn’t think awful, mean things about him when he was away. His life was stressful enough.

With a jolt, you realized you had left the stockings in the dryer. So much for surprise: if he did his laundry, he’d see them, soft and wrinkled, in a sad little heap. You looked down at your knees, at your body tucked into a ball. 

A dark shape appeared in the door. You shrunk away from it.

“Don’t get up,” Sephiroth said, one hand outstretched to you. He looked— excited? “I have a gift for you.”

“A…?”

Sephiroth turned and disappeared into the bedroom across the hall. “I was hoping to get your opinion on it,” he called. You heard him rummage in the closet; you craned your neck to try and see him. A few boxes thunked to the floor.“I get a lot of promotional material I don’t need, but this looked interesting. I wanted us to try it together.”

You swallowed past a lump in your throat. The images your mind conjured weren’t exactly welcome. “I’m scared,” you called.

“Don’t be,” he called back. “I think you’ll like it.”

More rustling. You sank into the water to your chin. You wished the water wasn’t clear: even curled into a fetal position, Sephiroth could see all of you. So much for the surprise.

Sephiroth was gone for several minutes, rummaging through his clothes drawers. You stared at the empty wine glass. Did he look at that framed picture in the closet every time he came home? Did he speak to it?

Who was she, exactly?

When he returned, he was dressed in a loose teal shirt and navy sweatpants. The shirt’s vinyl print was faded and cracked: Livin’ on Island Time, it said, the font a cheery purple, next to a glossy margarita.

His hands were cupped around something cylindrical. 

You leaned back, away from him, but he didn’t seem to notice your hesitation. Or, for that matter, that you were naked. There was no snide comment, no leer, no raised eyebrow. You may as well have been meeting on the 64th floor. 

Sephiroth nodded to the book on the side table. “Great choice. I find Becken’s spare prose masterful, especially during the lecture hall scene.”

You had fallen asleep around twenty pages in.  “Oh.” You watched as he carefully set the wine glass, then the book, onto the bathroom’s marble counter. “Totally.”

“Let’s get this table out of the way.” He moved the wooden side table back into its nook. You didn’t understand why until he knelt next to your left arm, right where the table had been. “Here.” 

The cylindrical object was a small amber bottle, nestled in his hands. He offered it to you over the lip of the tub; you picked it up, held it up to the light. The label was from a luxury beauty brand, one you could never afford, had its logo printed across the front. You sat straight up. This bottle held around fifty-thousand gil’s worth of product, and you were naked in a bathtub. The body oil inside gave off a faint aroma through the cap: something woody, floral. 

Sephiroth crossed his arms and leaned them against the lip of the tub. “Apparently this is a warming massage oil,” he said, resting his chin on his crossed arms. “It’s supposed to be good for sore muscles.”

“Seph,” you breathed. You checked the back and scanned the ingredients. “They just…give you this? For free?”

He shrugged. “They usually want a sponsorship out of it,” he replied. “I turned this one down. But,” he said, his tone mischievous, “I don’t have to return what they give me.”

Suddenly, the cardboard boxes piled in the closet made perfect sense. You felt a pang of envy. Every paycheck you received seemed to disappear the second you got it. The tights, though in your price range, had been your “treat” for the week. An endless flow of free luxury products felt unreal, decadent. He had handed this to you as casually as a pair of chopsticks or a glass of wine.

You looked up at him, feeling unmoored. “You’re…giving it to me?”

He nodded. “Yes. It’s your gift.” He leaned his cheek against his forearm, looking up at you. “You want to try it now?”

“Yes,” you said. “Please?”

He scrunched his nose as he smiled. “‘Please,’ she says.” He gestured to you. “Go on.”

You could barely keep your hands still as you removed the cap. You broke the plastic seal and brought the bottle to your nose. A forest, tinged with citrus and juniper, filled your nostrils. It reminded you of a rainforest, somewhere far away, during a downpour: peaceful, as if you were bathing outdoors there, alone. It smelled expensive.

“Wow.” You offered the bottle to Sephiroth. “Smell!”

He took the bottle from you and inhaled. He coughed, turning his head away. 

You grimaced. “That bad?”

“That is a lot,” he wheezed, holding the bottle at arm’s length. He blinked rapidly against the fumes. “We probably don’t need much.” He turned the bottle over and scanned the instructions, rubbing the back of his neck in thought. “It says a palmful. I’m afraid to use more.”

You offered him the cap, and he set it aside on the bathroom counter, right next to the wineglass. It wasn’t until he repositioned himself behind you that you realized what he meant.

You froze, staring at the open door. “Wait. Wait wait wait. Like. Now, now?”

“Oh,” he said behind you. “I wasn’t clear. Did you want me to put it on you?” A pause. “I thought it could be…” He cleared his throat. “A nice activity.”

Those books under his bed. Your stomach sank. You were sure at least one of your therapy books had mentioned massages as a way to introduce intimacy. He must have been pent-up, and anyway, that amount of high-quality takeout wasn’t cheap. This is what you’re here for, you thought. You can’t have forgotten that already.

But you wanted to hope anyway. It was in your nature to. 

Your breath hitched when you tried to speak. “Oh,” you said, then, “Um,” then, “If you want?”

“If I want?” Sephiroth teases, and you dimly recognized that low tone, the one he used when he spoke to you in bed. You were definitely not imagining things. “What do you want?”

Affection and disgust each roiled within you, locked in a tight embrace. Did normal people feel this way when they had sex? Did normal people blow ten thousand gil on lingerie, hoping it would impress their partner into staying? 

“This,” you said. “I want this.”

He chuckled. “The lady always gets her way.”

You looked down at the water, at your body underneath the surface. Sephiroth set the bottle aside and rubbed his hands together. 

“Ready?” he asked. 

“Sure,” you said to the water. It wasn’t as if he needed to ask. Not many people did.

His palms settled on both of your shoulders. The smell of juniper and cedar wafted by your nose. When his thumbs pushed into either side of your spine, you stifled a pleased gasp: Impossible warmth trailed after his touch. He repeated the motion, digging his thumbs in deeper.

“How’s that?” he asked behind you. 

You pressed back against his hands in reply, making a soft little hum as you did.

“You’re all tight up here,” he murmured. “Do you lean down when you work?”

A few months ago, Hammond had slipped you a tiny poster for your cubicle: a shrimp in a suit and tie, hunched over a desk. No shrimping!! it said. “I’m always leaning down,” you say. The hot water, the warming oil, his careful hands digging right where you wanted them: it was all making you drowsy. He steadied his hand on your front and pressed into your shoulder with the heel of his hand, and you felt your muscle shifting for him, like your body was opening itself to his touch. (Traitor, you thought.) “I know HR has these ergonomic meetings, and they’re mandatory, but…I don’t know.”

“Take advantage.” Sephiroth switched to your other shoulder. “There’s always money for desk chairs, believe me.”

“I’m so jealous of your apartment,” you blurted. The second it left your mouth, you regretted it. How rude of you; how snippy; how petty. 

Sephiroth sighed. “It’s a wonderful space. If only I was allowed to use it more often.”

“I’m sorry, Seph,” you said. “I didn’t mean it that way, and— and here I am using your hot water— I didn’t mean—”

“Actually,” he said, and his voice was gentle, “I would argue your presence makes it a home.”

You turned around to look at him. Sephiroth’s answering smile was small. Shy. It was so different from the frozen Late Nite Midgar smile; different from the smirk he wore during fights. 

It was you: he was different around you. Reality tilted in strange ways around him, distorting and stretching into long, languid shapes, like light around a black hole. There was no surviving an event horizon; you would fall, willingly, into this one.

Sephiroth nodded towards the door. “You’re going to have to face forward if you want me to keep going.”

You turned forward. It seemed silly that he would hurt you. Or…did it? Affection and disgust again, dancing that strange tango in your brain: that odd feeling that your skin should crawl where he touched you, that confusion when all it felt like was bliss.

“Did you mind when I called you a tease?”

You started. “Huh?”

Sephiroth’s hands paused at the base of your neck. “Calling you a tease.” He shifted his hand behind you and went still, like he was considering something. After a pause, he made a v with his knuckles and pushed down on either side of your first vertebrae. You sighed into his touch. He asked, “Was that going too far?”

You turned around to face him again. The bath water sloshed around you. “What, like…yesterday?”

“Yes,” he said, his eyes downcast. His ears were pink. “The message I sent.”

You couldn’t imagine the man from your screen getting up, going home, and looking up how to have sex. “I…no. It was nice.”

His face brightened, and heaven help you, you were incredibly fond of him. “You liked it?” he asked.

“You’re still learning all this stuff,” you said as you turned forward. “I should be asking you.”

“I never considered that,” Sephiroth replied, and you could hear his smile. “I only think of pleasing you.”

You smiled at the doorway. “Goes both ways,” you murmured. “Don’t feel pressured. Okay?”

“You’re too kind,” he said. One hand pressed against your sternum. “Lie back. I’ll get your arms.” His hands moved to your left bicep, thumbs pressing in and pushing upwards towards your shoulder. You leaned back against the tub, staring up at the ceiling.

When the silence became too much, you turned your head to look at him. “How was your week?”

Sephiroth growled at your arm.

You smiled. “That bad?”

“That bad.” He focused on your left hand, rubbing tender circles into your palm. 

“Want to complain?”

“Do I ever. Let’s see…” He turned your hand over and began massaging your arm again. “I thought of you during a morning intelligence briefing. Most of it could've been an e-mail. I wanted to message you about it."

“Why didn't you?"

“I couldn't let everyone see me on my phone. You’d be surprised at what affects morale.” He smiled, looking away from the tub entirely. “It was hard to stay away."

You sat up. “Seph," you breathed. His ears flushed that sweet, particular scarlet you adored, the shade of ripe fruit. “That's so sweet of you."

That made him meet your eye again. He smiled at you, scrunched his nose. “You would have made the time pass faster,” he said, and this time, he sounded more confident. 

You look down at where he took your hand in both of his. The oil was a bronze color, so stark against his milky-white palms. “I don't-- know what to say."

“You don't need to say anything. Compliments are free.” 

You opened your fingers and let them linger over Sephiroth's open palm, whispered them over that calloused skin, those veins like purple ink. His breath caught; his eyes met yours. Watching you closely, he stroked the tender underside of your wrist, just the pads of his index and middle fingers against your pulse. You shivered; his head tilted in gentle curiosity. You got that small feeling again, the good one, the one that made you feel like porcelain. You, something priceless; him, the faithful admirer. Remembering last weekend, you thought he might want to feel it the other way around.

You leaned towards him, holding the edge of the tub for balance. “Let me compliment you back, at least.” 

Sephiroth’s face shuttered. He suddenly looked exhausted as he pushed your hand back to you. “Please don’t.”

“What?" You didn’t like that: how quickly he shut down, how his eyes traveled down to rest on the bathmat below. You withdrew your hand from the tub's edge. “What's wrong with that?"

“’Sephiroth, the war hero.’” He did a sarcastic little sparkle with his hands. “’The great and mighty SOLDIER, defender of the free world. Come see what shaving cream he uses.'"

“What about…” You lied back and looked up at the ceiling. “The things that only I would know? Or that your friends would know?”

He wordlessly gestured for your right arm. You turned around to face the glass shower and offered it over the lid of the tub. Sephiroth took your hand, but he still wouldn’t look at you, preferring instead to stare at his thumbs as they worked over your palm. The oil left gentle heat wherever it touched. Silence fell again, and you looked ahead, at the shower. You watched a droplet creep down over the glass wall. It eventually joined with another droplet further down, and the two continued their quest towards the tile as one.

Sephiroth huffed, and you looked to him. “I…” He worried his bottom lip in his teeth. “I’m not really a compliments person.”

You waited for him to follow up on that. He didn’t.

“Can I…at least try?" You held up your free hand in surrender. “Unless you wouldn't want that?"

Sephiroth looked up at you, and for a moment, you thought he might be game, until—

“Tell me about your week, instead,” he said, and his smile was a little absent. “Anything exciting?”

You remembered the baying, jeering crowd at Late Nite Midgar, how Sephiroth had looked lost until someone put Masamune in his hand again. 

“Besides Hojo?” you asked.

Sephiroth rolled his eyes dramatically. There it was, he was back from wherever he had run away to. “You must be excited for your presentation.”

“I think we have good data.” You trailed your fingers over Sephiroth’s arm. Goosebumps raised on his skin. “But speaking in front of that huge conference room? Kinda makes me wanna throw up.”

“Tell me about the data you have. Practice your presentation with me.”

You bristled. “Well, I don’t exactly have it right now.”

He shrugged, but you caught the quirk of his lips when he did. “Just talk to me about it.”

You thought for a moment. “There’s sugar in mako, or something like it, I think. A sugar,” you added, “not, like, sugar for coffee or tea. It…how do I explain this…”

Sephiroth studied your face. To your relief, he looked content, almost peaceful. “Go on.”

“It…binds glucose— sugar receptors on the liver cells. We think, anyway. There’s high blood glucose after dosing, too. Still have some follow-ups in mind, but I don’t even know what the liver does with it. It’s not like mako poisoning causes weight gain. If anything, it’s—”

“The opposite.” Sephiroth wrapped his hand around your bicep. You tried not to think about how easily he could shatter it, and then failed. 

You closed your eyes and turned away, away from where he was coaxing his hand up towards your shoulder. “Right. And mako is an appetite suppressant, isn’t it? Maybe it’s binding GLUT1 competitively. Or it’s messing with insulin output?” You hugged your knees with your free arm. “I don’t know. I’d have to ask Yun’s team if they’ve seen evidence of diabetic shock in test subjects. I’m not sure if the body would be able to pull up glucose from food if there was a polysaccharide in the way.” You hesitated. “Did you…get any of that?”

Sephiroth smiled and nodded. “Mm-hmm. Every word.”

You laughed, and then you remembered Friday afternoon. “Oh!” you exclaimed, trying to sound casual. “Off-topic, but I-- I saw the strangest thing. Maybe you’d know something? Genesis looked like he took a bad hit to the face.”

His hands stilled. Sephiroth gave you an odd look. “You saw Genesis hurt?”

“His nose was broken.” You gestured to your own nose with a cupped hand. “Do you know why?”

“I do.”

“What was it?”

Sephiroth’s answer was swift and casual, as if he was describing the weather:

“It was me.”

There was a high-pitched ringing in your ears. You licked your lips, but they felt painfully dry. “Why?” was all you managed.

He sighed heavily beside you. His hand lingered on your shoulder. You imagined him shoving your head down under the water, how the water would burn your sinuses as it rushed into your waiting lungs. 

Would you fight back? Would you splash water on the tile floor?

“We had a fight,” Sephiroth said carefully, “and he said something…unkind.” His voice was tense: you could hear him tip-toeing around the truth, and this frightened you even more. “I lost my temper. The next thing I remember was seeing him turned away from me.” Sephiroth’s hand left your shoulder. “I regretted it immediately,” he continued. “We haven’t spoken since.” He hesitated. “You say he was still injured?”

You stared straight ahead. “What did he say to you?”

“I’d rather not repeat it.” There was pain in his voice. “Please, when you say he was—”

“It was broken.” Your voice was hoarse. “He had a black eye.”

“I know, but when?”

“It was yesterday—no, sorry, Friday—”

“Still?” 

Still. That word made a bell ring faintly in your mind. Genesis belonged to Hollander’s team, and it was no secret that Hollander and Hojo didn’t get along. Nevertheless, Hollander’s SOLDIERs couldn’t, somehow, be more fragile than Hojo’s. At the very least, Hojo’s SOLDIERs healed quickly. Didn’t they both report to Lazard? And if that was the case…

“When did you fight?” you asked.

“Monday. Sometime in the afternoon.”

Sephiroth hit a First hard enough to bruise for five days straight.

Suddenly, you wanted nothing more than for him to stop touching you. 

Your eyes darted around the bathroom. Sephiroth asked something, but it was muffled, as if coming from far away. You had the odd sensation of floating, face-down, in the tub. He asked something again. You blinked at your knees. You thought of the studio audience laughing, Genesis’s pained glare as he stalked past you on Friday afternoon, the painted skull on the poster Sephiroth’s face. You thought of Angeal crying out in silence on your muted laptop.

When you came to, you were standing. Sephiroth was wrapping something warm and soft around you: a bathrobe, one far too long and baggy for you. Your skin was already dry. You looked back at the bathtub, but it was empty.

“The water was getting cold,” Sephiroth said. He was focused on tying the belt around your waist. From this angle, his long bangs whispered against your shoulders. “I didn’t want you getting sick on my account.”

“Wouldn’t want to waste my PTO,” you said. 

His eyes flicked up to yours. His expression was unreadable. “Come on.” He put a hand on your lower back. “Let’s get you out of this bathroom.”

He ushered you across the hall. You walked with him, or you’re sure you did, because when you blinked again, you were standing in front of the bed. Sephiroth’s arms snuck around your waist and undid the robe’s belt. As the robe slid down, Sephiroth bent forward and kissed the exposed skin of your shoulders: first left, then right. You shivered. He smiled against the crook of your neck. You could only think about how odd his mouth felt on your neck. You thought of the party again, of that boy’s cold and clammy lips on your skin. Sephiroth’s mouth felt the same way. The robe fell to the floor.

“Still with me?” he asked, his voice a low purr next to your left ear.

“Yes,” you lied.

“Good.” Sephiroth loosened your hair, ran his hands gently through it. You were sure it was lying awkwardly against your scalp now, but all you could think about were those large, warm, friendly hands meeting bone and cartilage. 

“Okay,” he said. “Stay still.”

He took your head between both of his palms and gently turned it to one side. You saw your frightened face in the bedroom’s full-length mirror. Your naked body looked pathetic next to his clothed one. Sephiroth wasn’t looking in the mirror, focused as he was on you. You met your own terrified eyes.

An image, clear as day, surfaced in your mind: Sephiroth twisting your neck with a sickening crack, leaving your skull hanging limply to one side—

“No!” you shouted, and your body moved. His hands left you: you weren’t sure if you pushed them away, or if he had taken them off of you.

You felt your own face in your hands, as if to confirm your skull was still there. The image wouldn’t leave your mind, and you wrung your hands, as if to flick it away from you. You stumbled to the bed and leaned over it, panting. 

It was a long time before you were able to stand up straight. You looked behind you, back at Sephiroth.

He blinked down at you. His hands were still in mid-air, his entire body stiff and unmoving. He looked lost. Regret burned in your chest. 

His voice was soft. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no—“ He had done nothing wrong. You sat down on the edge of the bed, crossing your arms over your bare chest. “I just…” You shook your head and hunched over, further hiding your body from his view. 

“Your neck seemed tight,” he offered. “I wanted to help—“

“Sorry,” you said, and you winced at how harsh your voice sounded. You purposely softened it. “I…I didn’t…” 

You trailed off. The impulse seemed stupid, now. Of course he wouldn’t break your neck. Of course he would be tender with you. Hadn’t his hands felt good earlier? He kept trying to initiate, and you wouldn’t let him. The room was spinning; you pressed your hands to your face.

He touched your shoulder. “I won’t touch you like that again,” he said, petting your skin tenderly. You despised it. “Would you prefer to lie down?”

That conjured a worse image. You shrugged off his touch. “No.”

The room was silent.

“I’m confused,” he said. “Would you like me to go into the other room?”

You shook your head. “No, it’ll…it’ll pass. Please, just…” You massaged your temples. “Give me a second?”

“This is about Genesis, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Pain arced through your chest, like lightning burning a tree from the inside-out. You weren’t sure what your outburst was about, other than your body betraying you for the umpteenth time. “I don’t…I’m not sure.”

Something rustled at your feet. Sephiroth’s hands appeared in your vision, offering you the crumpled bathrobe. You took it from him, but you made no move to put it on. Instead, it sat in your lap, all balled up like you had been in the tub. You worried at a loose thread. How much had this cost? Or was this free, too?

“Why don’t I get you a glass of water?” Sephiroth asked.

“Okay,” you said to the robe.

You watched, blankly, as Sephiroth straightened up and walked for the door. You looked down at the robe again.

“It’s stupid,” you said to the floor, to your bare feet on the carpet.

“What is?”

“I thought…” You pressed your thumbs to your eyes until you saw stars. You shouldn’t have said anything. “I thought….s-something…bad was gonna happen.”

“Why?”

You opened your eyes again. Sephiroth was halfway out of the room, lingering in the doorway: just turned to you, as if you had caught him mid-action. He rested his hand on the doorframe.

You sighed. “I saw…” You threw your hands up. “Seph, it really is stupid.”

His expression was tender, expectant. “No it isn’t.” He gestured at you. “Go ahead.”

“Do you…?” You had to get this out; he wasn’t going to let it go. It felt like you were at the front of the classroom, being mocked by the teacher for passing notes. “Okay.” You took a deep breath. “Do you remember…those, um, those…?” You snapped your fingers. “What are they called.”

Sephiroth smiled. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Ugh. Like those…s-stupid promo…videos or whatever.”

He inclined his head. “You’re…” He laughed and shook his head. “Going to have to be more specific.”

“The promo one! Where you and Angeal fought!” you blurted. “From ’96.”

“Which one?”

Which one? How many of these awful videos were there? Sephiroth driving his sword into Angeal, the blood in the grass, ad infinitum, on thousands of blurry screens. “The one where you, like.” You mimed stabbing someone at your feet.

He tapped his finger against the doorframe as he thought. “Ah,” he said finally, face brightening in that way you thought you were fond of. “Yes, that was a good fight.” He turned to face you, jamming his hands in his pant pockets. “Why do you ask?”

Nausea turned your stomach at how calm, even eager, he looked to discuss it. You dug your fingers into the comforter. “I, um…it. It came up in my recommended videos and I…it…”

He inclined his head towards you, silently urging you on.

“Scared me,” you whispered.

He startled. “Scared you? What about it scared you?”

“Like…just—“ You stared at the carpet. “With Genesis, and— and the— videos— I thought what if I make him mad and—“ You covered your face. “And when you held my head I was like he could just—“

You had his full attention now. You waved at him. “Seph, it was…” You sighed and put your face in your hands. “I told you,” you muttered. “Stupid.”

“Did you think I would hurt you?” he said, and his voice was small. Afraid. You never wanted him to sound like that again. You shouldn’t have said anything.

“Yes,” you sighed into your hands. “I’m sorry.”

You felt the bed dip: he had crossed the room to sit next to you. “May I hold you?”

This, you could do. You could always let him hold you.

You wanted him to.

You wordlessly turned and pressed your forehead to his shirt. He folded you into his arms, leaning over you: his warmth, his body, everything that made you feel safe and familiar and loved. Though the angle was awkward (and immediately undid his hard work back in the tub), you felt blessed relief. His hair, soft and familiar, draped over your shoulders, whispered past your cheek.

You felt, rather than heard, his voice: “I will never do that to you.”

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” you whispered into his shirt. He rubbed soothing circles into your back.

“No, it—“ He sighed with exasperation. “I thought you had seen those.”

“I’ve only been here for nine months,” you said into his chest. “I just don’t really pay attention to that sort of thing.”

“Oh?” he said. “That must be why you’re so normal.”

“Shinra only hires you if you’re nuts.” You pressed your ear to his shirt, just to hear the steady thmp-thmp of his heartbeat again. “It— it was in my hiring packet, at least.”

“I must have missed that clause. Here.” He released you and gestured to the robe. “You’re going to catch cold. Seriously. Put something on.”

You twisted your mouth. “Thought you wanted me undressed,” you mumbled.

Sephiroth suddenly laughed, full-throated and loud. You jumped. “Maybe later,” he said above you. “But not now. I’m starving.”

The food. “Oh!” you said, looking up at him. “I still owe you. I— I left most of it—” You pinched your index and thumb together. “I tried to eat, like, just a little of everything—”

He bumped shoulders with you before standing. “I told you,” he said, his voice trailing off as he stretched. You heard his joints crack. “A detailed review is payment enough.”

You stood up to dress, but Sephiroth was halfway out the door again. “Come on,” you said to his retreating back. “Let me throw you a couple thousand gil. Please?”

“It was a gift.” He disappeared into the kitchen beyond. “Did you eat yet?” he called.

You shifted from foot to foot. Before you could catch yourself, you looked towards the full-length mirror again, at your reflection. You had to roll up the sleeves of the robe to cross your arms properly. The old temptation to lie caught on your tongue in this place: you could say you were stuffed, really, you were. You could lure him back to bed and let him do what he wanted with you, as if letting him inside of you would make your brain stop screaming for help. At the very least, those cold, clammy kisses on your shoulder had made everything go completely still.

“No,” you said to your reflection. “I’m starving.”

“Then come out here and join me already.”

“In...this robe?”

Sephiroth laughed. The noise carried across the kitchen tile. “Yes, in your robe. There’s no dress code here.” He was rummaging around and fussing already. “We’ve done worse on these counters.”

You felt embarrassed at the memory, but that feeling of safety flared in you again. You looked down at yourself, making sure the robe was secured around your waist. After some hesitation, you pressed the bathrobe to your nose and inhaled deeply. The fluffy, baby-soft terry fabric smelled like him.

You shuffled out into the hall beyond. Sephiroth leaned against his kitchen counter, staring in concern at his phone. He chewed his bottom lip.

“Seph?” you asked.

He looked up at you, and there was something stern, even dire, in his face. You held your breath. What could you have done to anger him? Was something wrong?

“I’ve invoiced you for your share of the bill,” he said, voice grave. “You had better check your phone.”

“Oh.” You pat the robe’s pockets, but they were empty. “Shit.” You cast around for your phone; it was on the countertop, still plugged into your charger. “Let me—” There was a new notification from the Shinra messaging app sitting at the top of your home screen. “I think I get paid next week—”

“I don’t mind waiting,” Sephiroth said, still entirely serious, and you read the notification:

ShinPay User s1979 has requested 1 gil!

You groaned. Sephiroth threw back his head and laughed.

“Really?” You slumped into one of the bar chairs as he wiped tears from his eyes. “Really? You could have just told me to get you next time.”

He smirked and pushed himself up off the counter. “Ah,” he said, still watching you as he opened the fridge, “but then you’d never listen to me.” 

“Is everyone using ShinPay now?” You dismissed the notification. After a moment, you silenced your phone, too, and you put it face-down on the countertop for good measure. “Am I getting old?”

“Every minute. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.” Sephiroth placed each takeout container on the counter. “I feel myself age every time my infantry shows me some new cat video.”

You leaned your cheek against the heel of your hand. “Just cat videos, specifically?”

“Some of them just aren’t funny,” he said to the fridge, and his tone was so petulant you laughed.

“Every time the new semester started at GU, I felt, like, a million years old.” You watched him heap noodles and rice onto clean plates. “It was like a nightmare where I just aged and aged, and everyone just kept getting younger around me.”

“I could use you in my company. Some of this slang is just…” Sephiroth shook his head as he placed a plate in the microwave.

“I know, but do you really want to talk like your cadets?”

Sephiroth gave you a desperate look, nose wrinkling with horror and disgust as he did so, and you giggled. 

He turned back to the microwave. “I’ve got hot pepper somewhere,” he said to it, almost thoughtfully.  “I ought to pile it on your food.”

The microwave chimed, and Sephiroth switched the plates. You crossed your arms against the countertop. “And what if I liked spicy food?”

Sephiroth handed you the plate he had just heated; the ceramic was white-hot under your hands. He gave you that affectionate smirk again. “Then I’ll make sure I’ve got hot pepper available.”

He had given you far too much food, as always: curry sauce dribbled into the fried rice, chicken mingled with shrimp. The food hissed and popped from the microwave. The abundance of it touched you, just as much as the bath, and the massage oil, and the tender hug, and the words of encouragement.

When he sat next to you with his own plate, you nudged his calf with your foot. He raised his eyebrows as he looked down at you.

“Thanks, Seph.” 

He seemed to know you weren’t talking about the food. His eyes softened, and he leaned in to kiss your forehead. This time, his mouth was just as warm and soft as you remembered.

“Don’t mention it,” he said against your skin. “I’m here for you.”

—

You watched from the living room as Sephiroth loaded the dishwasher. When he straightened up and dried his hands off on his sweatpants, you spoke up again. “Come back to bed?”

He looked at you as if he had forgotten you were there. “Are you sure?”

If anything, he looked more unsure than you did. “Just to cuddle,” you said, and you looked down and away. You fiddled with the bathrobe. “I’ll…put on my pajamas and come sit with you.”

“I can do that,” he said softly. “The bed or the couch? We can always watch a movie.”

Your reply was immediate. “Bed.” You added, “It’s so much bigger than mine at home.”

He smiled at you from under his lashes and nodded towards the bedroom. “Plenty of time to enjoy it before you go tomorrow.”

—

Once you were dressed again, you brought the robe back into the bathroom and hung it up. Sephiroth was waiting for you in bed, lying on his side. He had taken his shirt off. You instinctively reared back, until you saw the waistband of his sweatpants, just peeking out from under the comforter. 

He lifted the sheets next to him in invitation. Yes, he was wearing his sweatpants still: he wasn't going to force you. “Come here.”

You crawled into bed next to him, snuggled close under the covers. Sephiroth held you tightly to his chest, letting out a satisfied sigh. He was all warmth and solid muscle and pale skin. You nuzzled gratefully into his collarbone. He bowed his head, pressed his nose to your hair and breathed in deep.

“So…” you started.

“So.”

“What’s with the voices you do?”

Sephiroth’s rumbling voice reverberated against your cheek: “The ones telling you to quit your job and kill your boss?”

You rolled your eyes. “Never mind.”

“No, no.” A gentle hand stroked through your hair. “Enlighten me. What voices?”

“You do these…” You looked down at your nails. Your cuticles, normally dry and cracking, were so much softer. The massage oil had likely softened your skin. “The impression of Hojo, I mean. You did it so well.”

Sephiroth’s hand paused, and he laughed. “What do you mean?” You felt him shift to look down at you. “You only heard the one voice.”

“You can do more?”

He shrugged. “Just about anyone you can think of,” he replied. 

You traced the length of his side with your eyes. “How? How do you do it, I mean.”

He rolled over to lie on his back, one arm still wrapped around your shoulders, as if he was reluctant to let you go. You rested your cheek against his pectoral muscle and looked out the window with him. It was still pouring outside, the rain hitting the window in irregular tap-tap-taps.

Finally, he shook his head. “It just comes out of me. I’m not sure why. The lab assistants…” He laughed, covered his face. “They used to scream at me for it. Said it was unnatural. I think someone tried to get it banned.” 

You looked up at him. “It’s a little uncanny. It sounds like the person’s inside of you, shouting up.” You clutched at your throat and pointed at the ceiling to demonstrate. “Like, out of your mouth.” 

Sephiroth wrinkled his nose as he returned his arm to your shoulders. “Oh, god,” he said. “I certainly hope not.”

“Really?” With a fingertip, you drew aimless shapes on his chest. "You can imitate anyone?”

“Sure. Try me.”

“I’m…scared to ask what I sound like.”

Sephiroth’s face contorted with embarrassment. “Oh,” he said. “I’ve never tried.” He looked out of the window again. “I don’t wish to offend you.”

“That bad?”

“Of course not. But…” He laughed, tilted his head this way and that. “I learned that people aren’t…appreciative of it, let’s say.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Did someone get mad at you for it?”

“Of course.” He scratched the bridge of his nose. “There was a bigger guy named Samuel in my troop fifteen years ago. He used to annoy me. Such a big, brutish kid. Always cruel. We were waiting our turn to run a simulation. He jumped the line and pushed me against the wall.” 

Sephiroth’s voice changed into a brutish, unfamiliar growl: “Watch it, freak.” 

You could picture Samuel perfectly: a shaved head, broad shoulders, a pathetic, wispy mustache highlighting a permanent scowl. “And what did you do?”

Sephiroth let his head fall back against the pillow. “I said it back to him, just like that, and he knocked me out.” He smiled and looked at you out of the corner of his eye. “It was worth it to hear everyone laugh.”

Your eyes widened. You sat up. “You got concussed?”

Sephiroth shrugged. “I was fine. I was a smaller kid, so that hit laid me flat.” He rolled onto his right side, towards you, and propped himself up on his elbow. “I was more disappointed about missing the exercise.”

You rested your head on your pillow. Everything Sephiroth said opened more questions. You wanted, so badly, to ask about his training. You wanted to hear how young he was when Shinra pushed him onto the field. His eyes traveled over your face as you watched each other.

“Can you do Angeal?” you asked.

“Oh, please.” He smirked and took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was replaced by Angeal’s: “I get that we could save an hour by taking a taxi, but I would prefer we walk. It’s a nice day outside, and we could use the exercise. Cabs are so expensive these days.”

You clutched at your hair in exaggerated surprise. “What?! Seph. How?!”

Sephiroth laughed. “Here, you want Genesis?” Another deep breath, and this time, Genesis’s voice left his mouth: “Loveless, Act Fifteen, Verse 3: And should the sun rise again on another morrow.” Sephiroth raised his arm to the ceiling, eyes turning upwards in a perfect impression of fine art. “You will hear me recite this again, from the beginning.” 

You giggled. Sephiroth grinned at you as he lowered his arm. You choked out, “You are so…so mean!”

“Believe me, they hate it.” 

You slapped his chest playfully. “You have to do me. Come on.”

He suddenly withdrew his arm. He rolled over and pulled the comforter up over his body, leaving you partially exposed to the air. “Good night,” he mumbled.

“Don’t ignore me!” You shook his shoulder. “Please? I won’t be mad.”

He yanked the comforter over his head. “I can’t hear you. I’m asleep.”

“Pretty please?” You draped yourself over his body. “Pleeeease?” Hanging upside-down over his head, you tugged the edge of the comforter away from his face; his glowing eyes peered back at you in the dark. “I won’t be mad,” you said to them. “I promise I won’t.”

“Someone’s persistent.” His voice was muffled by the fabric.

“It’s not super mean, is it?”

Sephiroth shifted under you, and you rolled off of him as he sat up again. “For you?” He shook his head as he rearranged the pillows under him and leaned back. “Never.”

You laid back down on top of him. His fingers traced the curve of your cheeks with a painful fondness. You’d never get tired of his unnatural warmth, especially when the rain outside poured so heavily. You thought, again, of your steam heater, of the bloody nose you got on Monday, while you slept. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you impossibly closer to him; you draped one leg over his. Sephiroth made a little noise at your cool feet pressing against his legs, right where the sweatpant cuffs had ruched up to expose more skin. 

You gave him what you thought was your best hopeful look. He stared at you for a moment, took a deep breath-- 

“Fine,” he sighed. He ran his hand through his hair, then beckoned to you. “Give me something to say.”

You...hadn’t thought that far ahead. You cast around the room; the textbook was still sitting next to the leather armchair. “Maybe my research?” you asked.

“Doesn’t have to be your research.” He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “You could even describe the weather.”

“I feel like…” You rubbed the back of your neck. “My research will give you more material?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you’d like. Try me.” He rested his hand against his belly, so near to your shoulders.

“Let me do…the elevator pitch? How’s that?” Tried-and-true: you could recite your research proposal in your sleep.

Sephiroth smiled and raised his eyebrows at you. When you didn’t speak immediately, he nodded encouragingly: Go on.

“So…” You tried to speak slowly. “My team focuses on mako and its influence on cell growth and repair. Previous studies have isolated the protein MAT-beta in the liver, which manages oxidative—”

Sephiroth’s eyebrows furrowed. “A little slower?”

You smiled back. Just like you to rush, anyway. “Sorry. Okay.” You took in a deep breath and tried to enunciate each word. “My team studies the influence of mako on cell growth and repair. Keep going?”

“My team—” The voice was too high, too clear: a SOLDIER’s command. He cleared his throat. “No. Wait a second.” He tried again, and his next attempt was still strange to your ears: “My team studies the—” He tilted his head and beckoned again. “One more time, please?”

“My team studies the influence of—”

“My team studies the influence of—”

“—mako on cell growth and repair.”

As he repeated each phrase, his voice shifted, croaked, stretched. You heard many different people, none of them you, but each, conceivably, somewhere between your timbre and Sephiroth’s. “My team—” A shift, a minute crack in his voice. “—studies—” Another shift, this one lower. “—the influence—” 

And finally: “My team studies the influence of mako on cell growth and repair.” A perfect mirror, like listening back to an old video of yourself. Uncanny.

Your eyes widened, and you drew back from him. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Sephiroth said back, in your voice. “Is that, like, a good ‘oh’? Or…I’m sorry.” He waved a hand. “Just forget I said anything.”

And despite the uncanniness, you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. It was so him to remember how you spoke. You remembered, again, that he had been thinking of you during his mission.

“Ugh!” you said, playfully wrinkling your nose at him. “I really sound like that?”

He lifted his head from the pillow with wide, disbelieving eyes. “You asked!” he laughed.

“No! It’s amazing! You have a missed calling as an actor, Seph.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was no heat behind it— not when he was still smiling at you like that. “The public outcry to my Sector One Live performance says otherwise.”

Of all the videos you had watched, that one had somehow eluded you. “When were you on Sector One Live?”

“A few months ago.” His hand drifted across the comforter, towards your hands: slow, tentative.“You would have thought I destroyed the set. Reena wouldn’t stop reading reviews to me—” He closed his eyes. “Look at me, assuming you know everything. I meant my publicist, Reena.”

“What did you do about it?”

His hand inched incrementally closer. “Nothing I could do,” Sephiroth replied. He looked up at the ceiling. “So…I never did it again.”

You reached out and took his hand in both of yours. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“Seph?”

He didn’t open his eyes. “Yeah?”

You drifted your fingers across the back of his hand. “In some of the interviews I saw, you didn’t…look…very happy.”

The jovial environment between you evaporated. Sephiroth turned his head away from you and stared out of the window again. You could see the two of you reflected there: faint shadows against the driving rain. His mouth twitched.

“Did you want to do them?” you whispered.

Sephiroth’s mouth twitched again. He removed his arm from your shoulders, let go of your hand.

He rose. “Let me close those curtains,” he said. Hesitating on the edge of the bed, he added, “The windows are mirrored, but…you know.” He flashed you a smile over his shoulder, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes. “No free shows.”

“No free shows,” you repeated. “Right.”

As Sephiroth crossed the room, you looked away from him, to the half-open closet doors. Hidden inside was that strange photo. You played with the comforter between your fingers. It would be inappropriate to ask about it now, not when Sephiroth seemed to retreat back into some dark, quiet place, hiding from you. The curtains squealed as he pulled them shut.

For a long time, Sephiroth stood there at the window, clutching the curtains hard in both hands. He turned his head, just enough for you to see his quiet expression. He was looking at the ground, at a precarious stack of books near the leather armchair.

“I thought I followed instructions,” he said, as if to himself. “How am I meant to behave when everyone’s looking at me like that?”

“For what it’s worth,” you offered, “You make me laugh.”

A pause.

Sephiroth turned back to you. “Probably time for me to turn in.” He was wearing that absent smile again. “You’re welcome to join me, but if not, I have a reading lamp you can use.”

You glanced towards his alarm clock, and—

“It’s ten already?” you asked. “Shit.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.” 

You had forgotten that he had just come straight from work, straight into your arms, straight into a—

A panic attack.

“Oh, Seph.” You backed away from his side of the bed and winced. “You had such a long day. ‘M sorry.” 

The absent smile turned wry. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

You had the urge to hold him close, to cradle his head against your chest, as you had done the week before. You opened your mouth—

“Ah.” He snapped his fingers. “Laundry.” He gave you an exasperated look, touching his forehead briefly. “I almost forgot. I must finally be losing it.”

It all came back in a rush: the tights were still in the dryer. You sat up in bed. “Wait,” you said, “I still—” 

But Sephiroth was already halfway out of the room. You swung your legs over the edge of the mattress. Your voice was a weak, half-hearted bleat: “I have stuff in there—”

“I’ve got it,” he said gently. “I’ll put them in your bag.”

Your feet hadn’t even touched the carpet before he was gone. You heaved a sigh and crawled back under the covers. There was some jealous part of you that hated how Sephiroth got to surprise you first. You hadn’t been able to return the favor. 

The moment the thought hit you, you recoiled with disgust. What were you doing? Why did you think of him this way? What prompted this ugly, impulsive side in you?

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, let the smell of his apartment wash over you. He was safe. He was being kind. You appreciated everything he had done. You would surely pay him back eventually. You could buy some other surprise for him. You repeated the thoughts to yourself, over and over: he’s safe he’s kind you’re safe you can pay him back later he’s safe he’s—

“Oh,” sighed Sephiroth from the kitchen. “What a shame.”

You sat up again. “What? What’s wrong?”

The rustle of fabric. “I think the dryer ate your clothes.”

Dread sunk its claws into your belly. It looked like you would have to buy something else for him. “Oh, no.”

“I’ll show you.” Footsteps, and then Sephiroth appeared in the doorway.

And—

He was holding the tights. They were intact.

Oh, no.

To your mortification, Sephiroth held out the tights for you to inspect. “These seem ripped,” he said sadly. “I’m afraid the dryer isn’t the most—”

“Seph, no,” you blurted. “They came like that.”

He blinked and looked down at the tights. “Oh.”

And then, as you watched, his eyes went wide. A blush started at the tips of his ears and crept down his neck, under the collar of his shirt. He looked up at you. He cleared his throat.

“Oh,” he said.

Whatever reaction you expected, it wasn’t that one. You wrung your hands in your lap. “Yeah, it was…supposed to be a nice surprise.”

Sephiroth bunched the tights against his chest. His mouth had a funny turn to it, and it wasn’t until you saw his deerlike, stricken expression, how he stared just past your left ear instead of meeting your eye, that you realized it wasn’t disgust, or even just embarrassment. 

It was want: boyish, mortified desire, something vulnerable and desperate. Like you were special. 

The urge to hold him close hit you all over again. You couldn’t let anyone else have him. You couldn’t. The Silver Elite would destroy him; they would tear him to pieces, like ravenous animals. Any other man who had touched him hadn’t appreciated this tenderness, else they’d become just like you: a possessive little creature, completely and utterly his.

You smiled gently at him; his eyes fell to the tights. You took a deep breath. “I…take it you like them?”

His voice came out in a breathless rush: “I’m cursing Heidegger’s entire department right now.”

“Sorry you couldn’t see them in action.”

Sephiroth turned his head away from you, hiding his face. He cleared his throat. “You’ll have to wear them next time.” His voice cracked on wear them.

Go to next chapter >>>

[roosterr]

guardian angel ✹ ch 2

note: hello hello, I'm back again with more nikolai! I hope yall enjoy the continuation of this story, since I wasn't really planning on it when I wrote the first part and honestly i'm not sure how to feel about it lol anyways ENJOY!!

pairing: nikolai x gn!reader

word count: 3.1k

no use of y/n, no description of reader

I've retroactively given reader the callsign 'kilo 0-9' bc just referring to them as sergeant all the time felt a bit weird lol.

summary: the culmination of your efforts from your last mission leave a lot to be desired, but you're prepared to do whatever it takes to get your objective done.

warnings: canon-typical violence, fluff, soft nik, english speakers attempt at russian,

ao3

[one] || [three]

the night is quiet, calm – a rare moment of peace in the chaos that appears to be your life. the night air is cool, a welcome contrast to how sweltering the day had been; no matter how much time you spend here, it seems you'll never truly get used to the urzikstanian sun. it's the early hours of the morning now, the sun would be rising soon which meant you'd be back to work in a few short hours.

as you gaze up into the starry abyss, your mind in the clouds, you fail to notice the sound of footsteps approaching from behind you. a presence in the corner of your eye startles you back to reality, snapping your head to face them as your heartbeat picks up.

with a small sigh of relief, you realise it's nikolai, sitting down beside you and mirroring the way you're leaning back against the low wall behind you. he regards you with an easy smile, and now your heart is racing for an entirely different reason.

"i didn't mean to scare you, милая." he chuckles, stretching one leg out and resting his elbow on his knee. there's so little space between you, you can feel the warmth radiating from him, and it takes a great deal of restraint to stop yourself from shuffling any closer.

"it's alright, i was just spacing out." you smile back, feeling the tension leaving your body at the sound of his voice. it's almost unnerving how quickly he's managed to worm his way into your heart, but it's been so long since you've felt such a connection with another person that you can't bring yourself to be bothered by it.

"why are you out here so late? other than to admire the view, of course," he says, gesturing to the sky above you. a moment passes as you watch the stars, appreciating the calmness of the night.

truthfully, this mission had you at your wits end, you could practically feel the grey hairs sprouting from your head with the amount of stress this was causing you. but it was almost over – you just had to push through the home stretch, and then you could finally rest.

"i just couldn't sleep." you murmur. looking back over to nik, you're surprised to find him already looking at you, an incredibly soft look on his face. "what brings you out here?"

"admiring the view." he says, holding your gaze. in an instant your face is on fire, the cold of the night long forgotten.

"stop it…" you mumble with a smile pulling at your lips. you place your hands on your burning cheeks, turning your head to look at the ground in front of you as you attempt to calm your heart.

there's another moment of silence between you, a comfortable break in the conversation where you simply bask in each others presence. it had been a long time since you'd felt like this with someone; with most people, you feel the need to fill the silence, to keep talking or they'll get bored of you, but not with nik.

"something on your mind, милая?" he nudges your foot with his own, bringing you out of your thoughts.

"it's nothing, just had a long week is all…"

"дорогая," he tuts, grasping your hand that rests in your lap to bring your attention back to him. you meet his eyes again as he continues, "you're not fooling me."

a weak sigh escapes you, "everything's just… a lot, right now." you admit, you gaze dropping to where your fingers are interlocked.

"i understand," he lets go of your hand, bringing his arm up around your shoulders and pulling you closer to lean against him. "i will always be willing to listen, if you need to talk."

"thanks, nik," you give him a warm smile, and lean your head against his chest. "i appreciate it."

"of course, милая."

✹✹✹

"if this deal goes through, there's no telling what kind of damage they'll do, how many innocent people will be hurt." farah has a serious glint in her eyes as she speaks, her hands planted firmly on the table where she stands at the head of it. you nod your agreement, sliding the map you'd drawn out closer to her.

"according my intel, our target – kattan – will be meeting with a potential buyer here tonight." you scan the various documents laid out in front of you, brows furrowed. photos, e-mails, files, logistics, all of which you'd collected on the op you'd gotten back from only yesterday, all amounting to the meeting happening tonight. it had taken a lot to get this intel, but despite how much you'd gathered it still felt like you were in the dark and it frustrated you endlessly.

as your gaze travels between the three others, you find yourself lingering on nikolai standing opposite you. the conversation dims to background noise in your mind as you study him, aviators perched on his nose, his black hair pushed back out of his face, his–

"so what's the plan, 0-9? roll in and take 'em out, quick and quiet?" alex asks, crossing his arms over his chest. you blink, feeling your heartbeat increase as you break your gaze away from nik. alex raises his brow, subtly, and you know he'd caught you staring.

"no, these guys are cautious, we have to secure the shipment first, or they might bolt." you reply, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. "i have an idea, but you're not going to like it."

all eyes turn to you, and suddenly you're sure this is a bad idea, but you refuse to back down; this is too important.

"tell us," farah urges you, her eyes shining with something hopeful. you swallow thickly in the pause before you continue.

"the buyer is anonymous. kattan only knows their name, not what they look like, or their voice," your eyes dart between farah, alex, and nik, keeping your voice steady as you gauge their reactions.

"you're not..." alex doesn't finish the suggestion, already giving you a firmly disapproving stare.

"i'm going undercover as the buyer. it's the only way." it's a statement, you leave them no room to argue with your decision; but, as expected, the others aren't pleased with the idea.

"no, absolutely not–"

"like hell you are–"

"ерунда–"

the room devolves into shouting and various protests, but you only shake your head at their arguments. no words from them could change your mind, despite your own reservations about how dangerous this could be.

"sergeant, with all due respect, i cannot allow you to go through with this." farah stands up straight, meeting your eyes with a defiant look not dissimilar to your own.

"this is too dangerous, милая, there must be another way." nik's expression is partially hidden by his sunglasses, but the sharp downturn of his lips told you he wasn't going to let this go either.

"what else can we do? we have no idea where the shipment is, and we don't have time to find it ourselves." you respond, an exasperated tone in your voice as you gesture to the intel laid out on the table. "with all due respect, commander, this is our best option, whether you like it or not."

"we know nothing about these people, how they operate – this mission is not worth your life." farah crosses her arms over her chest.

"and what about the lives that'll be lost if i don't do this?" you argue, throwing your hands out to emphasise your words and the deep frown on your features, "we don't need to know everything, we just need to know enough. and everything we've got here? that's more than enough. i can do this, commander."

farah curses under her breath, turning away from you with a conflicted look on her face. the tension in the room is palpable as you await her decision, the silence between you nearly suffocating.

after a minute of contemplation, farah finally turns back toward you. "are you certain about this, nines?" she asks, fixing you with an intense stare.

"positive." you reply, a similar determined look on your own features. she nods, and looks across the files covering the table.

"then like you said, it's our best option." she picks up your map, "alex, you will go with them. park close by, stay in the car and provide backup if needed."

"commander, i insist that you let me go with them." nikolai speaks up, stepping around the table to be next to farah. 

"no, captain. we need you here," she spares him a glance and shakes her head, handing the map to alex. his frown deepens, and despite having no intentions of backing out, you can't help but feel a little bad.

"but–" he begins to argue, but farah simply shakes her head again as she brushes past him on her way out of the room.

"don't worry nik, i know what i'm doing, and so does nines." alex follows behind the commander, giving nikolai a reassuring smile and a pat on the back as he passes by.

he doesn't look convinced, however, clenching his fists at his sides with the same conflicted expression still lingering on his face as he watches them go. with a light sigh, you come around to stand in front of him, reaching out and placing your hand on his upper arm. he looks back to you, removing his sunglasses and hooking them on his collar.

"we'll be fine." you let your hand trail down, closing around his fist and giving him a gentle squeeze. nik's expression softens, his hand unfurling and gripping your own.

"between you and me, it's not alex i'm worried about," the lopsided smile he gives you is sweet, but you can still sense the apprehension behind it.

"you don't think i can do this?" your question is intended to be teasing, but the way he reacts says that it went over his head. his eyes widen, and he gapes for a second before he responds.

"н��т, of course i do," he takes your other hand in his, bringing them up to his face and pressing his lips softly to your knuckles, "i cannot help but worry for you, моя дорогая."

the familiar feeling of your heart skipping a beat disrupts your train of thought, your mind focusing solely on the feeling of him on your hands.

"i'm– you're– i'll be fine, nik." you stutter, cheeks burning as you refocus yourself. you were convincing yourself almost as much as him; even though it was your own idea, and you were more than used to being in deadly situations, you were still on edge.

"i have no doubt, милая." he smiles, genuinely this time, and your chest blossoms with warmth at the sight. "come back to me, alright?"

you allow nik to bring you into a hug, his arms curling around your waist as yours do the same. with your face hidden against his broad chest, you're glad he can't see the anxiety written into your expression.

"i will." you whisper, feeling his arms tighten around you. it's an empty promise; this mission is volatile, and you know there's never a guarantee that you'll make it back, but perhaps having something – someone – to come home to will give you the strength you need to get through this.

✹✹✹

the drive there is uncomfortably silent. the fifteen minutes it takes to arrive at the location feel more like hours, neither you or alex saying a single word as he drives through the deserted streets. if you were on edge before, now you were hanging by a thread. you leg bounces with pent up anxiety, an attempt to try and calm yourself down as you gaze out the window into the darkness of the night.

at last, alex pulls slowly into an alley a block or so from the meeting point, and looks over to you as he cuts the engine.

"you remember the plan?" he asks, brows raised and eyes serious. you shoot him a look as you adjust your earpiece.

"keller, we've been over this." you huff; and you have, more times than you could keep track of – you could probably say them in your sleep by now.

"just–" he stops himself, the tension of the situation clearly getting to him as much as it was you, "humour me."

"i get them talking, convince them to show me the guns, then you come swooping in and we take them down together. happy now?"

"i am," a small smile tugs at his lips, "be careful, nines."

"relax, i got this." you smile back before looking back out at the street in front of you. only a moment passes before you see a figure passing by, slow and on high alert. "that's our buyer."

although you didn't know what he looked like, there was no mistaking his nervous, almost paranoid, demeanour along with the hood low over his face. you and Alex share a look as you quietly exit the car and make your way towards him. having noticed the two of you, he was frozen in place, his eyes wide and face covered in tattoos that indicated some sort of gang affiliation.

before he gains the sense to run, you lurch forward and grab his arm, twisting it behind his back as alex covers his nose and mouth with a rag doused in chloroform. after a moment of struggling, his head slumps forward and his body falls limp in your hold. you and alex grab him by his arms, dragging his dead weight over to the car and piling him into the back seat. 

with a nod of affirmation to alex as he secures zip-ties around the man's wrists, you cover your face with a black surgical mask and begin you walk to the meeting point. you lift the hood of your sweatshirt and shove your hands into your pockets as you shuffle along the road.

you round the corner, head on a swivel looking for any sign of danger just like you'd seen the real buyer do minutes before. all you can do is pray that your target doesn't see through the act. through the darkness, your eyes lock onto two people hovering next to a dark van, and there is no doubt in your mind that they're who you're here to meet. 

it's only when your a few feet away from them that you can finally make out their faces – you recognise kattan, standing slightly ahead of his comrade, but what you don't expect is the spark of recognition when your eyes land on the second man. a chill runs down your spine as his face comes into view.

baranov; the head of a smuggling ring, and someone you're acutely aware is supposed to be dead.

you hiss a curse under your breath. he won't recognise you, will he? you're certain you've never shown your face to him, but people like him always have their ways, don't they? you stop a little further from them than necessary, just to be on the safe side.

“you’re late.” kattan growls, his eyes dark as he assesses you.

you click your tongue, “would you prefer i be followed?” you keep your voice low, gaze darting between the two of them and your surroundings. baranov stays silent, regarding you with a look so sharp it could kill. the uncertainty of whether or not he recognises you makes your ‘paranoid buyer’ act feel all too real.

“you have the money?” kattan asks. he takes a small step toward you.

“not so fast,” you hiss, taking a step back to keep the distance between you, “i need to see the product first.”

baranov and kattan share a look, communicating something without words, before turning back to you with their icy glares. after an incredibly tense pause, kattan backs up towards their van, his eyes never once leaving your form. he grabs the handle of the side door and slides it open, gesturing to the inside with his other arm. 

“get in.” his tone is blunt, irritated. it takes you a moment to understand what he means, but you feel your mouth run dry when you realise.

“what?” you utter, your voice noticeably weaker than before. despite your best efforts to conceal your fear, it feels as though they see right through you.

“nines? what’s going on?” alex questions, his concern evident. you don't answer him, uncomfortably aware of the two sets of eyes burning holes through your head.

kattan gives a sharp sigh. “the guns are with our guys. you want to see the product? get in.” 

“i’m not going anywhere with you.” you seethe, furrowing your brow in a glare to match his own.

“...0-9?”

he clicks his tongue, sharing another look with baranov before turning back to you. “then, you’re not serious.”

“no, i am.” you take a step forward, holding your arm out when he begins to slide the van door shut. “...fine, i’ll go – but if you try anything, i’ll make you regret it.”

“no, no– hey! you don’t go anywhere with them, okay? screw the mission, get back here, now!” alex is frantic now, trying to get through to you, but all you can think about is baranov; how he should be dead, and now you know he's not, you need to make sure he is by the end of the night. “farah will understand, this isn’t a failure. just call it off, nines.”

"then stop wasting my time." kattan spits, climbing into the back of the van as baranov watches you with that same ice cold glare.

"i have to do this, alex." you whisper, careful to make sure the other two don't hear.

"no! do not get in that van, nines, if you go with them, i can't follow, it's too risky!" this might be the most panicked you've ever seen – or rather heard – alex, but you already knew what you needed to do. you'd known since you first learned about this meeting those days ago.

with a steadying, almost inaudible sigh, you climb into the van after kattan. the cold dread that settles in your stomach as the door slides shut threatens to crack your stoic exterior, but for the sake of the mission you hold yourself together.

alex is still talking in your ear, but his words fade into static as baranov drives the van further away from where he's stationed. this place was a ghost town at night, not a single other person on the streets until the sun lights the sky; meaning any attempt to follow by alex would be incredibly risky. you just had to hope that the others would be able to track you, and you hadn't just doomed yourself by going with kattan.

forgive me nikolai, i will come back to you.

[linaselandbasil]

Vampire Kareshi ch.3

Ch.1, Ch.2, AO3 link.

University au, Bloodweave.

Have fun reading yall!

...

After a long shower, a careful trim of his beard, cutting of his nails and a few drops of cologne, he felt ready. He put the wizardly robes on, he was looking great, feeling giddy. But also he's going to throw up from the stress.

"Wyll I'm nervous." He finally turned to his friend after a few minutes of checking the time and waiting for an 'im here' text.

"But you want this, so get yourself together. " Wyll was looking at him pacing in the room, comfortably sitting on the couch with a can of some disgusting sugary death drink in hand.

"I do. I'm just not used to stuff like this! Do you think he's going to kiss me?"

"I don't know. I'm sure he will if you ask him to. But make sure you don't kiss him too soon, wait until the end of the night."

"Um, okay."

"And don't be afraid to flirt. He will probably be put off if you just take all the compliments and don't give any back, it would make it seem like you're not enjoying yourself."

"Understood." A notification sound rang aloud in the room. "It's time... Thank you for lending me your fancy cologne, it won't be forgotten!" He checks the message.

'I'll be there in a few minutes, cant wait to see you darling.'

Darling... DARLING!

'The feeling is mutual.'

"Are you not going to get going?" Wyll asked, confused as to why his friend was just watching the parking lot from the window.

"I'll teleport, it makes an impression!"

"You can do that?"

"Of course, what kind of wizard can't teleport? Oh look, he's there!" Wyll scampered to the window to finally see this mistery man.

"That... My father has a car like that, just who is this guy?"

"He said his father was Cazador. I suppose that should tell you something."

"Cazador Szarr? I'm not surprised he has a son I've never heard about, I'm sure he has a couple more he himself hasn't seen."

"I see. Well, it's lovely talking to you in our shared livingspace that I see you in every single day, but I think it's time for me to get going! Until next time!" He bowed and walked into a portal that was freshly opening up behind him.

In the ambiguous space between the two portals he found himself a little stuck. Oh no...

...

Astarion checked himself out in the selfie camera, carefully inspecting his visage. He'd do it in one of the many mirrors of Cazadors displacer but he cannot, for obvious reasons.

He was startled by a loud magic magicing right beside his car. He was not eager to get out and see what's up on account of him being in the possession of survival instincts, but when a hand with a pretty ring on it reached out, he became intrigued.

"A hand? Please?"

"Oh, Gale! It's you!"

"Can you help me out?" He grabbed the hand and began pulling. No use. In the meantime Wyll was watching all of this go down from the window and thought 'That's one hell of an impression you're making.' He pitied the both of them and reached into the portal to give Gale a good push. He has 9 strength, so he's not much better off than the other two but it did the trick!

Astarion could barely keep standing as the human fell into his arms. "So you're a wizard?"

"Yes, I am! An apprentice of Elminster and a graduate of the Wizarding academy of Waterdeep! I'm working on my second degree here in Baldur's gate." He straightened up, proud as could be. Suddenly as he was faced with the elf, all his nervousness faded into oblivion. Standing this close, Gale also noticed that the elf was not by much, but still a little shorter than him. He seemed taller on camera, not that Gale is complaining.

"I wouldn't have guessed you were a wizard! This is interesting to say the least! I must say, you look positively delectable, darling."

"So do you." Gale looked at the vampires outfit, which was hard to see as it was mostly black. What Gale didn't fail to notice was the way it glittered as it was illuminated by streetlights. "You look much more solemnly dressed, I must say I feel like a clown."

"Oh no, you'll be fine, I'm the weird one for dressing for the casket I was always destined for. I felt like I didn't wear this black jacket enough, so I put an outfit together just so I can wear it."

"I'd say it was a great idea, you look... Pretty." The wizard fiddled with the sun motifs embroidered into the robes of summer.

Astarion opened the door of the car and beckoned him in. He did so without a question. Astarion followed shortly after, starting the car once again. "Thank you. But let me warn you, this gift is particularly hard to open, the zipper on this top always gets stuck!" Astarions sharp gaze was solely fixed on the road ahead, but he can definitely tell Gale was flustered beyond belief.

"I- I see... "

"You're cute, I'll stop, I can see that you're a bit uncomfortable."

"No, continue! I'm just not in my element, not much experience you see!"

"I understand." He started the car, all he could think about was how much he he wished that Cazador didn't like this one.

...

To Gales surprise, he wasn't over or under dressed, he was perfect. That didn't make him feel any less strange though.

A couple of guests he spoke to seemed to eye him with interest, then with disappointment as they got nearer, he wondered what that was about. Maybe they didn't like that he seemed to already have a pair.

"Darling, care for a drink?" Astarion appeared right besides him, speak of the devil. He's quiet as a kitten, but Gale didn't know he was supposed to get spooked so he didn't.

"I've had plenty already, thanks." He looked around at the other guests, who were behaving very very improperly. He's not that kind of girl.

"Hmm, you know, these people are quite the company, but I'd prefer yours alone. Would you like to find us a dark corner to slink away into?" Astarions arm was wrapped around his, the human could hear the sequins of Astarions jacket scrape against his robes rough outer layer.

"Sounds like a fantastic idea, let's go!" Gale didn't like these sorts of gatherings, he was eager to be in peace at last. The pale elf pulled him in the direction of the hallway, which was clearly not to be explored by the attendees.

Servants rushed back and forth through it, paying the two of them no mind. It was a lot darker than the ballroom, giving the illusion of privacy, but believe me, someone's always watching in the Szarr Palace.

On the balcony, the air was cold, but refreshingly less stinky than inside.

"Finally, a moment to ourselves, I almost wish we didn't even come to the party, hiding away in the gardens would have been just as good." Astarion said, inching closer to Gale. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"I would." Gale did some wizardly magic hand gestures at the sky and gorgeous swirling colorful lights appeared. Gale leaned into the railing and noticed Astarion immediately got cozy very close to him, they were touching, it was to the wizards liking but it still got his pulse all the way up.

"Fascinating. Can you also make a bed appear?"

"I can, although maybe that would be untimely, considering this is our first date."

"...True. You want another date after this? I hadn't been on a second date in a long while." Gale was quite surprised to hear that.

"Why not? I thought people were begging for your attention."

The charming smile came back to the face of the pale elf. "You know what? Let's not talk about that! Tell me about yourself!"

He thought for a second, there's a lot to say. "Um, I have a tressym, her name is Tara."

"I love cats." Astarion got real cozy, putting an arm behind Gale and watching the magic show.

"Me too, don't call her that to her face though. It's like me calling you a mosquito man." Astarions smile dissapeared, he looked at his date.

"... What."

"Because, you know, vampire?"

"YOU- You knew?" He put some distance between the two of them so he cam properly glare at the human.

"Of course I knew! You're not quite as subtle as you think and I'm a wizard, I know a thing or two about the undead."

"That's fair, how silly of me... It's almost midnight, isn't it. Almost time." Something is weird about him all of a sudden. Gale senses some sort of magic in the air that doesn't belong to him.

"For what?" The vampire stood up, pulling Gale with him. "Astarion?"

"Follow me."

He almost ran. Briskly walking through the dark rooms, back through the ballroom, into a weirdly placed door and straight dark hallway. Gale was never an athlete, he was wheezing. Through all this, he barely noticed the magic getting stronger. At the end of this hallway there was a room, which Astarion barged into, pulling the wizard along.

"Astarion, it was about time you arrived." Said someone whom also appeared to be a vampire. "Come closer."

Astarion dragged him towards the man, which Gale tried to resist but couldn't. "Are you Cazador?"

"Oh, you recognize me? How fun!" He stood up, towering over the both of them. He looked like he smelled something foul, but quickly schooled his face.

"Must have noticed my blood, let me assure you, it's not tasty!"

Cazador furiously glared at Astarion.

"I swear, I didn't tell him!" His tone was calm and collected, but still. He was afraid.

"I figured it out myself, you guys are not exactly masters of deception." Gale was often jarringly confident in his.... Well, everything. He thought that since he was in on some kind of secret, the vampire would spare his life.

Well, it wouldn't be smart to attack a mage.....Cazador is not the smartest, or the prettiest or nicest, but he's not attacking Gale of Waterdeep. Not that he knows who Gale, is, he hadn't left his palace in decades. "You're dismissed."

Astarion then dragged him out of the room and back to the balcony, completely ignoring his questions. This is so weird.

...

"So you can safely teleport back to your dorm? If not, I promise I'll pay for the taxi, just don't do it drunk." The vampire leaned into the railing of the balcony.

"I'll manage. I didn't have that much!" Gale adjusted his hat and awkwardly looked at Astarion, who was being eaten alive in self loathing and dread. He didn't show that, only a tiny bit of worry slipped past his walls for the wellbeing of someone he was ready to let Cazador drain dry.

"I'll trust your judgment, I was never any good at magic." They stared at each other, waiting for the other to say something.

"Is it appropriate to kiss on the first date?" Asked Gale, trying not to sink into the tiles from shame.

Astarion was about to say 'first base is missionary' but held his tounge. "Do you want to?" He asked with a grin you'd want to wipe off of him with a well balanced bitch slap.

"I do."

Astarion stepped closer, got on his tippy toes and kissed him. On the mouth. He put his hands on Gales arms, keeping him in place. Gale was still as a statue though, there was no need to hold him.

When it was over, Gale had a goofy grin on his face and got very very very red. A portal opened behind him and he slowly backed into it, feeling the vampires hand gently slide off of his arm.

"Goodbye, I'll text you."

"See you, hopefully soon."

...

[kaidynsarell]

Chapter 6-Of Honey and Pine

💛🌲💛🌲💛🌲💛🌲💛🌲💛🌲💛🌲💛

Paring- Sebastian Sallow x Female OC

Rating-This story is rated overall 🔞 (Ch 6 is SFW)

Tags-hurt/angst

The full chapter can be found below the cut (2.4k words)

Ongoing Fic

Chapters 1-9 can be found on WP and AO3

Art by the darling @ravenbronze

Saturday, 10th September 1892

It was strange what could happen to words when one read them over and over again. Stared until they melded together, flattened over one another, and lost meaning entirely.

I cured Anne of the curse.

Since the end of Fifth year, there had been two universal truths that held precedence in her mind. Two statements that had taken over the place where the threat of Ranrok's rebellion and the Keeper trials had shadowd each decision she made and every action she took. One set of anxieties traded for another.

Anne was dying, and Sebastian was gone.

Now, in the space of six words, the truths that had colored her life since Sebastian left had been flipped on its head, and beyond the shock where she'd thought she would have found solid ground, she was left unbalanced and unsteady. Trembling fingers flattened over the rough texture. Pressed against the parchment as though she might unscramble his sentence to find some other meaning behind it.

I cured Anne of the curse.

As though touching it might let the ink seep into her fingers and solidify the sentence as something more than a distant fantasy—a delicate hope they'd clung to with aching fingers—something that lived amongst shooting stars—wishes only truly hoped for in the softest of whispers lest they be snatched away with the wind.

Clara traced the words again and again until the inked symbols danced over one another on the page, twisted and swirling, her eyes bleary with strain and lack of sleep. The unspoken how traced to the edges of her fingertips but failed to grasp her quill to solidify the question into writing.

Clara folded the parchment and let it fall against the sea of green. Her quill had disappeared somewhere in the blankets. She would no doubt find it at some point, along with a mess of black ink, and she only had the vague thought that 'scourgify' ought to work to remove it before she slumped back against the mattress.

The words spun over one another behind her eyelids.

I did it,  Ara

I cured Anne of the curse.

Sleep did not grace her presence, and all thoughts of the Cherrywood box and Dreamless Sleep Draught were pushed aside. Left to the darkest corners of her mind.

Anne's owl came before the sunrise.

><><><><><><><><

The pulse of apparition saw she and Ominis outside the Sallow home as the early morning sky painted shades of palest pinks and lilac purples across the thatched roof and caressed the curling wisps of candyfloss clouds.

They'd only just reached the door when the indigo was flung open, and the scent of caramel and vanilla launched at her in a mass of gigging cinnamon waves. The abrupt force of Anne's hug nearly sent her off balance, and it was only with a careful set of oddly coordinated steps that they managed to stay upright.

Clara pulled back and tipped her nose up. Fingers tapped to the tops of Anne's shoulders, and in the pale whispers of sunlight, she could see the newfound fullness in the woman's cheeks and the rose flush that colored them. The wide grin that masked none of the pain, Clara had grown so used to seeing tucked behind the heaviness of her eyelids and hidden at the corners of her mouth where her smiles had always disclosed the lies that lay beneath.

Her fingers squeezed the woman's shoulders, pressing down the soft warmth of her arms until she settled against her hands and pulled them into her own. " Anne... you look..." Healthy? Happy? "How do you feel?"

Her grin only widened. " Brilliant, really! I'd grown so used to the pain; I'd almost forgotten what it was like not to feel it."

Clara waited for the subtle wince to crease the corner of her eyes—the slight bending in her abdomen or the minute clenching in her hand—any of the tale-tell signs she'd come to routinely search for when she knew the brunette would rather cut out her own tongue than admit she was hurting.

She was so focused on searching Anne's face that she almost didn't notice subtle movements behind her—the careful footsteps within the shadows of Sallow's home—until Anne stepped around her and launched herself toward Ominis. Clara only registered the little "ooof" as the blond caught the newly spry woman before Sebastian stepped out of the shadows.

He stopped in the doorway. Fingers clutched at the edges of his sleeve. Worried against the fabric of his cable-knit sweater and his throat bobbed once.

Eyes locked with hers.

"Hello, Sweetheart."

Whispered words echoed between splatters of ink on parchment.

Odd how time could stand still within a fraction of a moment. In the single breath his gaze found hers and held her while everything else moved around them.

He looked more different than she'd expected. Older than the almost eighteen he should have been. His hair was longer now, falling in soft cinnamon-brown curls nearly to his shoulders. His skin was tanned, sunkissed red across his cheeks and the tip of his nose, and sprinkled with more freckles than she'd ever seen on him. It did little to distract from the way his face had hardened and thinned or the shadowed darkness that folded through his eyes.

It left her the most disconcerted.

Clara knew Sebastian's eyes. He'd laughed at her when she'd said she wanted to paint them, but he'd not protested much when she'd knelt in front of him and taken his face in her hands. His cheeks had been warm and squished under her fingers. They'd been fuller back then. Still clinging to the remnants of boyhood.

"They're just brown," He'd said. " It's nothing special."

But Sebastian was never 'Just anything,' and his eyes were no different. She'd studied them intensely. Knew them perfectly. Every shade and hue. She knew the precise color of chestnut she needed to mix with the tiniest dab of dark umber. The shade of crushed pine that bled out from his pupils and the exact pattern of the swirls as two colors melted into one another. She knew if the sunlight hit them at just the right angle, she would find flecks of honeyed gold sprinkled through his iris. As though his freckles would not see themselves contained to his skin.

It was gone.

All of it.

The soft chesnut, the swirling pine, and the flecks of honey were left darkened and solid, replaced by an inpenetrable wall too tall and wide for her to see past.

She had only read briefly of occlumancy, but if one could visualize it, Clara was certain it would be found folded over Sebastian's features. She couldn't place exactly why the idea of it coiled hot inside her chest and burned at the back of her throat.

Wherever he'd gone, whatever he'd been through, the boy who'd left to save his sister was not the man who had returned.

"Sebastian?"

The sharp clip of Ominis' voice snapped Clara's attention over her shoulder to where the blond stood beside Anne. She had looped her fingers around his elbow and settled her head below his shoulder. He was the tallest of them, and even with Anne now standing at her full height, the top of her head barely reached his chin.

Clara didn't miss the heavy tension that settled between the two men.

The tapestry their childhood fingers had woven with the innocence of love and friendship had been left tattered and threadbare—a tapestry Sebastian had torn with his own bleeding fingers. Interwoven with tangled threads of hurt and betrayal, and attempting to patch it with hasty apologies would do little to mend what had started to fray long before Sebastian had ever added murder to his repertoire of sins.

"Hey, mate." Sebastian's attempt at a casual tone fluttered through the air and faltered somewhere as he made half a move to step forward and seemed to think better of it.

Ominis only narrowed his eyes. "I thought Anne said you'd cured it?"

Sebastian's brows lowered, thick and heavy over those dark, impenetrable orbs. "I did cure her."

" Then why do..." The rest of it fell away midsentence. Head tilted slightly. Something twitched between his brows and Clara only just caught the slight tension at the corner of his jaw.

" I'm fine, Ominis. I'm okay. The curse is gone. I can feel it!" Only the soft hum of Anne's voice seemed to soften the crease between his brows as she gathered his hands and lifted his fingers to her face.

The corners of his mouth tugged upward. " Yes, of course. I know, darling." He placed a kiss between her brows, to the tip of her nose, one to each of her cheeks, and Clara turned away.

It was far more affection than she was used to seeing from him in a public setting.

On her other side, Sebastian made a disgusted sort of face and mimed wretching. Under different circumstances, she might have found Sebastian's antics amusing, but the soft bubbles of laughter cowered beneath the hot anger coiled to burst at the back of her throat, and she clenched her fingernails against her palms.

It wasn't the emotion she'd expected to find here. She'd not been angry when she'd finally opened his letter and written back to him. She'd not even truly been angry with any of his responses. Amused, irritated, infuriated at times, but never angry.

Not really.

But now it burned hot and red and threatened eruption with every breath that slipped between her teeth.

" I don't understand. How did you do it?" Ominis had straightened himself from Anne's hold and turned with uncanny accuracy to where Sebastian still stood in the doorway.

He shifted slightly against the door frame, fingers fidgeting against the bottom of his sleeve.

" Potions," Anne offered simply.

"A series of potions." Sebastian started, " Came across the recipes while traveling. They're ancient, really. Nothing that would have been taught in European medicine. Which is why neither St. Mungo's nor Nurse Blainy would have known to suggest it. They're bloody difficult to brew, and you can't even find the majority of the ingredients on this continent. Hell, some ingredients have gone extinct since the recipe was invented, but I managed to find adequate substitutes and ..." He gestured vaguely toward his twin.

Clara didn't turn to the other woman. Her eyes still locked on Sebastian and the solid, dark umber wall that hid all that was him even as he stood before her.

" They actually worked," she finished. " It took a few days for the effects to register fully, but..."

" A few days?" Confusion laced through Ominis' words pulled them higher, and elongated the normally staccatoed cadene. " How long hav.."

" How long have you been here?" The hot coil snapped in an instant, and despite the heat that had burned for so long the words bit sharp and icy against Clara's tongue.

" Sebbie got here on Monday. I got his owl after you both left last week and..."

" No." She jerked her hand up and only just turned in time to see Anne's eyebrows shoot into her hairline at the dismissal. Clara was rude, and she was certain Ominis, or if she were actually unlucky, Anne herself would have choice words for her later. " How long have you fucking been here, Sebastian? Near Hogwarts? Close enough we could have apparated to you?"

"Elmore..."

"Tell me!"

He worked his jaw only a moment before his shoulders dropped, and he sagged against the door frame. " A couple of months"

" Months! And you couldn't have written to us? You couldn't have told me that? How many times did I ask you where you were?"

"I couldn't..."

" You asked him?" The icy snap of Ominis's voice tore Clara's attention from Sebastian. " I thought we weren't able to contact him? We sent owls and got nothing. How long have you two been talking behind my back?"

" Ominis, it's not the same as..."

"Is it not? Is it not the exact same? The pair of you keeping secrets again, after everything that's happened! Hurt tasted sour and traced the curves of his syllables.

She would have to deal with it later.

Clara forced her gaze away from them and back to Sebastian, who'd still not moved from his place against the doorframe. " So what happens now?"

" We've spoken to Professor Black and Professor Weasley. Arrangements have been made, and Anne and I will both be returning to Hogwarts starting on Monday." He was looking at her again. Those dark eyes solid, impenetrable and wholly unfamiliar.

" It's like that, then? You leave out of nowhere and think you can just drop in, and everything will just go back to normal?"

She didn't know when she'd started yelling or when the stinging behind her eyes had begun to pool below her lashline.

Anne's curse had been cured. She was going to be okay.

" You expect us to sit here and pretend like you didn't completely abandon us?"

Abandon her.

Anne wasn't dying, and Clara should have been happy.

She shouldn't have been screaming at Sebastian, and yet her voice was tearing as the words ripped from her throat, and she couldn't see properly because her vision had melted into blurry, unfocused haze.

" We're supposed to act like we didn't spend months. Months! More than a fucking year Sebastian! Terrified you were sick or hurt or ..."

Her voice choked and faltered, and for the first time since they'd arrived, he moved from the doorframe. Stepped forward, his fingers tipped toward her, " Ara, I'm sorry....I never..."

But whatever he was going to say was lost to the wind as she spun on her heel and sprinted through the softly waving grass, past a grove of trees, and the snap of apparition deposited her at the edge of Hogwarts grounds.

The sun's light had not burned away the glittering beads of dew, still clung to blades of subtly shifting green when Clara collapsed into the grass at the edge of the forest and scattered the delicate drops in her wake.

She buried her face into her hands and ignored the salted dampness on her cheeks and the soft tremble of her shoulders.

She wasn't crying.

Anne had been cured, and Sebastian was home. He was safe, and she was happy.

She was supposed to be happy.

[paigeswiftsea]

ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch.4 | ch. 5 | ch. 6 | ch.7 | ch.8 | ch. 9 | ch. 10 | ch. 11|ch. 12| ch. 13

chapter 14 is up both here and on ao3

cw: panic attacks, mentions of psychological warfare/trauma

wc: 3.8k

Blaire opened her eyes, the morning sun piercing through the curtains with an intensity that almost blinded her. She groaned inwardly, squinting against the harsh light. She had always hated the way the sun angled into her room at this time of day, making it impossible to sleep in, even when she desperately wanted to escape into unconsciousness for a little longer.

She glanced around her room, taking in the disarray. Clothes were strewn across the floor, books and papers scattered haphazardly on her desk, and her boots lay forgotten near the door. The usual order she tried to maintain in her space had given way to chaos, a reflection of the turmoil inside her. It had been days since she’d found the energy to do anything more than lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in the maze of her thoughts.

Her body protested as she shifted, a sharp ache shooting through her muscles. Every movement was a reminder of the ordeal she had been through—of Erissa's twisted games and the physical and emotional toll they had taken on her. Even sitting up was a struggle, each motion causing her to wince as her body remembered the pain it had endured.

However, the physical pain was only the beginning. Her mental state was in shambles, torn apart by the relentless replay of that day in her mind. The coldness that had seeped into her bones, the hallucinations that had twisted reality into something nightmarish—it was almost too much to bear. The memories clung to her, refusing to loosen their grip, leaving her drained and hollow.

Blaire sat up further with a groan, rubbing her eyes as she tried to shake off the lingering fatigue. Her gaze drifted to the flowers the Soul Riders had left on her bedside table. They were bright and cheerful, but to Blaire, they felt out of place—like a flimsy bandage over a gaping wound. Their visit had been brief, a mere 20 minutes of forced smiles and awkward conversation before they dispersed, leaving her alone again.

She couldn’t help but feel a pang of bitterness. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the gesture, but it felt more like an obligation than genuine concern. They had all been through so much together, yet in this moment, Blaire felt a deep sense of isolation, as if the bond they shared had frayed under the weight of everything that had happened.

Blaire sighed, the heaviness in her chest growing. She knew they were all struggling in their own ways, but the distance between them now felt like a chasm. The events of the past few days had driven a wedge between her and the others, one that she wasn’t sure how to bridge. It was as if they didn’t know how to handle what she had been through, or maybe they were too caught up in their own pain to truly be there for her.

Her thoughts turned to the meeting that was supposed to happen later. The Soul Riders were planning to gather and figure out their next steps, but Blaire couldn’t shake the dread that curled in her stomach at the thought of facing them. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to pretend that everything was okay, to put on a brave face and push down the turmoil swirling inside her.

But more than that, she wasn’t sure she could handle the possibility that they might be pulling away from her, just when she needed them the most.

Blaire let out a shaky breath as she forced herself to stand, every muscle protesting the movement. She needed to pull herself together, at least enough to get through the day. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she barely recognized the person looking back at her. Her eyes were dull, shadows etched beneath them from countless sleepless nights. Her usually neat hair was tangled, and she looked pale, almost sickly.

She splashed cold water on her face, hoping it would jolt her out of the numbness that had settled over her. It didn’t help much, but it was something. With slow, deliberate movements, she changed into fresh clothes, trying to ignore the stiffness in her limbs and the dull ache that pulsed in the back of her skull.

As she moved around her room, picking up scattered belongings, her thoughts drifted back to Erissa. The cruel words, the twisted visions, the feeling of being utterly powerless in the face of her psychological attacks—it all came rushing back in a suffocating wave. Blaire clenched her fists, trying to push it down, to keep it from overwhelming her.

But it was no use. The memories flooded her mind, the echo of Erissa’s voice taunting her, breaking her down piece by piece. Blaire sank onto the edge of her bed, her breath hitching as she struggled to keep the panic at bay. She had faced so many threats before, battled against darkness and danger, but this felt different. Erissa had gotten inside her head, twisted her deepest fears and insecurities into something monstrous, and Blaire wasn’t sure how to fight that.

Blaire let out a deep breath, stumbling to her desk, trying to find something to keep her grasp on reality.

As Blaire reached her desk, her eyes fell on the camellia, its petals still fresh and vibrant despite the days that had passed. The sight of it stirred something within her, a mix of confusion and warmth. The flower was a reminder of Sabine's unexpected gentleness, a stark contrast to the chaos that had overtaken her mind.

Blaire picked up the camellia, her fingers tracing the soft petals. It was almost ironic how something so delicate could survive while she felt like she was falling apart. The flower grounded her, if only for a moment, and she clung to that fleeting sense of stability.

She wasn’t sure what Sabine’s intentions had been, whether the flower was meant to comfort her or simply a token of some unspoken understanding. But in that moment, it didn’t matter. Blaire needed something to hold on to, something that wasn’t tainted by the darkness Erissa had unleashed.

She brought the camellia to her nose, inhaling its faint, sweet scent. The world felt a little less overwhelming, the edges of her panic dulling as she focused on the simple beauty of the flower. It was a small thing, but it was enough to keep her tethered to the present, if only for a little while longer.

Blaire held the camellia close, her eyes shutting as she let its soft scent fill her senses. The flower was a lifeline, pulling her back from the brink of the spiraling thoughts that threatened to consume her. She couldn’t let Erissa’s psychological warfare break her completely, not when there was still so much at stake.

The room was quiet, the morning sun casting a gentle glow over the disarray that surrounded her. Clothes were strewn across the floor, books left open on her desk, and the blankets tangled on her bed—everything was a testament to the turmoil of the past few days. But the flower, in its simple elegance, stood out amidst the chaos, a reminder that there was still beauty in the world, even if it felt far away.

Blaire slowly set the camellia down, her fingers lingering on the petals for a moment longer before she forced herself to stand. Her legs wobbled as she took a step forward, but she didn’t falter. She needed to move, to do something, anything that would pull her out of the dark pit her mind had become.

As she made her way to the mirror across the room, she caught a glimpse of herself—pale, exhausted, her hair a mess and dark circles under her eyes. It was a stark contrast to the confident, determined girl she used to be. But Blaire wasn’t ready to give up. She couldn’t.

Her thoughts drifted to Sabine again, the unexpected ally in the midst of all this chaos. Blaire still couldn’t fully grasp what Sabine’s intentions were—was she genuine in her concern, or was this just another game? The kiss they had shared replayed in her mind, the warmth of it lingering even now, making her heart ache with confusion.

But as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t dwell on Sabine. Not right now. There were bigger things at play, and Blaire knew she needed to pull herself together. The Soul Riders needed her, even if they weren’t the best at showing it. And with the Keepers of Aideen abandoning them, they were more vulnerable than ever.

Blaire turned away from the mirror, determination settling in her bones. She had to find the others, to talk to them, to figure out their next move. They couldn’t afford to be divided, not with the looming threats that they were facing. She grabbed a jacket from the chair by her desk, throwing it on as she made her way out of the room.

The hallways were quiet as she walked through them, the weight of everything pressing down on her with each step. She didn’t know what she was going to say to the others, how she was going to explain the mess in her head, but she knew one thing for sure—she wasn’t going to let Erissa win. Not like this.

.·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .

In the dim light of the safe house, tension crackled like static in the air. Sabine stood by the window, her gaze fixed on the horizon, her mind racing. The other Dark Riders gathered in the room, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken questions and simmering frustration.

Jay was the first to break the silence, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "So, are we gonna talk about the elephant in the room? Or should I say, the Soul Rider in the room?"

Sabine didn’t turn to face them, but her jaw clenched visibly. "What do you want, Jay?"

Katja, ever the cold and calculating one, cut in, her voice like ice. "We’ve all noticed, Sabine. You’ve been… different. Ever since we brought Erissa back. You’re distracted. Care to explain?"

Sabine finally turned, her eyes narrowing as she met Katja’s gaze. "There’s nothing to explain. Blaire is a tool, a means to an end. That’s all."

Erissa, perched on a chair with a childlike pout, chimed in, her tone playful but with a sharp edge. "Is that why you’ve been all moody and broody? Because I don’t buy it. You’ve gone soft, Sabine."

Sabine’s hands curled into fists, her patience wearing thin. "I haven’t gone soft. I’m focused. Maybe you all should try it sometime."

Jay smirked, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. "Focused? On what, exactly? Blaire’s lips? Or maybe how to keep her from finding out that you’ve got more feelings than you let on?"

Sabine’s eyes flashed with anger, but she held her ground. "You have no idea what you’re talking about."

"Don’t we?" Katja’s voice was calm, cutting through the tension with surgical precision. "We’ve seen the way you look at her, Sabine. And it’s not the way you look at a mere ‘tool.’"

Erissa giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oooh, is Sabine in love? That’s so cute!"

"Shut up, Erissa," Sabine snapped, the words coming out harsher than she intended. But Erissa just laughed, clearly enjoying getting under Sabine’s skin.

Jay pushed off the wall, walking closer to Sabine with a knowing look. "Look, we get it. Blaire’s got something that messes with your head. But we can’t afford to have you distracted. Not with everything that’s coming. You need to figure out where you stand—before it screws us all over."

Sabine clenched her fists tighter, the tension in her body palpable. "I know where I stand. Blaire is nothing more than a pawn in a game. A game that we’re going to win."

"Are you sure about that?" Katja asked quietly, her voice almost a whisper. "Because the way you’ve been acting… it seems like you’re not so sure."

Sabine didn’t respond immediately, the silence in the room growing heavier with each passing second. Finally, she spoke, her voice low and strained. "I know what I’m doing."

Jay raised an eyebrow, her sass momentarily giving way to genuine concern. "For your sake, I hope you do. Because if you don’t, we’re all going down with you."

Erissa jumped up from her seat, her childish demeanor shifting to something more serious, though still laced with her usual immaturity. "Well, this was fun and all, but we’ve got bigger things to worry about. Like, oh, I don’t know, resurrecting Darko?"

Katja shot a sharp glance at Sabine. "And when that happens, we can’t have any weak links. Not even one."

Sabine’s expression hardened, any trace of uncertainty wiped away. "I’m not a weak link. I’ll do whatever it takes to win."

"Good," Katja said, her tone icy. "Because we won’t hesitate to cut ties if you become a liability."

The room fell silent again, the tension thick in the air. Sabine turned back to the window, her mind a whirlwind of emotions she couldn’t afford to show. She knew the others were right—she couldn’t let her feelings for Blaire get in the way. But deep down, she couldn’t shake the nagging doubt that maybe, just maybe, she was in deeper than she realized.

“ Oh…. By the way Sabine, Sands has requested you come to him as soon as you could. And you know how he feels about waiting.” Katja smirked as she picked up the metal violin, tuning the strings.

Sabine stiffened at Katja’s words, her gaze flicking toward the icy Dark Rider. Katja’s smirk was unmistakable, her cold eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and challenge. The metal violin in her hands emitted a sharp, almost eerie sound as she adjusted the strings, filling the room with an unsettling tension.

"Of course he did," Sabine muttered, masking her irritation with a calm facade. She could feel the eyes of the others on her—Jay’s sassy grin, Erissa’s childish curiosity, and Katja’s cool indifference. They were all watching, waiting to see how she would react.

Sabine’s fingers curled into fists at her sides. "Don’t worry, Katja. I won’t keep him waiting," she said, her voice even, though a sharp edge underlined her words.

"Good," Katja replied, her smirk widening as she plucked at the violin strings. The notes rang out, high and piercing. "Wouldn’t want to disappoint dear Mr. Sands, now would we?"

Sabine didn’t respond, but the tension in the room thickened as she turned on her heel and headed for the door. The Dark Riders might play their games, pushing and prodding at each other’s weak spots, but Sabine knew how to keep her composure. She had to—especially now.

As she stepped into the corridor, the door closing behind her with a soft click, Sabine took a deep breath, steeling herself for the encounter ahead. The memory of Blaire’s face flashed in her mind, a brief flicker of warmth before she forced it aside. This wasn’t the time to think about her—she had to be sharp, focused, ready for whatever Mr. Sands had in store for her.

As Sabine stepped out of the Dark Riders' safe house, the cold air of the evening hit her, making her shiver slightly. Marchenghast Castle loomed in the distance, its dark spires piercing the sky like jagged teeth. The journey there was always a daunting one, but Sabine wasn’t one to shy away from what needed to be done.

She mounted her horse, a sleek, shadowy creature that seemed to blend into the night itself. With a firm grip on the reins, she set off toward the castle, the sound of hooves thudding rhythmically against the ground. The path was familiar, yet the unease in her chest grew with each passing minute.

As she rode, Sabine’s mind raced. What did Sands want this time? He rarely summoned her unless it was for something significant, something that required her particular set of skills—or perhaps, her loyalty. The thought made her stomach twist. Mr. Sands wasn’t a man to be trifled with, and whatever he had in store for her, it was bound to be dangerous.

When she finally reached the castle gates, they opened with a low groan, as if the ancient stone walls themselves were reluctant to let her pass. Sabine dismounted, her boots echoing against the cold, hard ground as she made her way inside.

The castle’s interior was as imposing as ever—dark, foreboding, with shadows that seemed to move of their own accord. The torches on the walls flickered dimly, casting an eerie glow on the stone floors. Sabine walked down the long, empty corridors, her footsteps the only sound in the oppressive silence.

Finally, she reached the large, ornate doors that led to Sands’ chamber. She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady herself, before pushing them open.

Inside, the room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from a few candles placed around the space. Mr. Sands stood by the window, his back to her, gazing out at the dark landscape beyond. His silhouette was tall and commanding, a figure of both power and mystery.

“Sabine,” his voice was calm but carried an unmistakable authority, “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten my request.”

“Never,” Sabine replied, stepping into the room. “I came as soon as I was able.”

Sands turned to face her, his eyes sharp and calculating. “Good. There are matters that require your attention—matters that are far too delicate for the others.”

Sabine nodded, though the unease in her chest tightened. “What do you need from me?”

Sands studied her for a moment, his gaze piercing as if he were searching for something hidden deep within her. “There’s a new threat rising, one that could tip the balance of power in a way that would be… undesirable for us. I need you to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

Sabine’s heart skipped a beat. A new threat? Her mind immediately went to Blaire and the Soul Riders, but she forced herself to stay focused. “What exactly is this threat?”

Sands smiled, a cold, calculating smile that sent a chill down her spine. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know soon. But first, I need to be certain of your commitment, Sabine. You’ve shown remarkable loyalty in the past, but now, more than ever, I need to know where your true allegiances lie.”

Sabine swallowed hard, her mind racing. She knew what he was asking—he wanted assurance that she was still on his side, despite everything that had happened. Despite Blaire.

“I’m with you,” Sabine said firmly, meeting his gaze without wavering. “You can count on me.”

Sands nodded slowly, as if considering her words. “Good. Then let’s discuss how we’re going to deal with this new problem. And Sabine… there’s no room for hesitation this time. Failure is not an option.”

Sabine nodded, though a knot of dread tightened in her stomach. Whatever Sands had planned, it was clear that the stakes were higher than ever. And as she listened to his plans, a part of her couldn’t help but wonder how much longer she could walk this dangerous line without falling.

“The Soul Riders have grown stronger, more unified. Their connection to Aideen’s Light is deepening, and that is a threat we cannot ignore,” Sands began, his voice cold and measured. “To counter this, we must destabilize them from within. Their strength lies not only in their powers but in their unity. If we can shatter that, they will be vulnerable.”

Sabine nodded, her mind already racing ahead to consider how best to execute such a plan.

“Erissa’s recent efforts with Blaire were promising,” Sands continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. “But they lacked the necessary impact. Psychological warfare can be effective, but it’s time we take a more… direct approach.”

Sabine’s brow furrowed. “What do you propose?”

Sands turned, his gaze boring into hers. “We’ll use Blaire’s connection to the Soul Riders against them. Her relationship with them is complicated now, especially with the doubts Erissa has sown. But there’s more we can do. We will manipulate her, make her believe that her friends are not who they seem, that they’ve been keeping secrets from her. This will erode the trust within their group.”

Sabine’s stomach churned. The idea of manipulating Blaire left a bitter taste in her mouth, but she couldn’t show weakness here, not in front of Sands.

“And what about the Keepers of Aideen?” she asked, trying to shift the focus. “They’ve withdrawn, but they’re still a threat if they decide to intervene.”

Sands nodded, his expression darkening. “The Keepers are a nuisance, but without their full force, they’re manageable. Our priority is the Soul Riders. Once they’re fractured, we’ll deal with the Keepers. However, I’ve anticipated their potential interference. Darko’s resurrection is key.”

Sabine’s eyes widened slightly. “Darko? But Erissa—”

“Erissa’s attachment to Darko is precisely why she resurrected him. She believes she can control him, but we know better,” Sands said with a smirk. “Darko will be the sword of Damocles over their heads. He will strike at the right moment, but until then, he will remain in the shadows, gathering strength.”

Sabine considered this, her mind spinning with the implications. Darko was powerful, but unpredictable. However, if Sands could truly control him, it would be a devastating blow to the Soul Riders.

“And you,” Sands added, his voice dropping to a softer, more dangerous tone. “You will be the one to keep Blaire close, to ensure she plays her part. Use whatever means necessary to maintain her loyalty, Sabine. If that means pretending to be her friend, her confidant… or even something more, then so be it.”

Sabine’s chest tightened, the implications clear. Sands was aware of her feelings for Blaire, and he was ready to exploit them.

“I understand,” Sabine said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

Sands’ cold smile returned. “Good. Remember, Sabine, everything hinges on this. If we succeed, we will break the Soul Riders, once and for all. And if we fail… well, failure isn’t something I tolerate.”

With that, he turned back to the window, dismissing her. Sabine hesitated for a moment before bowing slightly and exiting the room.

As she made her way back through the dark corridors of Marchenghast Castle, Sabine couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that had settled over her. Sands’ plan was dangerous, and the stakes were higher than ever. She knew she had to tread carefully, balancing her loyalty to the Dark Riders with her increasingly complicated feelings for Blaire.

But as she stepped outside into the cold night air, Sabine resolved that no matter what, she would find a way to see this through. Sands’ plan would either be their greatest triumph—or her own downfall.

[booksteaandtoomuchtv]

A Year Without (1/10)

Summary: After the curse returns Killian to the Enchanted Forest, he struggles to acclimate to his old life and his old ways. When a bird with a letter and memory potion arrives on his ship, he accepts the challenge to find Emma and help her save her family. Getting to Emma won't be easy and will cost him dearly, but what choice does he have when he cannot go a day without memories of her haunting him?

A03 | CH  1  |   2  |   3  |  4  |  5  |  6  |  7  |  8  |  9  |  10  | CUTS

Day 05

Golden strands of sunlight break through the forest canopy as the horse trekked on and carried him further from the Enchanted Forest for which this land was named and toward the first port on his search for his misplaced ship. Watching the golden strands dance pulled him back to Neverland.

Soft, golden strands of hair filling the space between his fingers. Warm lips pressed firmly, desperately on his own. His own surprise and quick surrender to her sudden invasion. The shift he felt in the depths of his soul when they connected for the second kiss. The words "just a one time thing" thrown at him, nonchalantly, as she raised the walls back in place to protect herself from the very real truth that kiss revealed to both of their broken hearts - broken hearts can be put back together, to be broken, again, in new ways.

Killian let out a shaky breath and pulled himself into the present. The forest was thinning, the trees less suffocating than the days before. A breeze stirred the leaves and carried a briny scent, stirring up a bit of anticipation.

Pirates, for that is all he was, belonged on ships. Fierce pirate captains, feared in the seas, belonged to their ships. And somewhere out there, the Jolly was out there, waiting for her captain to be back at her helm. Without him, she was lost, directionless, rotting at sea. Despite a lack of consciousness, she was more aware of his absence than Swan would be.

With the crocodile gone, his future lied with his ship. Wherever she was and he needed to find her to figure out just what that would entail.

Day 13

Another shabby sea town, another rumour of his ship sighted followed directly into a dead-end, another pub with cheap pints of watery ale, and another day he kept his promise to Swan.

Even, now, while drowning in the tenth? ninth? pint of the warm ale that small smile she gifted him before turning away and leaving them, leaving him, to the curse lingered in his mind. Perhaps, he'd cursed himself when he'd spoken those last words to her. Words she'd forgotten as easily as she'd forgotten him.

A loud eruption of laughter drew his attention to how crowded the pub had gotten. Killian scowled at the lot of messy sailors yelling for women, booze, and rooms. Throwing some coin on his table, he stumbled from his table toward the door. His escape was blocked by a burly in a bright red hat.

“Captain?” squeaked out a familiar voice.

Killian smiled, more of a grimace that didn’t reach his eyes, “If it isn’t my favourite, flea-ridden, bilge rat scampering about on two legs again, are we?”

“We’ve been looking for you since the curse dropped us back here. We can’t wait to join you, we’ve been keeping an eye out for the Jolly Roger, but I knew you’d find her!” Smee spoke without pause for a breathe, then he called over his shoulder to a table behind him, “boys, captain’s back, we’re going home, tonight!”

Killian groaned and stepped into the persona he’d worn so comfortably over the last few hundred years.

Hook turned, spread his arms wide, and greeted his former crew with a wicked smile. “Men, tonight we celebrate for tomorrow we will begin a new adventure. One on land. Relieving many a carriage of their burdens.”

Day 27

A few of his faithful crew left that night, muttering about how the captain had either gone soft or lost his senses. The few who'd stayed with him had profited handsomely. They'd gotten rich as highway bandits as they travelled between ports searching for the Jolly.

While they enjoyed pints in a pub indiscernible from those visited the evening prior, Killian's wondered if he'd left enough with the carriage to ensure the safety of the couple he'd robbed. They'd had knights escorting them, so that spoke of some wealth and standing. He'd assuaged his guilt with another pint and stood to toast his crew.

"To the most clever, dastardly band of pirates to ever set sail-," he shared a laugh at his slip up with Smee before continuing, "stride, on the open road!"

"To Captain Hook!" Smee responded, clinking his drink with Hook's. They took a sip in a companionable moment of quiet. As Hook turned, Smee stopped him, "Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. The boys and I chipped in and got you something."

Hook followed Smee's fingers toward a brunette woman walking toward him, seductive smile at her lips. He forced a smile as he escorted her out, planning on how on to buy off her silence and where he'd spend the rest of the night. It was too early to go to the room he'd let - quiet nights welcomed thoughts veering dangerously close to heartbreaking - but he couldn't return to the pub once he'd dismiss this mistress.

Once she'd left, pleased with her heavier purse, Killian planned to walk the docks. Maybe the Jolly had made an appearance after all. A sharp pain burst on the back of his head and he was on the ground with a knife at his throat. One of his victims must have recognised him an planned to exact his revenge.

"Move and I'll slit your throat!" The command was issued by a feminine voice.

[evenfallwriter]

AI-LESS WHUMPTOBER 2023 MASTERLIST || @ailesswhumptober

had been so excited for this challenge for weeks now ever since I saw the prompts list!

INTERESTING LINKS FOR AI-LESS WHUMPTOBER

2023 prompts Tumblr Account Rules 2023 AO3 Collection

FOXY'S LINKS

AI-less Whumptober ☯

WORKS FOR THIS CHALLENGE

[devil comes out when the sun goes down] The upperclassman, Katelyn and the monsters go to Eden’s on Halloween during Neil’s second year. Everything that can go wrong, pretty much does- but when maybe it isn’t that bad. [to hunt a rabbit] basically the first part of an AftG Spies AU, in which Stuart Hatford hires the foxes to find Neil and the foxes find themselves looking for a 'dead man' for months.

PROMPTS (+ the ship that it revolves around and the fic / a blank space between each sunday and monday)

Day 1 - Andrew / Neil || Drugging / sick / poisoned [devil comes out when the sun goes down] Day 2 - ?? & ?? || Overworked / insomnia / Exhaustion [] Day 3 - ?? & ?? || Sensory deprivation / overstimulation / isolation [] Day 4 - ?? & ?? || Hiding an injury / betrayal / lying [] Day 5 - ?? & ?? || Hostage / kidnapping / Held at gunpoint [] Day 6 - ?? & ?? || Conditioning / mind control / forced to hurt someone else [] Day 7 - Andrew / Neil || Flatline / Restrained / CPR [to hunt a rabbit - P1] Day 8 - Andrew / Neil || Panic attacks / Dissociation / Seizure [to hunt a rabbit - CH 1] Day 9 - Andrew & Neil || Scar reveal / Interrogation / Presumed dead [to hunt a rabbit - CH2] Day 10 - ?? & ?? || Branding / Scarring / Collar [to hunt a rabbit - CH 3] Day 11 - Andrew / Neil || Fainting / Paralyzed / Adrenaline [devil comes out when the sun goes down] Day 12 - ?? & ?? || Self harm / Sacrifice / Character death [] Day 13 - ?? & ?? || Earthquake / Flood / Crushed [] Day 14 - ?? & ?? || Bleeding through the bandage / Field medicine / no anesthesia [] Day 15 - Andrew / Neil || Alt: Self-defense [] Day 16 - ?? & ?? || Amputation/ chronic pain / Hospital [] Day 17 - ?? & ?? || Hypothermia / heat stroke / “You look a little pale” [] Day 18 - ?? & ?? || Fever / vomiting / Warm soup [] Day 19 - ?? & ?? || Taken for granted/ Left behind/ “Why wasn’t I enough?” [] Day 20 - ?? & ?? || Dehumanization/ Stockholm Syndrome/ Master and servant [] Day 21 - Andrew / Neil || Blood loss / shock / Near death experience [] Day 22 - ?? & ?? || Whipping / Punishment / Stress position [] Day 23 - ?? & ?? || Begging / “Take me instead” / Forced to watch [] Day 24 - Andrew / Neil || Failed escape / hunted down / Too exhausted to keep running [] Day 25 - ?? & ?? || Nightmares / Flashback / “Why didn’t you save me?” [] Day 26 - ?? & ?? || Magical exhaustion or injury / Curse / Came back wrong [] Day 27 - ?? & ?? || Forgotten / Locked away / Immortal Whumpee [] Day 28 - ?? & ?? || Hair pulling / Oxygen Deprivation / Sweating [] Day 29 - ?? & ?? || “The easy way or the hard way?” / Bargaining / Forced to choose [] Day 30 - ?? & ?? || Possession / Mind Games / Coma [] Day 31 - ?? & ?? || PTSD / Headaches / Crying []

COLOR CODE

Blue = Bungou Stray Dogs Orange = All For the Game Trilogy Purple = Other

[bindtorturekillme]

Your Eyes, Vacant and Stained

Ch.8 - 4k

Pairing: Frank Iero x Gerard Way

He dwelled for a while on the heat of Gerard’s breath against his mouth. The hint of cigarettes that never quite stuck as strongly as Frank was used to.

He felt his face get hot as he thought about how nice it would’ve been to lean into Gerard. Wondering what Gerard would’ve done in return.

It would be a lie if Frank said he never noticed Gerard checking him out or leaning more towards him when they’re standing together.

Warnings 

Gore, Death, Murder, WORK-IN-PROGRESS, not completed (and chapters unknown) but I know the ending, trust me guys I will write it, I just need people to love this idea with me, Zombies, Gay, mcr??

Support my AO3 with part eight otherwise, enjoy ♥

Chap.1 | Chap.2 | Chap.3 | Chap.4 | Chap.5 | Chap.6 | Chap.7 | Chap. 9 | Chap.10 |

Dinner that night was mostly silent, but completely awkward. Mostly silent because you would need to glue Scarlet and Charlotte’s mouth shut to get them to stop talking, and even then, Frank thought they would talk through the glue just to be social. It was obvious how much the girls loved each other, and even more obvious how much Mikey hated Frank right now.

Ray attempted to keep the peace while everyone ate. Scarlet found more pre-made meals for everyone to have for dinner, realistically they could stay here and survive for months, probably as long as they continued to ration properly. But, with the dog-like creatures and the runners basically surrounding them, Gerard proposed it would probably be safer to continue following the virus like they were already doing.

It was easy to convince the girls they were safer not staying in one place. Food would eventually run out and there was no sign of the government or government bodies giving a single fuck that people are turning into walking corpses. The only sign that the virus was continuing to decimate societies was the lack of radio and television transmissions.

Frank turned in early, after having barely touched his food. Ray offered to wrap his food back up so it wouldn’t go to waste, but Frank only responded with a wave of his hand before disappearing into their make-shift beds.

Wanting to give him space, Ray, Gerard, and Mikey decided to stay up with the girls, well into the night.

But Frank couldn’t find sleep. He stayed awake staring at the wall for what felt like hours. Although it was just a muffle, he could hear everyone else yelling excitedly. Frank just couldn’t shake the events of the day as easily as the rest of them could.

He sat up in the dark, there was some light streaming in from outside the door from another room nearby, allowing Frank to see clearly. Forcing himself forward, he searched for the duffle bag he was storing his pre-roll stash in. Snatching them out of his bag, he made his way out front to the truck again.

He forced himself to not even hesitate on his walk out as he heard the shouting of everyone having fun in the rec room. The smashing of pool balls then a yell of agony followed by laughter. Frank felt his chest tighten but the cool air of the late night untangled it and the fun from inside was forgotten.

Frank situated himself on the edge of the truck bed again to light up alone, again.

You started alone last time too… Frank chuckled out his first hit, reminiscing on his time spent in the truck bed getting high with Gerard last time. Taking another deep hit and leaning back on his hands, Frank allowed himself to relax.

The night was mostly silent, there was an ominous banging against glass in the distance, and the air just smelled… wrong. The corpses around them rotting on the pavement. The sun during the day basically baking the decomposing corpses into the boiling gravel. The smell of spoiled, overcooked pork burned into his nose with a disgustingly strange twist of burnt rubber.

Frank attempted to huff the tangy weed smell given off by his joint to stay calm. He could hardly control himself as his mind wandered back to when Gerard almost kissed him, but instead he blew his smoke into Frank’s mouth.

He dwelled for a while on the heat of Gerard’s breath against his mouth. The hint of cigarettes that never quite stuck as strongly as Frank was used to.

He felt his face get hot as he thought about how nice it would’ve been to lean into Gerard. Wondering what Gerard would’ve done in return. It would be a lie if Frank said he never noticed Gerard checking him out or leaning more towards him when they’re standing together.

Frank imagined the way he would definitely taste like cigarettes, but maybe there were other addictions he would be able to decipher from how his tongue tasted. His eyes slowly closing as his head lobbed back.

Frank’s jeans had been gradually getting tighter as his imagination went on, his face felt as hot as it does after a couple of stiff drinks. Frank was unconsciously hitting the joint while his imagination warmed him up.

At some point while he was distracted, the joint stayed between his lips and his now free hand was rubbing himself outside his jeans.

“Hey- “The slightly slurred words from Gerard scared the shit out of Frank, he jumped away in defense as Gerard slinked around the bed of the truck to push his body against Franks. He wasn’t sure how much Gerard had seen but the hint of cigarette smoke that stuck to him meant he was watching for a little bit.

Frank hesitated, breathing hard, “Are you sure you want this...?” Gerard’s eyes were heavy, and he stumbled a little while staring deeply into Frank’s eyes. He nodded slowly, blinking slower. Frank inhaled the joint until it hurt, feeling his dick grow even harder.

But when he pulled the joint away, leaning slightly closer to Gerard, Gerard instead wrapped his mouth around the joint and took a hit too. He pulled away from Frank, taking the joint with him, leaving freezing air in his wake.

 Gerard sobered up, or he was acting drunker than he was, either way Frank was still hard from just being so close to him. The smell of a strong whiskey was intertwined with the sweetness from the tobacco.

Gerard pulled the joint away, blowing his smoke directed towards Frank, but the wind stole it and yanked it away from them both.

He took another hit, being more casual about the exhalation before handing it back to Frank. Gerard made Frank feel small from the beginning, as much as Frank wished to see Gerard standing over him again like the day in the pharmacy, maybe even with a gun again if he’s into that, it made Gerard a little more intimidating than he normally was.

Gerard standing in front of Frank now, Frank didn’t feel intimidated, but he was staying more aroused than he wished he was.

Gerard held the joint out and Frank took it back, unconsciously taking a deep inhale. Gerard broke the tension that Frank couldn’t tell whether Gerard also felt or not, “Couldn’t sleep?”

Frank just shook his head. “Smoke break?” He coughed out, making Gerard chuckle.

“Can you still smell it on me?” Gerard sniffed the hoodie he had thrown on before coming out here and only shrugged. The cigarette smell Frank was intoxicated by was unrecognizable to Gerard’s nose.

There was another long, awkward silence between the two as they huffed and passed the joint. It quickly burned out as they stared at each other. Frank watched as Gerard took the last hit and stamped out the butt.

“Would you like to join us?” Gerard gestured back to the building. Gerard returned both of his fists to the pockets in his hoodie, rocking a little on the heels of his feet.

Frank shook his head again, “I don’t want to ruin the party by pissing anyone off.” Gerard rolled his eyes.

“Just ignore Mikey, we all had a long day. You should come have a drink.”

“I probably shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

Frank shrugged, “I can’t trust myself when I drink.” Frank was unable to meet Gerard’s eyes, he had averted them to stare at some rock that sat in the truck bed with him.

Instead of responding, Gerard closed the gap between them again. Gerard’s hands had slipped out of his pockets at some point and planted them on either side of Frank’s hips.

A harsh, red, warm heat crept up Frank’s neck, slowly heating up the skin on his face.

“Can you trust me when I’ve being drinking?” Frank was too flustered to make out exactly what Gerard was asking; he could feel his face burning hot as they stared at each other. Frank stumbled and stuttered over a few sounds before Gerard moved one hand from beside his hip to being on his knee.

Frank’s eyes went to Gerard’s hand while Gerard continued to stare at him, smirking a little at how cute he thought Frank was while he was so flustered. He slowly brought his hand up a little higher, Gerard could obviously see how hard Frank was getting from just his touch.

Frank was still staring down at Gerard’s hand as he slowly crept up his thigh, making Frank’s breathing hitch and speed up. Gerard wouldn’t take his eyes off Frank’s face, leaving only a couple of inches between them. Even in the dark away from the building, he could make out Frank’s red cheeks.

Gerard continued his hand up his thigh, to his dick. With the lightest touch he held his palm over his already throbbing cock. Frank exhaled quickly. A silent beg occurred when Frank raised his eyes to meet Gerard’s, his eyes now red and half lidded from the weed. Frank felt relaxed and uptight all together, but Gerard squeezing his cock helped to massage those feelings away.

Gerard squeezed again, making another quick, but soft, exhale fall out of Frank’s lips. Gerard became more entertained every time Frank made a noise. Gerard’s hand was gone faster than it arrived, but it soon returned as Gerard fumbled a little with Frank’s jeans, tearing them open with more hunger than he wanted to let off.

The cold air grew warm on Frank’s dick as Gerard reached into his boxers. Gerard’s hands weren’t soft, but the immediate friction from the calloses made Frank’s head fall back and a low, long moan poured out.

Gerard was gentle at first, seemingly aware of how dry this hand-job already was. When he saw how much Frank was enjoying it, though, he pulled away too quickly for Frank’s comfort. He spit into his palm before dipping into Frank’s boxers again.

Frank moaned quietly as he forced his head back down to meet Gerard’s half-lidded eyes. He couldn’t hold his mouth shut as he panted lightly as Gerard stopped tugging on him and started to lightly rub his thumb against the tip of dick.

Gerard was great at teasing the tip, he stopped quickly to push and pull his hand up and down again, pulsating pressure randomly but gripping hard whenever he returned to the base of the head.

The rising heat flustered Frank, Gerard was inching closer, and Frank could only distinguish his distance based on how much of his lips was hot from Gerard’s breath.

“Is this okay…?” Gerard asking for consent. Fuck. Frank’s breath hitched and he leaned in without responding. But Gerard’s reaction made Frank think he was expecting them to kiss. Gerard pumped a little faster, smiling against Frank’s heavy breathing.

One of Frank’s hands was gripping Gerard’s hair while his other was digging deep crescent moons into the arm that was invading his pants. But the pain didn’t stop Gerard, if anything it encouraged him to go faster as Frank started breathing heavier and faster. Bucking into Gerard’s hand a little, causing him to deviously grin.

Gerard enjoyed the feeling of Frank underneath him; he enjoyed the feeling he was overcome with when he protected him in the gas station a few days ago, but now…? Gerard forced his tongue between Frank’s panting lips. Gerard became conscious of his movements on Franks dick and changed it to be faster, circling the tip of his head every time he pumped up. Creating an up and around rhythm; Up and around, down. Up and around, down.

Frank’s tongue fought Gerard weakly as he yearned to stay as close to him as possible. Gerard pulled his mouth away, dragging out a long line of saliva attaching them. Frank followed the rope of spit to Gerard as he pulled away. Feeling so much colder now, Gerard stared down at him, most of his face darkened by the shadows of the night, but the lust couldn’t be hidden. The piercing look shot through Frank’s chest, making Frank desperate for more.

Frank didn’t fully register Gerard’s evil smirk until he was about to reach his peak, hips bucking slightly in rhythm with Gerard’s pumping. Then, he stopped. Suddenly gripping right under the tip of his dick. And slowly pulled his hand away.

A guttural groan escaped the depths of Frank’s body, a sound he’d never heard before, but he’d also never been denied an orgasm before. He’d been with men before, and women, but no one focused so much on him like this.

The pain from the buildup made his balls tighten and cock twitch. Frank’s mouth hung open just enough for Gerard to shove his sweaty middle fingers into his mouth and pulling their faces close again, Gerard’s breath caressing Frank’s cheek as he spoke, “Now you smell like cigarettes, too…” Gerard rubbing his nose lightly over Frank’s cheek as he spoke, going down his neck.

Frank panted again weakly, his head rolling back again while Gerard lightly skimmed his neck with his lips. Parting them with an inhale, Gerard swiped Frank’s neck with his tongue before biting down hard on a sweet spot.

Frank’s dick throbbed, his teeth impaling Gerard’s fingers as Gerard gripped his jaw tighter, wrapping his other arm around Frank’s body to hold him up as he pulled him closer. Frank gave in, using his tongue to trace between Gerard’s fingers.

A low chuckle dropped from Gerard’s mouth, and he pulled away from Frank. The cold air of the night blowing away any warmth Gerard added to their moment.

“Thanks for sharing your joint again. I should get back.” The smirk never left his face, Frank sat in an awkward flustered mess on the truck bed, still panting slightly with embarrassment, pants undone and hair disheveled, as Gerard turned and walked back to the building.

Gerard’s stride was nonchalant, Frank’s dick twitched slower, but the motion still forced a jolt to shoot through him. Frank couldn’t take his eyes off Gerard; both of his hands back in his pockets, he walked away as if he didn’t just make Frank feel the most deprived he ever has in his life.

Frank’s hand unconsciously reconnected with his dick, attempting to mimic a fraction of how Gerard made him feel, but failing miserably. He became hyper aware of the way his own skin felt against his own callused hands and missed the feeling of Gerard grabbing hold of him.

The lack of warmth killed the mood the most. Frank felt like he couldn’t maneuver around himself within his pants after Gerard did it so effortlessly. He still felt a phantom version of Gerard’s smooth up and around, down rhythm.

But his hands were unable to copy the smooth, yet careless motion of Gerard’s hands on his cock. His dick throbbed again, not for his own hands but for Gerard’s.

His cock was not going to soften, but the feel of his own skin attempting to finish what Gerard started made himself cringe. He gave up and attempted to stuff his dick back into his pants behind the tight zipper, dealing with more of a fight than he had the energy for.

Ignoring the button, he quietly made his way back to their beds. He was too pent up to deal with the shit from Mikey and couldn’t take his mind off how far he could get with Gerard if he got more time alone with him.

As Frank walked back through the lobby, ignoring the excitable sounds radiating from the rec room that were louder than earlier, he quickened his pace back to their beds. He forced his way through the door, practically throwing himself onto the bed and immediately his hands were back at his zipper.

His pants were off within seconds, he boxers quickly being pushed to his knees without a second thought. He thought about taking off his shirt but the lingering smell of whiskey and tobacco from Gerard was stuck to it in a way that made the next throb of his cock become painful.

A bead of precum expelled from the tip of his dick as he grabbed himself hard, his brain was so fuzzy he kicked away his blanket as he began to jerk himself off. Huffing the smell that so barely lingered on him still, Frank felt desperate as he gripped himself harder for every deep inhale of Gerard’s smell that stuck to him.

A quick breath escaped him, unintentionally, as he teased his head a little to help edge the orgasm that already couldn’t match what he just experienced outside. Frank rolled his eyes at himself as he indulged himself in the feeling he was denying so much earlier.

Frank fantasized about Gerard pushing him to his back forcefully while he continued his smoothly intoxicating rhythm from before.

Up and around, down.

He imagined how slickly wet his body would get with Gerard pushed so close, breathing heavily down his neck. Frank was reminded by how hard Gerard bit down on his neck, keeping that smooth pace while pumping his dick from before, but wanting to feel more of Gerard’s teeth on his neck.

Up and around, down.

Frank felt himself grow closer and closer to his peak, the denial from before making him bite his tongue with agony as he struggled to reach it. He attempted to imagine the different positions Gerard could jerk him off in, but his throbbing cock was never satisfied by the ideas. Until Frank switched ideas.

He switched his ideas from being topped by Gerard to pleasing him, the throbbing stopped as Frank started to get closer and closer to his end.

Up and around, down.

He imagined going down on Gerard, pulling out his dick and taking as much of it into his own mouth, but the lack of knowledge about how big Gerard was messed with the idea slightly. Frank wasn’t bothered by it, but it tried his best not to overthink the size… or girth… or how veiny it was.

Frank was so unaware of his surroundings, the loud slapping of the side of his hand slapping against his pelvis began to sound like someone sloppily giving head without the same amount of pleasure. Frank abruptly stopped as he heard a loud snore cut through the air.

Frank froze solid. Hard dick still being gripped as he paused to find the source, Frank turned to his right and saw the empty bed that Ray occupied the night before. His head whipped around to the left, in the bed on his other side he saw Gerard on his front, topless with his mouth hanging open. It made Frank laugh to see his dominating friend in such a vulnerable position, then he realized his dick was still in his hand…

Up and around, down.

A quick breath jumped out of him again as he stared at Gerard’s sleeping face, his mouth hanging open allowed Frank to imagine himself in charge. He pictured how thoughtful Gerard would be when it came to pleasing him. Frank always wished to be in charge, but he typically became weak when the situation presented itself.

At one point, as Frank indulged in the lust radiating from his dick, his eyes wondered and landed on the pile of Gerard’s clothes. Gerard typically wore clothes to bed, at least in Frank’s experience over the last few days. Except tonight, his clothes were in a pile at the end of his bed, bright red and black plaid boxers sitting eagerly on top.

Frank’s eyes shot back up to Gerard’s face; mouth squished wide open against his pillow, then back down his pile of clothes. After the teasing Gerard did to Frank tonight, he thought Gerard deserved something similar.

With one more look at Gerard’s face, Frank pushed himself out of bed and made way towards Gerard’s boxers. Frank never let his own dick go, gripping it hard as he moved swiftly to the end of their beds just to wrap the soft fabric of Gerard’s boxers around his desperation. The friction of dry cotton became extremely apparent at that moment.

But Frank couldn’t care, all he wanted was to indulge in Gerard. He started slow, allowing his entire dick to get a feel of the fabric from the boxers before Frank figured out what way was best to rub himself with.

Frank thrusted multiple times into Gerard’s boxers before realizing the smell of Gerard in his own shirt had been huffed out. Without a second thought, Frank stole Gerard’s shirt from the same pile and nearly suffocated himself with the scent that teased him from his own shirt.

Animalistically, Frank ripped off his own shirt of soft fabric and yanked Gerard’s worn, rough shirt over his head. It was slightly larger on him; without a second thought he pointed his dick up and used the t-shirt as a catch as he huffed deeply.

Before he was able to finish, a soft but noticeable thud from the hallway outside the door startled Frank, but not enough to make him stop. He hesitated and listened intently. When Gerard’s drunken snore ripped through the air again, Frank jerked himself off harder and faster.

Gerard’s snores were ugly, but the fact that he was so vulnerable now knowing Frank would come back to their room right away made Frank wonder if he came straight here on purpose or if Gerard was too drunk to know what was going on.

Up and around… squeeze, and down.

He unblinkingly watched Gerard’s sleeping face. The feeling of his teeth leaving a phantom of need on Frank’s neck. He returned his mind to that moment, pretending the bite lasted longer than a couple of seconds. Gerard’s teeth sinking deeper and deeper until he drew blood. Like a vampire, Gerard lapped it up in Frank’s imagination.

Up and around, squeeze… and down.

Frank inhaled deeply again, being reminded of Gerard’s smell. Frank’s lack of alcohol, but strong addiction to it, made his mouth water. Mostly for the alcohol, he did want some, but he wanted Gerard. Adding his favorite smell on top of it all just made him want Gerard to pin him down.

Up and around, squeeze, and down. Up and around, squeeze, and down.

Finally, his eyes. Gerard’s devious yet playful facial expressions always reached his eyes when talking to Frank. The way he looked at Frank both times in the truck bed; Gerard knowing he had full control in making Frank so weak. He thought of the time in the gas station when Gerard peered at him over his shoulder, he was so sure of himself – It made Frank feel safe.

Up and down. Up and around, squeeze, and down. Up and down. Up and around, squeeze, and down.

The final thought Frank had before his mind became numb was the way he felt the day Gerard and him first met, Gerard’s shotgun barrel inches from his face. Frank could smell the metal, and strangely also cigarettes but he assumed that was from huffing Gerard’s shirt. Frank felt tiny remembering it, and he loved it.

And he broke. Rushing over the edge, he exploded up his stomach and chest, leaving multiple traces of sticky whiteness inside the shirt as well. Gerard hadn’t moved since Frank started; Frank literally didn’t stop staring at him the entire time he masturbated.

As he slowed his pumping, he eventually grew soft again in his hand, still watching Gerard. His breathing slowed as he wiped his hand, and dick, and chest… and stomach, off on the inside of the shirt as well. Yanking it off, he tossed it with Gerard’s dirty clothes, the inside remaining on the inside, so no one finds the surprise he made specifically for Gerard.

Falling back, Frank made himself comfortable again within his own sheets, although he wished he had the balls to curl up next to Gerard instead.

He pushed the thoughts away, not wanting to tempt himself more. But, as Frank was falling asleep, he realized he was the most comfortable doing so while watching Gerard sleep.

[d-gray-place]

Okay this is going to be a long post so strap in. Today im going to be doing an analysis on Kanda and CROWs. 

Okay so this panel (above) is from chapter 183. This is the first time in the manga that we actually see Kanda in the same room as a CROW. Kanda is constantly meditating and in claustrophobic spaces like train cars, so he has patience and does not usually mind close quarters. However he seems to be even more irritated than normal. Heck ive even seen him more relaxed locked in a room with Allen and surrounded by zombies. Plus Marie is there and Kanda is usually less aggressive around his unit, but hes still this worked up despite Marie’s presence.

one could argue that hes angry just because of his proximity to Allen, but this isnt his normal Allen angry. Hes puffy, and look how he keeps Mugen in front of him ready to draw at a moments notice. Plus this is just after the scene where Allen stabs himself, and Kanda always backs off of Allen after something emotional happens to him. So if its not the wait, and not the small space, and not Allen than that leaves the CROW as the only outlier.

This panel (above) is from chapter 184. Still with Allen but looks angrier than usual. Im going to break this down into face and body language. Yes, Kanda’s face looks like he wants to kill a man, possibly Allen. When you look at his posture though it tells a different story. Shoulders are relaxed and pointed down, hand are in his pockets totally unready to fight or defend himself. Kanda shows that he is “relaxed”, and i think most of the irritation he shows on his face is mostly directed to “the punk in red”. 

Also yes i see Tim and Kanda’s golem fighting. Golems pick up habits from their master so when both masters are upset (usually at each other) the golems start to fight each other too. This is just them reacting to the negative emotions of their master, not actually showing who the master is upset with.

The next 2 panels (above and below) are from chapter 185. In this panel (above) Allen gets thrown into a wall by a CROW. I think "the crimson outfits from back then” is a reference to Kandas past, not the CROW from ch 183. 

You might be wondering why i have this panel here when Kanda isnt even here! unless he suddenly jumped into a ‘wheres waldo’ book... No i actually have this for a reason. before this everyone here was training until a CROW yeeted Allen into a wall. Bookman and Kanda were in the middle of a fight, but here we see Bookman but no Kanda? So where is he? Simple, he never moved. He is keeping as much distance between them as possible without straight up leaving. Kanda is all for a fight but here he is actively avoiding all contact, even going as far as staying out of their line of sight. This is another reason why i think he recognizes the CROW uniforms from his past and not just from the incident at the orphanage.

Now in chapter 191 we finally get Kandas backstory with Alma. As you can clearly see above, Kandas FIRST interaction with a CROW is them impaling him and Alma and taking Alma away to die. And just so we are all clear with the timeline this was only 9 years ago but was part of Kanda’s first year of life. At the time it was the first interaction with someone outside the sci. division and cooks. Thankfully Kanda meets Noise right after this, but so far pretty much every person he has met has hurt or tried to kill him. Sci division with forcing the innocence, Alma with their constant fighting that destroys their bodies, and now the CROWs. (Literally the cooks are the only outliers here...) All this Trauma in your first year of life, you can bet that this isnt going to be something easily forgotten or forgiven.

So the CROW uniforms havent really changed much over the years. I think Kanda knows exactly who the CROWs are the moment he sees them in ch 183. I think he purposefully didnt bring too much attention to them or himself. Or he did a decent job at repressing the memory and it just took him a minute.

I also want to point out that in ch 209 (above) when Kanda sees Johnny in trouble he without hesitation DESTROYS the 2 CROWs. My boy was just like “not today Satan!”. He acted at the drop of the hat to save Johnny from the CROWs. Even if they are not in uniform you can BET that those tags are burned into his memories.

[oddinary4bts]

tfs oc: how did you feel when you found out jk had broken up with Laura?

OC:

Relieved. So relieved you have no idea

[outer-bnks]

Two Burning Hearts Are Dared to Break (JJ x OC) Ch. 14

Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13

JJ catches Elle and Topper in a compromising position, eliciting a fight in which some truths are exposed.

Warning: brief mention of alcohol, smoking. hella angst

Word count: 1.5k

“JJ! Wait!”, she followed him out to the side entrance of the garden that was thankfully empty, watching as he made his way over to a catering truck that stood in the carpark attached to the club.

“For what Elle?! What I just saw doesn’t need explaining!”, he huffed, as he continued walking away from her.

“What are you even doing here?”, she questioned, unaware that he was going to be attending the party. Noticing his navy shirt and slacks, she realised that he was working one of his multiple jobs in order to earn enough to pay off his restitution. He opened the back doors of the truck, beginning to unload them.

“What does it look like? I just thought I’d swing by for shits and giggles”, he sarcastically answered, his arms out wide, looking around at the crates around his feet. 

“Well you could’ve told me that you were coming!”, she exclaimed.

JJ scoffed, “What difference would it have made, you looked like you were having a pretty good time in the laundry room!”. The fuzzy feeling that she was experiencing with Topper had definitely dissipated, leaving the all too familiar sinking sensation in her stomach.

“It would have made a lot of difference JJ!”. For starters, she might not have agreed to be Topper’s date in front of the boy she actually had feelings for.

Rolling his eyes, he turned away from her again, continuing to work, “I don’t even care, it's just that I didn’t think you’d move on so fast”, he shrugged, trying to make his disinterest believable by adopting an apathetic tone of voice.

Elle’s eyebrows furrowed, confused by his choice of words, “What? Move on?”. As far as she was concerned, they had nothing to move on from, he had made that very clear as of recently.

“John B’s only been gone for 2 weeks, you know I just wouldn’t have thought that you’re the type to just-”.

Elle cut him off, utterly bewildered by what he was implying, “Wait wait wait. John B?”. 

“Yes John B, Elle! It’s so obvious that you’re into him”.

It was her turn to scoff, “Are you out of your mind? I do not have a thing for John B! I never have!”. He thought she was into John B? Maybe she’d thought she had a crush on him when she first moved to the OBX, but that quickly changed as soon as met JJ. She was even sure that John B was aware of her feelings for JJ, making sneaky comments that only she could hear, or winking at her whenever the pair were left alone together for more than 5 minutes. But she’d never actually had a conversation with him about that, he was the kind of friend who knew what you were feeling before you even knew it yourself. 

“Could’ve fooled me”, he mumbled, locking up the back of the truck as he had now emptied the crates into numerous stacks. 

Looking around the garden, puzzled by how he’d come to this conclusion, she sighed, “God JJ you really do talk out of your ass sometimes!”. Had he forgotten about how obsessed John B was with Sarah? Or the fact that Elle was actually excited when Sarah joined the Pogues?

This seemed to get a rise out of him, turning on his feet and walking over to her, “Oh please! All the times I would come over to the Chateau and you were already there, in his bed fast asleep, or answering his door basically naked?”. He knew that the way he spoke definitely portrayed his jealousy, and was uncalled for, but he hoped that masking it with confusion or anger wouldn’t give away his true feelings. 

Honestly, it killed him the first time he entered the Chateau and found out Elle had decided to sleep in John B’s bed instead of the empty spare room. It was the morning after they’d been hanging out as a group, smoking, watching movies and binging on the snacks Pope had brought over. Often, on nights like that everyone would stay over, usually having already fallen asleep during the last movie. However, JJ had decided to sleep in his own bed that night, knowing that his Dad was on an overnight fishing trip with his workmates. He hadn’t even thought about whether Elle had stayed over or headed home, until he walked in the next morning, calling out for John B and banging on his bedroom door, not expecting her to answer in nothing but one of John B’s oversized t-shirts. He quickly put two and two together, knowing that she had a drawer in the spare room with some clothes in it for whenever she decided to stay over, and concluded that the scene in front of him, reeked of sex. And of an unspoken betrayal that JJ promised himself never to mention. 

That wasn’t the last time he had caught her in that situation, it recurring exactly 5 more times, over the space of the past year. To ensure that he would never feel that betrayal again, JJ had pushed down his feelings for Elle, rebuilt some of the walls that he’d let come down around her, and used sarcasm to hide how he actually felt about the idea of his best friend hooking up with the girl that he thought he was falling in love with.

Shaking her head slightly out of disbelief, she rebutted, her voice rising a few decibels, “Excuse me? I have never slept with John B. So what we shared a bed, does that automatically mean we were hooking up? We couldn’t have just been friends who fell asleep in the same bed after talking for a few hours? JJ I’ve shared a bed with you, Pope and Kie tonnes of times! Was I hooking up with all of you as well?”.

Looking down at the ground briefly, he lowered his voice, becoming aware of how loud they were being. “It’s different with us and you know it”.

Following his lead, she lowered her voice, her anger showing through in her tone instead, “Do I J? I’m surprised you even noticed with all the tourons coming and going from your room”.

His eyes darted up to her face, “What's that supposed to mean?”.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she continued, “You get to have your fun, aren't I allowed to have mine?”. That’s all JJ ever referred to his one night stands or brief flings as, fun. 

Pointing back at the door that they’d emerged from, he referred to Topper, “This is what you call fun Elle? Fine, have all the ‘fun’ in the world, but please spare me, I don’t wanna see it”.

She raised her eyebrows out of surprise, two could play at this game. “Oh and you thought I enjoyed watching you mack on anyone with a pulse at our keggers?”. She couldn’t count the times she had watched him sweet talk a touron at a kegger into going for a walk down to the water with him, often not returning for over an hour. Not that Elle was keeping track (although she was definitely keeping track). In that hour, she’d usually devoured way too many shots, or danced, or began chatting up a guy herself, to ease the dull heartache that seemed to consume her.

Defeated by this argument, and his blood still boiling, he resorted to his defences, “You know what, do what you want, just don't come crying to me when he turns out to be exactly who we think he is”.

“From what I can remember, you wanted nothing to do with me, so what do you care who I’m macking on?”.

“The only reason I care is because of John B and Sarah. We’re trying to find ways to clear John B’s name and get justice for Sarah, whilst you're hooking up with her goddamn ex.

When this whole thing between you two blows up like it inevitably will, just know that you have no one to blame but yourself”, he spat, turning and walking back over to crates, beginning to take them around to the kitchen entrance of the Yacht Club.

“Thanks JJ! I’ll be sure to keep that in mind”, she called out after him, watching him make his way inside. She felt as though steam was coming out of her ears and she swore that her face was beet red right now, matching the faded stain on her dress. She was expecting some sort of drama to occur tonight, but not once had she thought that it would’ve been with JJ instead of Topper.

Hearing the door to the garden close behind her, she took a deep breath before turning around to face him, “Hey, are you alright?”, he asked softly. He had definitely heard the fight, probably opting to stay inside so as to not incite any more tension.

“Yeah I’m fine”, she nodded, grabbing his hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze, “let’s head back inside, you might need to show me how to act like a proper Kook, I think I’m finished with being a Pogue for the night”, she winked.

Topper recognised her joking tone, hinging from the hips in a faux bow, “Why of course my lady, follow me”. If she was going to be treated like a Kook, what’s the harm in acting like one?

Taglist:

@mybillyhardgrove @cyrrusmreadings @downbytheouterbanks @belledutchess @imagines-and-preferences1216 @teamnick @lauraxwndrlnd @thehomeiknow @obxlife @shawnssongs @rudyypankow @gigi-june @x-lulu​ @frodofreakingbaggins

[envysnest]

Snakeskin (Sephiroth/Reader) (ch. 8/?)

AO3 / Pillowfort

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14

Tags: First Time, Reader-Insert, Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Frank Discussions of Past Rape/Abuse, Everyone is Queer, Canon-Compliant (if you squint), Pre-Crisis-Core Seph, Slow Burn, i continue to disappoint my friends and family, sephiroth is a virgin and in this essay i will, Reader is a Cis Woman, fluffy sex, Praise Kink, Gratuitous Biochemistry

Summary:

You are a young biologist, fresh out of graduate school, working in Shinra's R&D Division under Professor Hojo. You had long since given up on finding a partner and starting a family, preferring instead the company of your cell samples and your scientific instruments.

As the conflict in Wutai worsens, you strike up an unexpected friendship with a First Class SOLDIER.

(Sephiroth/Reader Slow Burn)

TW's for this chapter: We're finally making good on that E rating. Read with discretion and make sure your grandma's out bowling or something.

---

That night, you peeled the gauze off of your hand. The cut Masamune had left was, fortunately, shallow: an angry gash, like a paper-cut, across your palm. Dried blood stained the bandage. You flexed your hand and winced against the answering jolt of pain. Doing lab work with it was going to be challenging, to say the least.

Before work the next day, you grabbed gauze from the corner store and tried to wrap your hand. Sephiroth’s impeccable bandaging technique was impossible to replicate, and as the sun rose higher over the horizon, you gave up and went to work with gauze dangling from your palm.

Hammond was the first to notice. “Woah. What happened there?”

You draped your coat over the back of your chair. The office was near-empty now, sitting awkwardly in the nothing stretch between the holidays and New Year’s. “Just, uh. Cooking accident? I cut my hand real bad slicing avocados.” You mimed cutting your hand with a knife.

Hammond let out a sympathetic hiss and shook his head.

---

That night, you went in to feed the cells. 029 had died from mako exposure, but J - 180 - L - 9177 looked…different.

The cells were now thriving.

You placed the plate underneath the microscope and increased the magnification. The cells had the same strange appearance as before: irregular, clawing shapes, with multiple nuclei to a cell and that sickly gray cast. But cells now crowded the once-bare plate, pressing up against each other and against the dish, as if they were straining to get out. Even considering the time between when you had last fed them and now, this was an outrageous explosion of growth: from freezer-burned and forgotten, to climbing over themselves for space.

It was time to split the line if you wanted to keep growing them. Splitting involved making a brand-new plate using a few cells from 029-1: your current plate. It was risky enough cultivating one plate, let alone multiple. But J - 180 - L - 9177’s ravenous appetite for mako haunted you; how could you pass up the opportunity to learn what was different about these? After all, you’d be in just as much trouble with Hojo when he found the first plate versus when he found the seventeenth plate, several generations in. 

You took a fraction of the J - 180 - L - 9177 cells and placed them into a brand-new Petri dish, covering them with warm liquid media. This new plate, you decided, would be labeled as 029-2. The name was just vague enough to avoid suspicion while still following a naming convention you recognized: "2nd generation of stolen cells." There was no mako currently allotted to your lab, and so you couldn’t dose them without arousing suspicion.

You grabbed a clean tube. Within it, you mixed a second portion of the thriving J - 180 - L - 9177 cells with glycerol, producing a viscous back-up culture that could be frozen in cryo until you needed to regrow them again. You placed the tiny tube in the storae tank, hidden amongst your other, older samples that no one ever touched.

The original J - 180 - L - 9177 (still in disguise as 029-1) went into the biohazard, like 029 before it.

---

On New Year’s Eve, you stayed home. Somewhere in the middle of the night, you received a single text from Sephiroth: his gloved hand holding a sparkler in the dark. You tweaked the brightness on your phone. Barely visible in the background was a bustling SOLDIER encampment. Sparklers dotted the grassy landscape like stars.

You smiled, cheeks growing hot, and typed out a reply:

>> :)

Later the next morning, Sephiroth sent another message.

>>Missing you fiercely.

You fell asleep that night wondering how it would feel to kiss him as the clock struck twelve. Like sparklers, you thought: like stars of hope against the dark.

---

It was hopeless, you thought to your reflection in the barracks elevator. No matter how gentle you tried to be with the eyeshadow, you still put too much on. You groaned as your index finger came away black with mascara. At least you chose a skirt that fit a little better this time; you felt less like an overgrown toddler and more like Sephiroth's equal.

As the elevator climbed to the 43rd floor, you thought back to the last message Sephiroth had sent you that afternoon: come hungry. That didn’t sound like someone who was apt to kick you out Saturday morning. Then again, you could never tell. 

The elevator chimed quietly and opened up to that sleek white hallway. Snowflakes clumped against the window at the end. Below, Midgar twinkled in the fog. An overnight bag thumped against your left arm as you walked; even someone who hated their partner liked them to at least spend the night. Your medication rattled inside.

You didn’t understand what “come hungry” meant: was it literal (as in, come hungry for food), or was it an innuendo? Despite yourself, you felt a little sick as you knocked on 4301.

How was it possible that you could fall over yourself to come here, could even look forward to this, and still feel like you were sticking your head in a guillotine?

He won’t hurt you, you thought to yourself, over and over. He won’t hurt you. 

Sephiroth opened the door in an apron, his black shirt rolled up to his sleeves. “You’re just in time,” he sighed. “I’m just about done.”

The smell of spices and cooking meat hit you all at once. Oh, come hungry, as in, I am going to feed you actual food, not my dick. You were right to skip dinner before coming up. The nervousness began to ease, as did the nausea.

Sephiroth walked into the kitchen as you were kicking off your heels. “You hungry?” he asked. Over the bar top, you could see a tall pot steaming on the stove, which he was peering into like it was a scrying pool. A strainer full of egg noodles sat on the countertop nearby. Next to the strainer sat two gleaming bowls, illustrated with a lush forest; if you squinted, you could make out a black bear peering out from the trees. The apartment was warm to the point of being uncomfortable.

“Very,” you said. 

He came over to the counter. "Take your coat off. Sit. Get comfortable." He gestured to the bag on your shoulder. "What's that?"

You looked down at it and shrugged it off of you, as if you had casually forgotten it was there. "An overnight bag," and, oh damn it, your voice cracked. "Just like, some clothes? And my meds?"

You watched as the corners of Sephiroth’s lips twitched upwards in response. He was wearing jeans this time: a worn, acid-washed pair that looked a decade out of fashion. "You came prepared." There was a different kind of breathlessness to his voice this time, and it sounded suspiciously like excitement. You felt yourself smile and hid it against your shoulder until he had returned to the stove.

Whatever he was making, it smelled incredible: savory, burning hot, and perfect for a snowy night in January. You pulled yourself up onto one of the bar chairs. From here, you could watch Sephiroth over the counter as he spooned a dark red soup into each bowl. The front of the refrigerator was a mess of magnets, photographs on film, and souvenirs.  

As he topped each bowl with a generous heap of noodles, he spoke again. “I’m realizing now I didn’t ask if you had any allergies. Or if you ate meat.”

You shook your head. There was nothing in front of you you couldn’t eat, and anyway, you weren’t about to turn down a home-cooked meal he had clearly slaved over. “I’m good.”

He looked up at you as he opened the fridge. “Are you sure? I can make you something different.”

The idea of Sephiroth breaking himself over again, just for your comfort, at once startled and soothed you. He looked as if he’d toss the entire meal into the trash and start over again if you said the word. “I’m sure. I’m…really excited, actually?”

“Good.” You watched as he dug in the fridge and extracted two Chocobo eggs, larger than life and speckled with blue dots. 

“Don’t SOLDIERs have a meal plan they’re supposed to follow?”

“They do,” said Sephiroth carefully. He cracked one egg into each bowl, tossed the shells into the sink. “This fits my macros.” He smirked and added, “Will you tell on me?”

You shook your head, grinning. 

The meal he set in front of you was some kind of stew. The Chocobo egg, runny and perfect, steamed atop a red miso broth laden with vegetables and a dark, fatty meat. 

You jumped as you felt a gentle hand on your back. Sephiroth had rounded the corner from the kitchen and had put a hand between your shoulder blades to warn you. He set his own bowl in front of the seat beside you. 

“I’ve still got that Junon red left,” he said. “Do you want a glass?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He touched that space between your shoulder blades again as he passed you. You felt yourself melt into the touch, chasing it even though he was already back in the kitchen, rooting around for two wine glasses. When you picked up your chopsticks and poked at your meal, the egg yolk broke and ran into the broth. 

The first mouthful was perfect. You happily tucked in to your meal, only looking up long enough to thank Sephiroth for setting a fresh glass of wine in front of you. The red miso broth mixed perfectly with the strips of beef, the bean sprouts, the egg, and the bok choy. He sat next to you, looking comically small for the bar chair when your feet couldn't even touch the ground. The two of you ate in content silence for a while.

When your bowl was half-finished, you took a sip of the wine: it was just as good as you remembered. 

Sephiroth nudged your bare foot with his and leaned towards you. “Did you like it?”

“I loved it.” There was enough for two meals in front of you; you felt pleasantly sated. Sephiroth had already cleaned his bowl and was now eyeing yours with a slight tinge of envy.

You pushed your bowl towards him, and he shook his head. “No,” he said. “We’ll save that for next time.”

Next time? You two hadn’t slept together, had done hardly anything together, and there was already going to be a next time? You took a gulp of wine so you could hide your expression from him.

He stood. “You’re thinking again.”

“How do you know?” you said to the countertop.

“You get very, very quiet,” he said. “Well," and he tilted his hand this way and that, "quieter than normal.” His hand appeared in your vision as he removed your bowl. “And you suddenly look exhausted.”

You rested your chin on your forearm while you twirled the wineglass against the counter. The dark red liquid danced in the light. “I’m always exhausted.”

“I want you to feel relaxed while you’re here.” The remaining soup was sealed in glass containers, which Sephiroth then placed in the fridge. “Not stressed.”

“I don’t feel stressed now.” The nausea from out in the hall had abated. Maybe Sephiroth was good with working with traumatized people; maybe he was using some high-level magic on you.

Or maybe, you thought, you just naturally relaxed around him.

He chuckled as he loaded the dishwasher. “Well, good.” He turned to face you, leaning up against the counter with a smile. You stared at his exposed forearms, the way the muscle stretched taut to accommodate his weight. “Then I’m doing my job.”

You looked away from him. There was still that bowl of clementines on the far counter, next to an espresso machine. In the corner of the kitchen was a stacked washer and dryer, both Shinra-co. branded and featuring more dials and knobs than you had ever seen in your life. In fact, everything in his kitchen was from Shinra: the fridge, the dishwasher, even the espresso machine.

You turned back to Sephiroth, who had already removed his apron and was hanging it on the wall next to the fridge. “I did it again. The, uh, the thinking? I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” he said gently. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You stared into your wine glass as he rounded the corner into the living room. He hesitated next to you. 

“If I may,” Sephiroth said quietly. 

When you looked up, he shifted from foot to foot and cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looked so shy again. How did he do that, you thought, oscillate from confident to shy and back again?

You set the glass back down on the counter and inclined your head. “You may,” you said.

“You look…” He took a deep breath, eyes roaming the length of your body. “Absolutely, astonishingly beautiful.”

Your breath hitched. “Wait, you…?” You sat up. “Are you serious?”

He gave you a withering look, the inquisitive tilt of his head asking if you had bumped yours on the way in.

“Seph.”

He laughed and rolled his eyes. “Yes, I mean it,” he said. “I wouldn’t say that if it wasn’t true.”

“I…” You blinked hard and looked down at your feet. That tender, oozing feeling was back in your belly. You smiled at the floor. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

A tense silence descended upon the two of you. You rubbed your calf with your heel and looked up. Sephiroth was studying the hallway off to his left, as if it was suddenly the most interesting place he’d ever seen. 

You slid off of the bar chair. Sephiroth looked back to you.

You shuffled forward and tentatively placed a hand on his chest, at your eye level. For a while, you stood there, Sephiroth watching you as you felt his heartbeat under your palm. He seemed so patient, the look in his eyes hopeful. You felt small around him, but it was beginning to feel less like you were prey.

No: you felt small in a good way, more like a cherished object on a shelf, or like a well-loved pebble in a child’s pocket. 

When you touched your forehead to his sternum, he sighed as if he had been waiting for you. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders. The two of you stood there, holding each other in comfortable silence. You pressed your cheek to his chest and closed your eyes. The soft fall of his hair brushed your back, your face, as he bent down and pressed his nose against the top of your head, breathing deeply. He smelled like the flowers he had given you.

You spoke up first, quiet like you two were in a church. “You feel nice.”

“So do you.” His voice was equally hushed.

You craned your neck to look up at him. “Would it hurt you to kiss at this angle?”

He crinkled his nose at you when he smiled. “Why? Do you have something better in mind?”

You walked your fingers across his pectorals. “We couuuld…sit down?”

Sephiroth let go of you and beckoned you to follow him with a smile. You wordlessly trailed after him, helpless to his pull, like he was one of those burning sparklers in the field on New Year’s Eve: warm and bright and inviting against the backdrop of snow falling over the city. When he sat down, you settled on the couch next to him, and before you could say anything, he teased, “This won’t hurt either of us,” and leaned down to kiss you again. It felt every bit as wonderful as the first time, just as you remembered it: he was passive, letting you surge up into the kiss and press up against him. His fingertips danced along your spine, and you shivered with pleasure. 

He pulled away. There was already a cramp in your neck from the odd angle, but, you thought, better uncomfortable than sorry. When he had laid you down against the couch, you had dissociated on him. Better to keep sitting up. You brushed the hair out of his eyes, and to your amazement, he leaned his cheek against your hand, chasing the touch, like he couldn’t get enough of you.

You rubbed the side of your neck. “Can I...can I sit in your lap?”

“Please do,” he responded.

You swung your leg over his lap and straddled him. Sephiroth’s eyes flashed with glee as you settled on top of him to kiss him again. He honest-to-God moaned against your mouth, sending a hot rush of arousal through you. He seemed hesitant to move his hands past the small of your back.

“Seph,” you murmured.

“Mm?”

“You can, um.” You took a deep breath and steadied yourself. “You-y-you can try touching me.”

“On one condition.”

You scoffed. Of course there's a catch. “Alright. What is it?”

“Call me Seph again?” Sephiroth said it quietly, almost under his breath, as if he was embarrassed to ask you. 

You felt a surge of protectiveness over this man, locked away in his gilded cage at the top of the world, waiting on pins and needles for the chance to touch you again. You held his face in your hands, watched his eyes flash with that boyish hope again. “Seph,” you whispered against his mouth, and he leaned up to kiss you again, fierce and hungry. 

“I’ve never had a nickname,” he said when he pulled away.

You rubbed your thumbs against his cheeks. Everything about him was so soft, so unbearably good. “Do you like it?”

“I do,” he purred, and he tilted his head, leaning in towards you, seeming to say without words, please kiss me again, that question in his eyes as to whether you’d actually do it, and God, you wanted to. You indulged him and leaned down to his lips.

Finally— blessedly— his hands fell to your ass, pulling you against him. He didn’t grab or drag you, you noticed with relief; in fact, he seemed tentative, his fingers dancing up and down your back again, like he wasn’t sure where to touch first. You cupped the back of his neck and sighed into his mouth. You felt like you were going to burst into confetti.

“Is this alright?” Sephiroth murmured.

“It’s great,” you breathed. “Keep going.”

His right hand broke away and wandered curiously up your thigh, darting under the hem of your skirt. You tensed, but he didn’t go further, instead resting his palm on your leg near your hip. You gently stroked his hand and, when he didn’t move, lifted it and placed it on the small of your waist. He kneaded the soft flesh he found there, making you gasp and buck your hips. Judging by the way he kissed you harder in response, he liked how it felt, too. 

You counted your limbs. Yes, you had two hands on his shoulders, and your legs were folded underneath you. You took slow inventory of yourself: your hair in his fingers now, your ass sitting firmly in his lap, your knees on the couch cushions, your heart racing in your chest. 

But then he pulled away and murmured, “Show me where.”

You took a deep breath. There was a right answer and a wrong answer to this; you knew as much from other partners. “Anywhere,” you whispered. “Anywhere you’d like.”

He shook his head. “None of that. I want to know.”

You hesitated. Held this close, there was nowhere for you to hide from him, but the idea of begging for what you wanted from him was mortifying. Your voice was soft as you settled for, “I don’t know what I want.”

“You don’t know?” He shifted your weight on his lap. “That makes two of us.”

You snorted. “I—“

“You’re sorry. I know.”

You covered your face; your cheeks were burning. “You’re terrible.”

He reached up to your cheek, brushed a thumb against it. You followed his touch like a moth following the flame. “Are you shy?”

“More…embarrassed?”

He laughed and closed his eyes. His thumb passed over your cheek again: affectionate, apologetic. “So you do know, and you’re not telling me.” When he opened his eyes again, you squinted against the mako glow. “Do you think I’ll judge you?”

The joke fell out of your mouth before you could stop it. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone did.”

His face fell. He brushed his knuckles against your cheek. You moved your head out of his reach. He said, “That won’t do,” and you weren’t sure what he was referring to.

You shook your head. This conversation (the “my life is a terrible daytime soap you’d see on Channel 6 and I’m real fucked up about it” conversation) was always uncomfortable; at worst, it would sound a death knell for whatever good thing this was. No one wanted a fuck-up in their bed.

Fear welled up from deep within you. You looked down at his chest, watched it rise and fall— it was unsteady, you realized, because he was just as aroused and nervous as you were. You picked at a loose thread on his shirt.

Out of the corner of his eye, you saw his head tilt. “We could talk about it.”

“There’s a lot,” you said softly. Oh, there was the lump in your throat, right on schedule. The tears were fast approaching. “Maybe another time.”

“Would you like to stop?” His voice was gentle; you wished it wasn’t. It was somehow worse, you thought, when the other person was actually listening. You stopped picking at the thread, put your palm over his heart instead. When you didn’t respond, he traced a finger up your spine.

You cleared your throat, but the lump wouldn’t leave. “I just don’t like being asked,” you said, “what I like.”

“Okay.” He didn’t sound upset; if anything, he was still being gentle (too gentle) with you. “Why?”

“No-no one ever really wants to know.” Tears pricked at your eyes. “I th-thin-think they do it to feel, like, better about whatever comes next.” 

He pressed a warm palm against your back. “I do want to know.” He sighed. “I…don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything about it.”

“No,” he said. He hesitated again; when you looked up, he was looking away. He knit his brow: the expression of frustration was so naked, so childish, that you sat up straight. “I mean, I’m not sure how to touch you.”

“Like…?”

He tilted his head this way and that. The hand at your back fluttered. “I don’t have much experience with women. Or…” He flicked his hair out of his eyes. “Any experience with women.”

The shock hit you all at once. For a moment, you stared at him in silence. 

A blush started from his nose and spread across his face.

“Oh my God,” you said softly. “Not at all?”

He leaned back against the couch and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Do your worst,” he sighed.

“You…?” Sephiroth wandered Gaia looking like that and had never once found a woman in his bed? The sheer number of members in the Silver Elite suggested he was not without options. To think, you had been so fearful of him rejecting you for someone prettier, more experienced, when all along he had been frightened of you. All you could do was stammer. “Seph, seriously? Never?”

He spoke to the ceiling. took a deep breath; it sounded like he had rehearsed this many times in his head, waiting for the day to tell you. “Once you best them in training enough times, everyone stops talking to you. You’re just competition after that.” He closed his eyes, shook his head. “By the time I made 1st, I became untouchable. Everyone“Fooled around a few times in training,” he said, “But only with other male recruits. Lockers, the showers, dorms. Always in secret. I never got very far.” He ’t help that I don’t look right.”

You toyed with the ends of his hair. “That’s terrible.”

“I’m well aware.” The bitterness in his tone was palpable. He added, “It doesn’t help that I don’t look right.”

Had the elevator taken you to another planet?  “What do you mean you don’t look right?” You gestured at him with his free hand, feeling helpless. “You’re….you.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Come on. Don’t say that.”

He scoffed. 

You busied yourself with working out a knot from his hair. The silence in the room felt heavy. 

Here was a fresh slate for the both of you, an opportunity to sow something new: no bad habits for him to unlearn, no desire to force you or take what he wanted out of expectation. You let go of his hair, braced your hands against his chest. You wanted to be good for him, and not just to sate him: to give him safe harbor, the same as he had offered you. 

“I’m honored to be your first,” you said.

He wouldn’t look you in the eye. That faint pink tinge hadn’t left his cheeks, so vivid against his pale skin.

You leaned down and caught his eye. He looked up at you with surprise, like he had forgotten you were there.

“It’s not hard,” you said. “I promise. I’ll help you.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips: self-deprecating, shy again. “And here I thought you’d leave.”

You grinned. His eyes lit up with delight. “I’m a good teacher.”

“I know you are.” He gently pulled your forehead down so he could kiss it. “Shall we move to the bedroom?”

This was it. Don’t, the voice in your brain pled. You won’t be able to come back from this. You won’t be able to stop him.

But that wasn’t right. He had had every opportunity to hurt you the last time you were here, and instead he had stopped what he was doing and put a blanket over you, held you while you cried, sent you flowers. He had told you something you weren't sure he told anyone before.

He’s trying to show you that he likes you, you thought. This is how he’s doing it.

So you took a deep breath, slid off of his lap, and said, “Sure.”

He stood and took your hand. You let him lead you past the couch and down a sharp left turn into that narrow hallway. The kitchen was open to you on your right; on the wall ahead of you hung a painting, showing lush, rolling fields. “The Western continent,” Sephiroth said when he followed your gaze. There was a small white door off to the right; presumably the bathroom, because Sephiroth turned left instead and led you into an enormous bedroom.

The walls of his room were a dark cream color, like coffee made with too much milk. Unlike the rest of the apartment, the floor was covered with a white, fluffy carpet that felt soft between your toes. Those same floor-to-ceiling windows from the living room made up the far wall again. Sephiroth walked over and drew curtains across it, hiding Midgar's skyline.

An old, well-loved leather armchair sat in one corner near the windows, along with a matching leather ottoman. The leather had already cracked around the chair's arms. A smaller wooden bookcase, stuffed with books, climbed the wall beside it. Sephiroth had piled yet another stack of books on a small wooden end-table, well within reach of the chair.  An enormous, if shallow, closet took up the wall to your right; shuttered wooden doors had been pulled across it, hiding its contents from your view. You could see yourself, hunched over and meek, in a long mirror hung beside them.

Sephiroth’s bed dominated most of the room. It was a size you didn’t think possible to manufacture; you could’ve laid in the center, stretched all of your limbs out, and still not have touched the edges. It was neatly made, with a plain, cream-colored comforter tucked neatly into the mattress. Four fluffy pillows lined the dark wooden headboard. You looked down at the floor; there were a few books Sephiroth had hastily kicked under the bed when you walked in. Their covers peeked out from the white bedskirt. Does he not want me to see those?

You sat on the edge of the bed, facing the door. The mattress was sinfully soft. There were matching wooden bedside tables, each kitted with a single drawer, on either side of the bed. The one on your side was bare; you looked over your shoulder. Sephiroth rummaged in the opposite bedside table’s drawer. On top of it stood a few other books and an empty water glass; clearly, that was his side of the bed. 

Here you were.

What were you going to say to him? What if you had another episode? You pressed your palms against the comforter. What if you were bad?

Your voice shook when you spoke up. “I just, um.”

Sephiroth looked up from his rummaging.

“I just want to warn you,” you said. You gathered the comforter in your fists. “I’m—I’m—I’m kind of a hard s-s-sell.”

“A hard sell?” 

“I don’t really, um, come with partners.” The words came out all in a rush. Deep down, you knew why: you were too keyed up, too uncomfortable, too afraid to let go and show yourself to the many people who had ended up in your bed. That vulnerability would be yet another weapon used against you later. You remembered the anger and frustration in one boyfriend’s voice: You need to relax, said like an insult as he rolled off of you. You’re impossible. You smoothed out your skirt and turned away. “Like, ever. It, um, it makes people m-mad? So please don’t be upset if, um, if-if-if I don’t, like, finish.”

“Well.” He set a few items on the bedside table: a box of condoms, lubricant, a hair tie. The mattress dipped as he crawled over to you. “Can I try to get you there?”

You sat as still as possible. If you moved, you were afraid the entire room would come crashing down, falling forty-three stories to the streets, to your unheated apartment in Sector Eight, to your empty twin bed and your alarm clock startling you awake.

You whispered, "It’s really not a big deal."

“It is,” he replied, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “I want you to feel good. Let me try.”

The warm little flame in your belly, the one you had pushed down in the cell culture room so long ago, flared up again. You ducked your head in embarrassment when he sat cross-legged on the bed in front of you. 

Sephiroth leaned down to catch your eye. “Shy again?”

“A little.”

“You can tell me to stop anytime you like.” His hand landed on your thigh. The heat of his palm was like a brand, even through your black tights. It was the best pain you’d ever felt.

“You can tell me to stop, too.” You fiddled with the hem of your blouse and looked up at him. “I want you to be comfortable.”

He was so close you could feel his words on your lips. “Shall we go slow, then?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

You craned your neck upwards to kiss him again, syrupy-sweet and gentle. He broke away from you long enough to tug on your wrists, and you climbed gratefully back into his lap as if you had always belonged there. He was already hard, just from kissing you; you couldn’t suppress the small noise of disbelief you made. 

When you pulled away, Sephiroth looked you up and down like he was trying to decide what to do first. “I’m going to kiss your neck now,” he said finally. “Would you like that?”

You nodded.

He leaned down and pressed a wet, warm kiss to your pulse. His mouth was clumsy, unpracticed against your skin. You relaxed as he meandered kisses down your neck, across your collarbone. He felt impossibly warm, his hair soft between your fingers.

“Good?” he whispered against the divot of your collarbone.

“Mm-hm.”

“What else?”

 Your breath caught in your throat. The hesitation must have shown to him, because he prompted you again, gentler this time: “What else?”

“I want—I—“

Your breath hitched again, unable to voice what you actually wanted. This felt indulgent, somehow, like you were staring down the opportunity to eat an entire cake by yourself. Sephiroth nosed inquisitively at the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

You finally said, “I w-w-want you to…to k-kiss me again?”

“I can do that.” He resumed his clumsy kissing across your neck, up the column of your throat until he reached your face again. You caught  his soft lips again, and when he kissed you back, it was hungry. Needy.

His tongue was hesitant against your bottom lip. You opened your mouth in response, and he gasped as if you had told him a secret. The sound went straight to your groin. You felt like you were floating, but in a good way: this time, your body was coming with you, tethered only to the bed by his warm hands over your shirt, the gentle rub of his cock against your tights.

You couldn’t stand the tender way he looked at you when he pulled away; you squeezed your eyes shut from shame. 

“May I touch you again?” he whispered.

“Yes,” you whispered back. “Please.”

His fingers met the small of your back, where they ducked under the hem of your shirt. He traced a path up and down your lower spine again, not daring to go higher than what you’d permit.

You would permit him anything.

You wanted to sink your greedy hands into the cake and shove fistfuls into your mouth.

You wanted to gorge yourself on him, on the feeling of being wanted and cared for.

He said, "I’m here. You don’t need to ask for what you want.”

You nodded frantically. His touch made you shiver. “Okay.”

“Are you afraid?”

You answered without thinking: “Yes.”

Sephiroth’s hand stilled. “Of me? Of this?”

“This,” you squeaked, and despite yourself, you felt yourself tearing up. You could barely remember the last time someone was this gentle, this permissive. You opened your eyes. 

He drew back and eyed you with concern. “It’s too much,” he said, “isn’t it?”

“It’s…” You took a shaky breath, trying to focus on his face. “I d-don’t remember the last time someone was…this nice.”

He reached out a thumb and wiped your cheek. You were crying, and you hadn’t even realized when you’d started. “You don’t need to ask for anything,” he repeated. “Are you enjoying it? Is this bad?”

You laughed and swiped a hand across your cheeks. “I’m really enjoying this.” Why did you feel like you were admitting something terrible? You looked down, found the juncture of where you had pressed yourself against him. You blushed and looked away. His walls were so plain: no artwork, no photos. There was nothing to distract you from how hot you felt just from being kissed. The last time you felt this way was…

Never.

“It’s not going away,” he murmured, bringing you back to him. His hand found the back of your neck, massaging the tension he found there. “I won’t take this from you.”

You felt so tender it hurt. “You won’t, um.” You looked up at him. “Think…?”

He tilted his head when you trailed off. “Think what?”

“I always thought I was…ugly, somehow? When I was, um. Enjoying m-m-myself?”

“Who told you that?” 

Who didn’t? You held on to him so tightly that your nails dug into his back; if he noticed, he didn’t seem to mind. You willed yourself to relax, not wanting to hurt him. When you replied, your voice was soft, halting. “Just…past…partners?”

He said your name gently. “They were wrong,” he said.

You looked up at the ceiling, at the bare walls, at the books on his nightstand. “You don’t know that.”

Sephiroth leaned to one side, catching your eye. He half-laughed as he said, “Do I get to find out for myself?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as a few more tears escaped your eyes. You made to wipe your cheeks, but he beat you to it, wiping your tears away. You whispered, “Damn it.”

“If it helps,” and here Sephiroth’s voice became soft, hesitant, like your own, “I’m afraid, too. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

It did help. You brushed his hair out of his eyes, only for it to fall back into place. Now you know why he wore his hair long: he was remarkably expressive around you, the hesitation written plainly on his face. He was twice your size and wielded a sword you couldn’t even carry, and yet he seemed so small, innocent in his own way, a young lover trying his damndest to care for you. Suddenly, all of this didn’t seem frightening anymore.

“No one does,” you said.

“Will I hurt you?”

“I don’t think so.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut, tilted his head just so as he winced. “That doesn’t reassure me.” 

“Do I get to find out for myself?”

He scowled and caught your answering laugh on his lips. Your cheeks were still wet, but that little flame of desire welled back up in you as you kissed. His hands were firm on the small of your back, keeping the two of you pressed against one another. Your face hurt from smiling.

Sephiroth pulled away and pinched the side of your waist, just firm enough to make you yelp in surprise. He grinned. “Brat,” he growled under his breath, and the term of endearment made you feel dizzy.

“First-Class,” you replied.

Hir as he guided you back against the pillows. You stretched against the soft mattress. He rolled over to sit up on his edge of the bed and reached towards the nightstand. “Let’s leave work out of this,” he said over his shoulder as he picked up the hair tie, which he promptly stuck between his teeth. As he shook out his wrist and began tying his hair up.

You watched with fascination as his muscles pulled and stretched under his shirt. Soon, you thought, soon you would get to touch them. “Some people like that,” you said.

“And you?” He pulled the elastic onto his wrist and began tying his hair up.

“I think I like ‘brat,’” you said quietly, still staring at his back. Even from this short distance, you could still feel how warm he was. Or was it just you?

“Ha. Come on.” Sephiroth shook out his ponytail and leaned over you from the edge of the bed. Even now, he didn’t overwhelm you, choosing to stay on your left. From where he was, you could easily roll away from him and reach the bedroom door if you wanted to leave. The courtesy wasn’t lost on you. 

He drew a slow finger down the bridge of your nose; you went cross-eyed trying to follow it. With his bangs pulled away from his face, you could count his freckles. “You’re not a brat.”

You could see his face now that he had pulled his bangs out of his eyes. You reached up and cupped his face, swiping your thumbs against his cheeks. To your wonder, he closed his eyes and leaned hard against your palms. You wanted to count every single one of his freckles, his lashes; you knew he would sit patiently as you categorized every cell, right down to the beauty mark near his upper lip. 

Your voice was hushed when you finally spoke. “You’re very pretty.”

He opened his eyes, scrunched his nose as he smiled. “So are you.”

You tilted your head towards him rubbed your nose against his. He let out a trembling sigh and lowered his body onto yours, grinding slowly against your right leg. Of course, you thought; here you were, being romantic, and you were keeping him waiting.

But when you sat up and reached for your blouse, Sephiroth gave you a startled look. “Something wrong?” he asked. He backed away on the bed to give you space.

You raised your eyebrows. He had wanted to stay like that?  “No,” you said, letting your hands fall into your lap. “No, I…” You wiped your sweating palms against your thighs. “I thought you were getting bored?”

“I could never be bored of you,” he replied, reaching inquisitive hands towards you. “You have a strange definition of ‘bored.’”

You laughed under your breath and put your hands around his wrists. He was thwarting you at every turn: you knew the rules of this game, you had played it dozens of times, and here was Sephiroth, telling you to throw away the rulebook and enjoy yourself. You pushed your thumbs under his sleeves, felt the soft skin there; he turned his hands palm-up, watching you touch him. The man in your bed now spoke like the partners in your most shameful, secret dreams: understanding, patient, submissive. The green and blue veins you had tried so hard not to look at in the clinic— miniature strands of the Lifestream, full of blood you had analyzed a hundred times over— were now yours to admire. His flesh was yours to touch, kiss, dote on.

“Can I,” you started, then hesitated. “Can I see you with this off?”

He reached for the hem of his shirt. “You may,” he said, and he pulled it up over his head.

This wasn’t the first time you had seen his chest exposed to you, but it was the first time you had seen him without a stitch of clothing on his torso at all. Sephiroth somehow looked broader, bigger, without the shirt. He was just as solid and well-built as you expected. As you stared at him, his chest rose and fell with those deep, uneven breaths. He was still so nervous.

You exhaled and looked up at his face. “I am going to rip you apart.”

He chuckled and looked away.  “Is that so?”

“I mean—“ You gestured helplessly at his torso. “Not, like, literally. Come here.”

In your dreams, you had imagined he would fall to his hands and knees, crawl over you on the bed with a devilish grin. What Sephiroth actually did was scoot awkwardly forward on his ass until he was within touching distance. 

You pressed your palms flat against his torso and gasped at the warm, solid muscle you found there. Sephiroth shivered as your hands drifted across his pectorals. This close, you could see and feel dozens of different types of scars: cuts, bullet wounds, all manner of minutiae telling the tale of his years in battle. There was white hair,  soft as down, everywhere: on his belly, the divot of his chest, his forearms. You trailed your hands down his chest and paused to touch the pink, gnarled flesh of a past burn. You could almost see that medical report in your head, pointing out the same burn on that blank body outline. Sephiroth’s hands settled in your hair, stroking it, curling a stray lock around his finger; the casual intimacy of it comforted you.

When you leaned forward and pressed a slow kiss to the old burn, he let out a sharp exhale through his nose. When you looked up, his eyes were closed, his brows furrowed as if he needed to focus on not moving. You knew that look: the face of someone trying to preserve a good thing in amber. This was a memory he wanted to keep close.

You whispered against his skin. “You like that?”

“Mm.” His entire body was tensed under you, like he was trying not to frighten you away. 

You trailed open-mouthed kisses against his skin, relishing the way he shivered and panted under you. There was so much you wanted to look at, linger on: a scar from an earlier surgery, an old bullet wound that was almost gray with age, the way silver hair gathered below his navel, leading down past his belt, past where you could see. When you kissed his way up his sternum, he began stroking your hair again. There was not a single person on the planet who didn’t like to be worshipped, you thought— not even this young god, brought low and submissive with only your mouth.

You pulled his left nipple into your mouth and sucked gently. Sephiroth murmured, “Yes,” above you, sighed it like a prayer, tightening his fingers in your hair as you grazed your teeth against the sensitive flesh there. Time seemed to slow down; the room was silent like a cocoon as you kissed your way to his right nipple, drunk on the way he moaned when you rubbed his neglected nipple with a thumb. 

You chanced a glance upward. He was watching you, a look of awe on his face, like he couldn’t believe you were there. His heartbeat thundered somewhere under your mouth.

He pushed your hair back so he could see your eyes. “So pretty,” he said quietly. “Can I call you mine?”

You nuzzled his chest. When you thought about it, weren’t you always his— from the second he laid eyes on you? 

And based on the way he was looking at you now, he had always been yours. 

“Yes,” you said against his skin.

His eyes fluttered shut, and he tilted his head back. “Mine,” he sighed. 

You kissed the space just above where his heart was: where he wore your charm, your favor, against his skin. You pressed your forehead against his chest and trailed tentative fingers down his belly, down to his jeans. 

When your hand brushed his cock through the fabric, he gasped and jerked his hips. He was big, you thought. Was he right: Would he hurt you? But no, you thought, as you rubbed him through his pants, listening to the way he groaned and mumbled your name, he wouldn’t dare, would sooner leave himself unsatisfied than hurt you for his own pleasure. Even through his clothes, he was white-hot in your hand.

You started when he tugged on your blouse sleeve. Sephiroth’s voice was rough with want. “May I take this off?”

“Oh.” You were still clothed. You reached your arms over your head, letting him remove your blouse for you. He let it fall on the bed.

When the tattoo came into view, he let out a low whistle.

You reached behind yourself and unfastened your bra. “Here, it’s better— it’s better when you can see the whole thing.”

Sephiroth’s hands were on your chest the second the bra was off: tracing every bumpy line in fascination, eyes roving over your exposed chest. You tossed your bra on the floor. “How long did this take?” he breathed.

“Like, hours?” You puffed out your chest in pride. “I can’t even remember anymore.”

“It’s…” He trailed off as he found the roses growing in the center of your belly. His finger traced a path to where the Lifestream sprouted like weeds among them. “The Ancients believed in this.”

You smiled when he glanced up at you for confirmation. “It’s, um. It’s why I got it.”

“Tell me what it means.”

“It…” And before you could finish the sentence, he had resumed kissing your skin. “It’s the Lifestream,” you said, and he trailed kisses across your belly, along the waistband of your skirt. “It’s the lifeblood of the planet,” and he kissed up your belly, up over your sternum. “And I wanted to make….m-make my body a, a happier place? One that I rec-rec-recognized?”

He looked up from your chest.

You wrung your hands. “I didn’t mean to bring the mood down.”

“You didn’t,” he said gently. “It’s a beautiful tattoo.” He was gripping your hips, brushing his thumb over your skin. You wanted to burrow in him and let the world turn around you.

You brushed a spare lock of hair out of his face. “Will you keep kissing me again?”

“Mm.” Sephiroth nosed the side of your breast. “Now that you ask…”

When he took your nipple into his mouth, you gasped and arched off of the bed. His lips were just as gentle as the rest of him, kissing your breast over and over again. 

“Harder,” you gasped, and he complied immediately, sucking on your hardening nipple like his life depended on it. His tongue deftly flicked it, once, and you gasped again. He opened his eyes and tilted his head so he could watch you with that gentle interest. You looked over his back, towards the wall over the closet. There were patches of paint there, like he had taken something down and hastily spackled the wall in its place. What was there before?

He released your nipple with a pop and nuzzled your sternum. His eyes fluttered shut. “Still good?” he murmured.

“Very good,” you replied. Too good, is what you wanted to say. It felt almost awkward, being cared for and attended to. 

“Then I’ll continue.” He covered your breast, now wet from his attentions, with one hand, idly rolling your oversensitive nipple between his fingers. Sephiroth’s hands were just as big and broad as the rest of him, you thought, covering and kneading your entire breast like it was nothing. As he kissed his way to your other breast, he looked up at you again. 

Your voice was hoarse as he took your other nipple into his mouth, still watching you. “Hi.”

He crinkled his nose, still sucking on your nipple. “Mmf.”

You snorted and covered your mouth with your hand.

He let out a hard exhale, breath ghosting over your skin, and released you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t talk with my mouth full.”

“I forgive you,” you said around your palm.

“You know,” and he began to unzip your skirt, and you lifted your hips to let him, “you have a charming laugh.”

“Come on. I sound like a pig in heat.”

“You do not.” He pinched your waist; you let out a squeak and smacked his hand away, causing him to laugh in turn. “Stop that. You sound like you.”

You were about to reprimand him when he hesitated, eyes focused on your underwear through your tights. He gathered your blouse and skirt in two hands and tossed them over the side of the bed.

“Wow.” He hooked a finger under the waistband of your tights. “I wish I could have you through these.”

A thrill ran through you at the idea of him bending you, still fully-clothed, over one of the counters in his kitchen. “Maybe next time?” you murmured hopefully.

He nodded once, the same definite nod he had given you in front of the elevator. “Next time. Maybe tomorrow, if you’d like.”

“Tomorrow? Like…?” You lifted your hips so Sephiroth could roll your tights and underwear down your legs. “This weekend, tomorrow?”

“You’re funny.” He briefly glanced up at you with a smile before returning his attention to removing one leg, then the other, from your underthings. “You brought a bag, didn't you? I was hoping you’d stay through the weekend.”

You watched, dazed, as he began to undo his belt. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d love to.”

There was an odd sort of calm that washed over you when you were both naked. Sephiroth was still nearly twice your size, broad and muscular; you were a soft little thing compared to him. Even so, when he laid you down on the bed and put his lips to your breast again, he seemed so delicate. You sighed as he sucked on your nipple; he hummed in response. His free hand trailed down, down, down, until it settled between your legs. You lifted your hips to try and encourage him to touch you.

“So wet,” he murmured.

“Sorry.”

He raised an eyebrow and looked up at you. “Why are you sorry?”

“I don’t know.” You sighed when he slid one finger easily into you. “I just…”

“Shhh.” He kissed the delicate skin between your breasts. “I like it.” He pumped the finger into you, withdrew it slowly. You shivered.

“Here, let me…”

He raised himself up on one elbow to watch you, and you guided two of his fingers to your clit. You asked, voice soft, “Can you press hard and rub in a circle?”

You didn’t have to ask twice. Sephiroth curled over you as he touched you, like he was trying to protect you from all of Midgar. You squeezed your eyes shut; he kissed the bridge of your nose. When he lifted his hand away, you let out a frustrated sigh and dug your nails into his thigh. He laughed, that same gentle laugh he had given you at the holiday party— and really, you were beginning to take tally of all the little things he did, because he was not going anywhere, and you couldn’t believe your luck— and he pressed your clit twice as hard. You jerked your hips upwards with a sigh.

“Feel good?” he whispered.

You nodded frantically, your eyes still shut.

He let out a low hum. “Good.” You felt him draw his tongue over the sweat gathering between your breasts, slow and filthy. You tried your best to make a sound, wanted him to know how much you were enjoying this, but all that came out was a sharp exhale through your nose. He resumed kissing all over the tattoo: every strand of the Lifestream, blessed with his soft mouth and tongue, trailing down, down, down, past the flowers sprouting over your belly. You shivered as he nuzzled the damp hair between your legs, kissing your lower belly like he wanted to leave tribute to you there.

You remembered how stressed you were the night before, plucking and shaving and trimming every inch of your body. You had been trying to get away from any awkward moments, the sideways comments of "I like it better when you..." How you wished you could go back in time and shake yourself: he won’t care, you wanted to scream at that frightened girl from before, he likes you, he won’t care.

You sat up. He had settled between your legs, eyes roving over your cunt as if he expected to find the secrets of the universe there.

The intensity of his staring made you feel warm, even uncomfortable. You shifted on the bed. “Everything okay?” you asked.

He started and looked up, as if you had snapped him out of a daze. Sephiroth blinked, and before you could say anything, he laughed. “Yeah.” He shook his head. “Sorry. I’m overwhelmed.”

“You don’t have to do anything.” 

He turned back to your exposed cunt and continued his study. You had done the same thing the first time you had had sex with another woman: just stared at how she had laid herself open in front of you, feeling frightened and aroused in turns. He reminded you of you: wide-eyed, unsure, wanting. 

You reached down and patted his hand. “I’m serious.”

“Can I—actually.“ He looked up at you, and his cheeks flushed scarlet. “Can I taste you?”

Your breath hitched. There was vulnerability there, as if he expected you to push him away for his inexperience. And when was the last time a partner had eaten you out?

“Yeah,” you said. “Please?”

He ducked his head, and you felt his tongue probe you gently: just the very rim, barely penetrating you, as if he was truly tasting your cunt. You shivered. He made a soft, satisfied sound under his breath, and his tongue delved deeper inside of you: impossibly close, lapping at the wetness he found there.

You let out a soft huff of pleasure as his nose bumped against your clit. “Can you….?” you started, and his eyes opened and swiveled up to yours. You gestured with your thumb, jabbing it towards the ceiling. “Higher up?”

“Anything you want,” he said against you, and you shivered. 

When he pulled back to examine you again, you pointed to your clit. “Here,” you said, and your voice was rougher than you expected.

“Okay,” he said, and then his lips and tongue were there. A warm wave of pleasure rolled through you. You sighed; without thinking, your hands went to his head, pushing him closer, silently urging him to be rough with you. Sephiroth complied, pressing his tongue flat against your clit, where he rubbed it in slow circles.

“Good,” you gasped, and he opened his eyes to watch you. His pupils were fat with desire as he fucked you with his tongue, and when you looked down the length of his body, you saw his cock was leaking onto the sheets. You looked to your left, towards the curtains, trying to escape how close he was to you, how wonderful and hot and wet his mouth felt on your clit. You tugged on his ponytail, and his answering growl was so deep and feral that you bucked your hips in response, feeling at once afraid of him and like you needed him to open you. His nails dug into your hips briefly: a warning, maybe, or no, when you looked back towards him his gaze on you was lazy, even amused. He’s happy. 

Sephiroth’s teeth brushed your clit— too close, he’s going to bite you, he’s going to hurt you.

You yelped and scrabbled backwards on the bed, causing him to lift his head and stare at you in alarm. 

Your voice was high and afraid: “No teeth! No teeth.”

“No teeth,” he repeated. “I’m sorry.”

An innocent mistake, then. You began to relax. “No, it’s okay.” You waved a hand, and he sighed with obvious relief. The care he took in pleasuring you wasn’t something you were used to. “You didn’t know.”

He pressed a kiss to your belly in silent apology. “I’ll be careful.”

You sighed as he returned his mouth to your clit. It was difficult to believe he hadn’t done this before: his tongue was just as deft as it had been on your nipples, his breath coming in short bursts. You dared to look down again, and you tried your damndest to take a snapshot for your memory: Sephiroth’s nose pressed to your pubic hair, the serious furrow of his brow, the way his eyes were closed like he was trying to focus. While you watched, he rocked his hips once, twice, against the comforter: he was getting off of this, on how you tasted and felt on his tongue. When he pressed his middle finger to your entrance again, you sighed, “Please,” and then he was sliding it in you again.

You spoke up. “You can do a second.”

“Mm?” He looked up at you.

You held two fingers, palm up, at his eye level. “Curl them,” you said, and made a beckoning motion. “Like this.”

He pressed a second finger to your entrance and slowly slid it in next to his middle finger. When he beckoned, once, twice, nothing happened.

You said, “Pull them out a little first.”

He did. Nothing.

“Further.”

Nothing. He gave you a desperate look.

“Further.”

He lifted his head so he could watch, and when he beckoned again, you yelped and arched off the bed, a shot of pleasure running like lightning from your cunt to your brain.

The two of you cut each other off: “There—?“ and “Yes—“ and “Okay, good—“

He returned his mouth to your clit with renewed fervor, his fingers working inside of you. It didn’t take him long to discover that you liked when he thrust upwards, grinding his fingers against your rim. You covered your mouth to muffle your pants; you tried to moan for him again, and it came out as a soft wheeze. Noise, perhaps, was still out of reach: it had been beaten out of you from unsatisfying sex and living in an apartment with thin walls. 

There’s time to learn, you thought, dizzy from pleasure. There’s so much time.

You looked down, and Sephiroth’s eyes were bright between your legs as he watched you. His fingers filled you so perfectly: as if he was made for you, as if he had waited his entire life just to please you like this.

You trembled, and suddenly, your orgasm hit you before you could anticipate it or warn him. You closed your eyes and thrust your hips against his mouth, shivering head to toe, panting with the intensity of it. You felt yourself clench around his fingers, taking him deeper still. 

When you came down, he was still going at you with the same intensity. You squirmed and pushed his head away. “Ow. Ow. Seph, stop. I finished.”

His fingers stilled. He lifted his head just high enough to speak to you. “You came? From that?”

“Yeah,” you breathed.

And then you started to laugh, trembling with relief and oxytocin and the pure joy of finally, finally orgasming in someone’s bed. “I did.” You covered your face, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt and your eyes watered. “I did!” 

“There you go.” There was a satisfied tone in Sephiroth’s voice as he gently removed his fingers. “That wasn’t hard at all.”

When he climbed back up the bed to hold you, you giggled against his shoulder, hiccuping with joy. The orgasm had been so easy, so natural. “I did it,” you said over and over, the excitement overwhelming your senses. “I did it. I did it. Thank you.”

Sephiroth’s laugh was right near your ear when you threw your arms around him. “You’re sweet. I told you I’d get you there.”

“How are you so confident all the time?” you gasped.

“I’m not,” he said over your shoulder. “But I’m not satisfied until you are.” 

You pressed your mouth to his shoulder and fell silent.

After a while, he gave you a final squeeze and leaned back to take his hair out of its ponytail. 

A sigh left your mouth. “I, um.”

He tilted his head in a silent question.

You continued, “I w-want you inside me. Like, now.”

“Are you sure?”

You had never been surer of anything in your life. “Mm-hmm.”

He shook out his hair and placed a reassuring palm against your sternum, right over where the Lifestream split in two to curl over your breasts. He leaned over to his nightstand. 

��How do you want me?” he asked.

The question made you feel fuzzy, cared-for. You brought your knees to your chest and hugged them. “I think…you lying on your back. Do you need help with that?” you added as he settled on the edge of the bed with a condom.

He frowned and shook his head as he set the bottle of lube on the comforter. “No.” When he looked over his shoulder at you, he had a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I practiced before you got here.”

You giggled despite yourself.

“What?” he laughed. He ripped open the condom wrapper.

“Nothing.” You leaned over and traced mindless shapes on his back as he rolled the condom onto himself. “You’re just…cute.”

“Cute,” he scoffed, but he was still smiling. “The most feared man in the three continents is cute.”

“You literally cooked for me. Like you’re my little wife.”

“Hush, you.” The condom now on, Sephiroth turned to you and nudged you aside. “Let me lie down.”

You put some lube on two fingers as he settled back on the bed. It still shocked you how relaxed you were, how ready you felt for him; two fingers slid inside of you easily. He placed a warm hand on your hip as you straddled him.

You whispered, "I'll go slow, okay? Just hold still."

His lips parted when you sank down on top of him. You couldn’t stop staring at his face: awestruck as you slowly took all of him. You waited for the sting of pain, the moment where you’d have to grit your teeth and force yourself down, but when your hips connected with his, you realized that moment would never come. This won’t hurt either of us, he had said on the couch.

Your voice was hoarse. “Okay, you can move.”

“You sure?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Still think I’m cute?”

You laughed and covered your mouth. “You’re still stuck on that?”

Sephiroth squinted when he smiled up at you. “I am not cute.”

“Okay, fine. You’re not cute.” 

He rolled his hips. You let out a small gasp.

"Like that?" he whispered.

You nodded silently, not trusting your voice. He felt impossibly big inside of you. When he thrust into you again, you cried out involuntarily from the jolt of pleasure that went through you: a tiny moan, a sound you didn’t think yourself capable of making.

You immediately covered your mouth and looked away.

He put a reassuring hand on the small of your back and thrust again. You grit your teeth behind your palm to keep from crying out again.

Sephiroth spoke up. “It’s okay.” Another thrust, and when he spoke again, there was a breathlessness to his words you hadn’t noticed before. “You look beautiful.”

“So do you,” you sighed, and it was true. His hair fanned out against the pillow in a brilliant silver halo; his chest rose and fell with each deep breath he took. That flush had returned to his cheeks again, climbing down his neck to paint his chest a brilliant pink. He grabbed your hips and set a steady, punishing rhythm.

His touch felt like heaven; like the sunshine, like heat, like lazy honeybees circling the flowers. This was a familiar place, warm and inviting: a home. You felt sated while you rode him, as if the city outside of his room had vanished, and there was no longer any place you two had to be. His hands were tender at your hips, keeping you rooted as you chased your pleasure. You waved your hands towards him, blindly grasping for something, anything, and you felt his hands in yours before you could speak up. He tugged you towards him, just so, and the pleasure from the new angle was so intense that you turned away, hiding your face against your shoulder.

“You—” he choked out, voice ragged around the edges, and he rolled his hips so violently that you gasped. “Beautiful.”

You squeezed his hand in reply. He raised his hand to caress your breast, rolling your nipple between two fingers. Your breath came as steady, halting pants: something between a moan and a sigh.

“Please,” you murmured, and when he sped up, you dipped a hand between your legs to touch yourself. You were on fire.

“That’s it,” he groaned, and you shivered at the vulnerable tone in his voice. “Take me.”

“Mine,” you whispered back.

“Yours,” he sighed.

You seemed to stay there forever, hovering on the edge of some invisible cliff. You were the one receiving him, and yet, it felt like you were taking him in, holding him close, and he was giving himself over to you. There had never been a time you felt like you had control in bed; now, you realized, you held him close in the palm of your hands, and when you opened your eyes, he was staring at where he was joined with you, eyes flicking between your pussy and your gently-bouncing breasts, tracing the lines of the tattoo in haunted fascination. 

Sephiroth had never wanted to hurt you, you realized. He had only wanted to please you. 

And he was succeeding.

The thought made fresh tears well up in your eyes. The flowers, the gentle touching, the way he was fucking you now, was not out of a desire to own you, to dominate you; it was out of affection. You had thought for years that loving sex was for other people, other people who weren’t traumatized and who didn’t cry themselves to sleep at night because they had been raped. This wasn’t an exchange; it was talking without words, as playful and gentle as the way you two had spoken to each other earlier. You had been so worried about paying some invisible debt, but all along, you owed him nothing. 

Had he lain awake in this same bed, miles from your apartment, dreaming of you?

He met your eyes with alarm. “I’m close,” he panted. “W-what do I…”

“Come for me,” you whispered. “It’s okay.”

“I can— please,” he begged, his thrusts becoming harder, more irregular. “Please. Say that again.”

You placed your free hand on his bare chest. “Come for me.”

“I’m c—I can’t—“

“Seph,” you whispered. “Please, I want to see you.”

“I can’t, I—“ He sighed your name, and a beatific expression crossed his face. His mouth opened in a silent gasp as he spilled into the condom, his eyes on yours: searching for permission, for forgiveness.

You cupped his cheek as he rode through the aftershocks. You couldn’t imagine he would need you for anything, certainly not for intimacy, for cradling his heart close as he came. It was a heady, sensitive feeling.

Sephiroth stilled under you, panting. He closed his eyes and turned his head to the side, visibly exhausted.

You leaned over him, staring down at his face in wonder. His cock twitched inside of you as you stroked his face with your thumbs.

He reached up and wrapped a gentle hand around your wrist.

You spoke up first. “That was beautiful.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Thank you.” When he turned back to you and opened his eyes, they seemed brighter than before. “You’re incredible.”

“Can we…?” You felt almost embarrassed to ask. “Like, stay here? Like this?”

The smile on his face was lazy, shy. You felt your cheeks warm. “Sure,” he murmured. 

The two of you sat in silence, watching each other. He felt so perfect. His hands fell to the insides of your thighs, stroking them gently. You set to categorizing the scars on his chest again.

“What’s this one?” you asked as you pointed to an angry slash near his collarbone.

He looked down, trying his best to follow your finger. “A sword got me,” he replied. “Training exercise.”

“You use real swords during those?”

“A better question.” He reached up and rubbed your bottom lip with his thumb. You kissed it, and he chuckled. “Do you want to keep going, or would you like to call it a night?”

To your relief, you felt sated. You couldn’t remember a time when you hadn’t been awake on the other side of the bed, staring at the ceiling and burning away with unsatisfied lust while your partner snored happily beside you. “I…you’re not done?”

He gave you a gentle smile. You could feel his pulse inside of you, like you were holding his heartbeat in your chest. “I’m done when you’re done.”

You smiled. “Well, I’m done.”

He inclined his head towards you. “Then let’s call it a night.”

The two of you set to untangling yourselves; you hissed at the bright shock of pain as he slid out of you. You put your hand on his chest and lied down on the bed. 

When he removed the condom, he looked at you inquisitively. That was right: sex ed tended to focus on putting on the condom, not disposing of it. You had almost forgotten that it was his first time. Fresh affection welled in you again. 

You made a looping gesture with your finger. “You tie it off.”

“Thank you.” As he tied a knot, he spoke to you over his shoulder. “To answer your question, yes, the 2nd-Classes are allowed to use real blades.”

“Doesn’t that get dicey real fast?”

“Yes, especially if your opponent has never lifted a sword.” He tossed the condom into a wastebasket by the door. “Are you thirsty?” He stood up and stretched, cracking his back as he did so. He seemed unashamed of his nakedness; a side-effect, maybe, of his strange upbringing. “Water, coffee, more wine…?”

“Water. Please?”

He looked over his shoulder and tapped the bedroom doorframe. “I’ll be right back.”

“Wait,” you said, sitting up. “Where’s your bathroom?”

From the kitchen beyond, he pointed wordlessly off to the left. 

You sat up on the edge of the bed and stretched. A sink sputtered to life in the kitchen. Everything felt softer around the edges, luxurious, as if the two of you were truly in your own world. There was a light soreness between your legs as you walked into the hallway outside of the room. In front of you was that opening into the kitchen; to your left, as promised, was a white door.

The bathroom beyond was the same gleaming white as the kitchen. To your right was a long marble counter, cluttered with various items: a red toothbrush, a crumpled tube of toothpaste (sans cap), hair gel, aftershave. To your left stretched an old-fashioned, claw-footed bathtub. Beyond was the toilet and, just beyond that, a glass-walled shower. You examined the showerhead as you sat down to pee: it seemed to be one of the fancy waterfall ones you had always coveted. You’d have to take full advantage of it while you were here.

Maybe we could shower together, you thought, and the idea excited you. You felt almost giddy, the weekend stretching out endlessly ahead of you. Perhaps you could take a bath, too. Your tub at home was too small and cramped to take a real bath in; this one looked long enough for you to stretch all the way out. Sephiroth could easily hold you inside of it. You had the welcome image in your head of lying back against his chest during a bath, letting him finger you to orgasm.

Where had this confidence come from? 

You finished and stood to wash your hands. It seemed like minutes ago, you were trembling in front of the elevator as he had asked you for a drink. Maybe it was the way he said mine when you kissed his chest, the way he seemed as happy as you when you came for him. Maybe it was that tender look in his eyes when he came for you in turn— for you, you thought, just you, when he was so handsome and you— you—

You looked up in the mirror to categorize your faults, and you stopped.

You looked…

Fine.

Your makeup was only slightly smudged, and it wasn't nearly as heavy as you thought it had been. Your concealer had stayed in place: not oxidized, not cracking, not patchy, just as smooth as when you first applied it. Your lips were swollen from kissing, a delicate flush darkening your cheeks. Your hair was mussed.

You squinted at the mirror as if it was tricking you. You expected to look different; prettier, somehow, after you two had had sex, as if his come had blessed you with whatever ethereal grace he had been born with. At the very least, you expected to see the same repulsive creature you saw in the mirror at home.

But no: you were perfectly fine, perfectly ordinary after all. Beautiful, even. There was no one else looking back at you from the reflection, no Not-You, no mousy scientist, no ugly fuck-up with too many notches in her bedpost.

Just you.

You had always looked perfectly, completely fine.

You sucked in a breath and ran a thumb under your lashes. You removed a stray clump of mascara. “Ready?” you said to yourself, and to your relief, the reflection’s mouth moved, too: ready?

When you returned from the bathroom, there was a glass of ice water on the nightstand nearest you— your nightstand, you realized. You actually had a side of the bed now. You finished the glass in a few gulps.

Sephiroth had already turned the bed over and was now sitting on the fitted sheet, just as naked as you. He was hunched over a book, cross-legged on his side of the bed. He was biting his thumbnail in concentration as he read. Ah, you thought. That’s where the hangnails come from.

You laid down sideways on the mattress and glanced at the pages. A massive diagram of a ribosome, churning its way along a length of mRNA, greeted you. Sephiroth had generously highlighted and annotated the text with notes in pencil. “Seph. Is that a textbook?”

He gave you a sheepish look. “I wanted to understand your work better.”

“When was this published?” You reached over and pressed a hand to the current page, keeping your place as you flipped to the front credits. To your shock, he leaned back to give you space to do it. “’97? Not bad.” You turned back to where he left off and patted the ribosome gently. “I can get you a more recent copy if you want.”

“I do.” He grabbed a battered red bookmark (PROPERTY OF SHINRA COMPANY LIBRARY, it said) and slipped it between the pages. “But I think,” he mused, as he closed the textbook and put it back on his nightstand, “that you are a more interesting resource.”

His flirting still made you blush, even after you had had sex. You shook your head. “They don’t pay me enough to teach. But for you? I’ll make an exception.”

When he leaned back on the bed, you rolled onto your side and intertwined your legs with his legs. He turned to face you, and he rested his cheek against his palm, his elbow on his pillow. He smoothed out your hair; you felt his foot trail over your calf. “Oh, I’m honored,” he purred. “Your only pupil.”

You smiled and laid your head against your pillow. “My best pupil.” 

“I’d prefer to be the top of the class.”

“If it’s a class of one,” you said, “then you’re automatically at the top.”

He scoffed with mock frustration. “That's disappointing.”

“I told you, they don’t pay me enough to teach more than one person.”

“They should.” Sephiroth leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. You closed your eyes and sighed.

As you draped an arm over his side, he pulled the sheets and the comforter over the two of you. When he laid his head against his pillow, you two were nose-to-nose, like affectionate teenagers gossiping during a sleepover. His hand was warm and gentle against the small of your back, thumb brushing back and forth over your spine.

Mine, it seemed to say. Yours.

“Was it good?” you whispered. 

“Better than good,” he whispered back. “It was perfect.”

“It gets better, you know.” You yawned and closed your eyes. “The more you sleep with someone, the more you get to know the person.”

“I just want to say,” Sephiroth started, and you opened your eyes in alarm, only to see him looking at you with that same lazy, affectionate smile, his eyes already half-lidded with sleep. “You did very well. Was that good for you?”

You smiled again and ducked your head, feeling suddenly shy at his compliment. “Yeah. I would say perfect, also? Yeah.”

“Okay. Good.” He shifted and sighed. “I’m glad. You deserve to feel safe.”

“I do feel safe,” you whispered. “I’m…” You hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I’m…actually really, really happy with you.”

He smiled back. 

You felt butterflies in your stomach. They fluttered about in the warm sunshine of his attention; the flowers and weeds of a garden were slowly, gently, making their home in you.

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[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s S2 R&S - Inevitable

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers from an R&S (不可抗力) which has not been released in English servers!🍒

This R&S features S2 Gavin!

It is incredibly important to read Ch 9 Part One before embarking on this!

[ Chapter One ]

At midnight, a young man makes a turn at a secluded alley, walking into a small hotel that’s still open for business.

He walks around the main hall, and straight into the innermost booth. The sound of shuffling in the night is continuous, and the dealer holds a cigarette in his mouth, drawing a card.

A hand suddenly approaches, and the muzzle of a gun covers his temple.

"How long will it take for you to finish this round?" Gavin’s voice is calm, fingers exerting more pressure on the trigger.

The others are so frightened that they rush out. With no way out, the man suddenly whips out a knife and swings it at Gavin. Gavin grabs his wrist, the other hand reaching for the handcuffs.

All of a sudden, a voice rings in his head: Don’t get hurt, and don't ignore the consequences. If he were to do this, it seems someone would be very sad. He doesn’t seem to want to make that person sad either.

In that second of distraction, the knife glinting with a cold light in the man’s hand slices the area between Gavin’s thumb and index finger. The thoughts in his mind accumulate amidst the pain. Gavin gathers some strength in his palm, a raging gale rolling up the battered tables and chairs. The man’s gaze turns frightened...

-

Three minutes later, the man, who was puffed up with pride earlier, is firmly handcuffed and kneeling on the ground, begging for mercy.

Gavin pushes the person out of the booth, and the colleague responsible for providing assistance steps forward, escorting the person into the police car.

In the main hall, the little girl who was clapping her hands and singing the birthday song earlier has burst into tears, shocked by the sight before her. Her mother comforts her. "Don't be afraid, darling. This is the Special Police Uncle who catches bad men and is here to protect us.

After glancing at him, the little girl cries even more fiercely.

Gavin nods to the girl’s mother apologetically, then walks towards the claw machine at the entrance of the hotel. After a short while, he returns, hugging the largest doll in his arms.

"Happy birthday.”

He hands a huge cartoon doll to the little girl, then turns and walks out the door.

-

An hour of interrogations is enough to leave one exhausted. Tang Chao stretches, holding a tidied statement while heading towards Gavin’s office.

It’s late at night, and the lights are still on. Tang Chao knocks thrice but receives no response. He tries pushing the door open, and is shocked to find that Gavin, who is seated behind the desk, is neither dealing with a case nor official business. Instead, he’s in a daze.

Gavin leans against the chair, his gaze fixed on the computer screen for a long time, brows furrowed deeply. Tang Chao walks over and glances at the screen - it’s a report regarding the arrest of the producer from [MC’s Company Name] not too long ago. He reaches out, waving his hand in front of Gavin. He asks, "How many fingers?”

When Gavin glares back coldly, Tang Chao feels relieved. However, seeing the scab wound on his hand, he’s confused again - what could be so important that he’d forget to tend to his wound?

He places the tidied statement on the table, then drags Gavin to the infirmary. "Even a body forged in iron can’t be compared to you.”

Fortunately, the wound isn’t deep, and can be healed in a few days. But Tang Chao’s intuition tells him that Gavin is a little different from usual. This time, the offender wasn’t considered dangerous, and could be easily subdued by Gavin’s skills. How did he get hurt this easily?

Before Tang Chao can ask a few more questions, Gavin has already vanished without a trace.

-

[ Chapter Two ]

At four o'clock in the morning, the clerk at the 24-hour convenience store yawns, overcome with boredom as he stares at the TV commercial on the wall to pass the time. A cheerful electronic sound rings. The automatic doors slide open, and a young man walks in. 

The clerk perks himself up, and is about to say "Welcome" when he realises that the customer in front of him looks very familiar.

This man lives in an apartment in the vicinity, and visits this convenience store frequently. Sometimes, he drives past in a smart-looking motorcycle. When someone tries to hit on him occasionally, he always rejects them coldly. It’s a pity that whenever he visits, he either buys instant noodles or instant bento... looks like it’s the same this time.

When the clerk sees him heading towards the convenience food shelf, he sighs in his heart: Young people these days don’t take care of their health at all.

Gavin leans down, his gaze flitting across the neatly arranged food on the shelf, absentmindedly differentiating the expiration dates marked on the packets. 

Shiitake mushroom flavoured instant noodles aren’t tasty. The stray cats at the entrance of STF prefer meat, not anchovies. Don’t get hurt, don’t get mired in danger alone, don’t leave without saying a word.

Such thoughts once again surge forth. From a certain point in time, many unfamiliar experiences have been intruding into his life. It’s as though he’s sharing another memory, these disordered fragments of memories twisting into a long, thin thread, holding onto his wrist, tugging at him secretly from time to time. 

Gavin returns to his senses, subconsciously drawing back the hand that was reaching for the convenience food, and picks the brand at the side which contains more vegetables.

When checking out, Gavin notices that there are rows of potted succulents next to the cash register. 

"This is a public welfare activity jointly launched by our store and the Loveland City Environmental Protection Association. For every plant sold, we will donate the same amount of funds to the environmental protection charity.”

Seeing how unresponsive the young customer in front of him is, the clerk is tactful as he continues scanning the remaining products, "Nine dollars in total.”

The receipt is printed, and the clerk hands it to him along with the bento. The young man suddenly points at the small potted plant that had just emerged from the soil. 

"Add this too.”

-

Back home, Gavin throws his jacket into the washing machine, sets the time for washing and drying, then heads into the bathroom to take a shower. 

A strong gush of water flows from the shower, and white mist quickly fills the entire space. The stinging pain from the wound sobers him up quite a lot, and he subconsciously thinks: The wound should be tended to quickly, and “she” can’t know about it.

Realising what he’s thinking, Gavin is once again stunned-

Who’s “she”?

And why is he so concerned about how that person feels?

Stepping out of the bathroom, the washing machine makes a "ding" sound. Gavin wipes his head and walks over to take a look, only to realise that he had put bleach instead of laundry detergent. He stares at the washing machine in silence for a while, then reaches out to unplug the power, retrieving the ruined jacket.

After all of this, Gavin suddenly remembers the small potted plant he just bought. The clerk said that if it is placed in a location with sufficient sunlight, there would be new shoots in a week, and that it’s very easy to grow. 

Gavin places it on the balcony, then picks up the phone and begins to search "How many times must succulents be watered in a day". Whether it’s a mere illusion, that sense of deja vu once again surfaces.

"What in the world am I doing...?" He mutters to himself, tossing his phone aside a little irritatedly. He returns to the bedroom, lying on the bed and closing his eyes, waiting for sleep. 

In the depths of this autumn night that no one knows about, the rain outside the window patters against the leaves gently, and there is a very, very light stirring in his heart.

Gavin opens his eyes, looking at the ceiling which is illuminated by car lights. Suddenly, an unnamed emotion surges in his heart - he feels that the memories he has never been able to grasp weren’t “forgotten”. Rather, they are “losses” which render him powerless.

-

[ Chapter Three ]

On a rare, idle weekend, Tang Chao calls a group of friends from the STF together for hotpot. Right after ordering the hotpot base, Lu Yi’s conscience suddenly bugs him, and he asks if he should call Captain Gavin over. 

Thinking about how rarely Gavin gets to rest and how he definitely wouldn’t be willing to see this group of people, Tang Chao knowingly shakes his head. However, his mouth has a different idea. “I’ll call him then.”

On the other side, a few special police officers are comforting Xiao Zheng from the Publicity Department who was hurt emotionally. Xiao Zheng fell out of love last week, and has been feeling extremely fragile and sensitive these few days. Hearing the bitter love songs in the shop, his eyes immediately redden.

Tang Chao taps open his contacts list, silently recalling the odd behaviour of Gavin recently. He isn’t interested in being a busybody, but his instincts tell him that Gavin has something on his mind, and it’s a change obviously brought about by that girl’s appearance. But whenever Tang Chao wants to inquire about it, the words get halted by Gavin’s killer glare. 

Thinking about this, Tang Chao glances at Xiao Zheng sympathetically, and comes to a definite conclusion - if Captain Gavin were to continually suppress his emotions without releasing them, it’d result in an illness.

Tang Chao asks the waiter to serve two dozen beers, then dials Gavin’s phone.

"Good evening Captain Gavin. Have you eaten?" 

"I don’t mean to annoy you, but Captain Eli invited us to have butter hotpot. You coming? 

"Don't be in such a hurry to refuse. I’ve got something to talk to you about. Yes, it’s happening right now... it’s of utmost urgency.” Tang Chao shoots a grin towards an astonished Eli. Then, he continues fabricating a tale. "I don’t want to run laps. There’s a genuine matter.

Half an hour later, Gavin frowns as he walks into the hotpot restaurant. Seeing this, a few young special police officers immediately set down their chopsticks and stand up straight in a row. The only thing they haven’t done is to salute at Gavin. 

Tang Chao grins, asking the waiter to bring an additional pair of tableware over. “Captain Gavin, you’re here.” 

Gavin glances at Tang Chao and says in a cool voice, "What’s the urgent matter?"

“Xiao Zheng fell out love, so he asked you over to console him with us.”

“...”

Xiao Zheng frantically waves his hands in surprise, stammering a retort. Tang Chao pushes him back onto his seat and signals for him not to speak. 

"Don't be sad, the chances of people ending up together is always unpredictable." Tang Chao pats Xiao Zheng on the shoulder. "Besides, who doesn’t have someone in their heart? Don’t you agree, Captain Gavin?" 

These words are akin to a sudden clap of thunder on a calm sea. Xiao Zheng immediately forgets to cry. Eli immediately straights up, and the others hurriedly set down their chopsticks, whipping their heads over to look at Gavin like meerkats.

Gavin remains expressionless, though the hissing sound emanating from his body is even cooler than the ice cubes in the beer.

Since they’re in public, Tang Chao knows that it wouldn’t be convenient for Gavin to give him a beating. As such, he’s incredibly composed, and continues with his questions without a fear of death. “Captain Gavin, why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Why do you think this has anything to do with her?”

“I already saw the photograph back in the training days. Is she the lady from before when you roared “Tang Chao, put your hands away”?

[Note] These are references to R&S [Tempering] and Ch 2 Part One!

"...Tang Chao!”

“I'm here, I'm here." Tang Chao fills Gavin’s glass with beer. "Captain Gavin, I actually realised that you haven't been in the best state recently, but you don't like speaking your mind. I’m showing my concern." 

“It’s said that you speak the truth after drinking, and today’s beer should be enough. Whatever you want to say, whatever’s suppressed in your heart, just release them all happily. Right, Captain Eli?”

After three rounds of drinking, Tang Chao fails to get Gavin drunk, but ends up drinking too much himself. Once again, he complains about Gavin's "Death Training" back in the days of special training. In the end, Gavin foots the bill. 

Eli steps forward and pats him on the shoulder, saying, "Did something happen recently?" Gavin shakes his head in resignation. "You really believed him? His mouth is like a runaway train.”

Eli looks at Gavin and sighs. "I know you don’t need anyone to worry about you.”

"But that kid Tang Chao said one thing right. If one keeps suppressing their feelings, they’ll be suppressing problems.”

-

[ Chapter Four ]

On the way back, Gavin sees withered leaves on the branches along the street, and only then remembers the small succulent he had bought not long ago. 

Back home, the potted plant on the balcony shrinks alone in the corner. Originally thinking that the plant he had left “free range” for so many days would meet a premature end, it turned out to be alive despite having a few withered leaves. Gavin finds this a little unbelievable, and he becomes more meticulous in watering it.

-

The next morning, Tang Chao opens the door to Gavin’s office and apologises solemnly. "Captain Gavin, I'm sorry. I promise that I’ll never inquire about your personal life in the future, let alone make arbitrary conjectures about your feelings.”

Without looking up at Tang Chao, Gavin only tosses out a sentence. "Before next Monday, re-check all the case data in the Archive Room.”

The Archive Room is on the third basement floor. The dust is very dense and the materials are very thick. Tang Chao wails immediately, leaving dejectedly.

Gavin picks up the document Tang Chao had just placed on his desk. It is a sealed report for the seizure of "small syringe" production plants, which records in detail the batches and output of pharmaceutical companies which participated in the production.

Reaching the final part of the report, Gavin is silent for a moment. At the end of the report, there is a line of small characters - "Ten boxes of drug samples are suspected to have gone missing." 

Without putting much thought into it, a face with a beaming smile locks onto his mind.

“...I won't investigate you this time." He sighs, putting the report back into the drawer. 

After ferreting the mole out of STF, Gray Rhino seems to have erased all traces of the "small syringes". But Gavin knows they wouldn’t withdraw easily from competing for "CORE" - naturally, neither will Black Swan.

Gavin is clear that the current peace will not last for long. Before the girl stands against him on the opposite side, what he has to do is be one step ahead, obtaining more crucial information as soon as possible.

The phone beeps, notifying him of a new e-mail. Gavin is pulled back from his thoughts, and his eyes fall on the unknown email that popped up.

"Congratulations on your successful registration in the Hunter Game" - the sender’s address is encrypted, and there is no doubt that no information can found.

Gavin's thoughts gradually settle. His hands are clasped lightly on the table, his gaze falling on the words "Hunter Game", his gaze turning sharp and determined. 

That place definitely has something they’re looking for.

-

[ Chapter Five ]

In the STF Intensive Care Unit, a dripping sound accompanies the plastic tube. Gavin sleeps very peacefully, and he feels like he had a lot of dreams in his dazed state. They aren’t nightmares which wake him up with a start, but dreams which make him willing to remain asleep.

However, it seems he can only remember the final dream from the long series of dreams. When he’s roused awake by the sound of footsteps in the corridor, what lingers before his eyes is a blurry yet familiar face. Gavin sits up on the hospital bed, the pain from the no-longer-effective anaesthesia making him more awake. 

Despite not telling Tang Chao and Eli about his participation in the Hunter Game, they aren’t suspicious. They’ve grown accustomed to Gavin’s aloof nature, and as such, assumed that he went on a secret mission.

During his absence over the past few days, there was a new development in the Evolver assassination incident - a new victim has appeared. 

Gavin is very clear that if the cases were to be allowed to ferment, the higher-ups from “that side” would intervene in the matter. They have to take immediate action.  

“There’s one more tricky thing." Tang Chao sits at the edge of his desk. "For the latest assassination case, we encountered a witness with a special situation. We might have to ask an Evolver who can read memories for help."

Tang Chao blinks and asks, "But I don't know any Evolvers with this ability. Do you know any, Captain Gavin?”

-

According to theory, aside from work purposes, they should be keeping a distance from each other. But according to the girl, the reason why they’ve come out for an idle stroll is, for one, to relax. Two, to search for inspiration to solve the case.

The lead from the only witness to the Evolver assassination was cut short. Gavin isn’t affected much, since he knows that this matter isn’t simple. In contrast, the girl is especially bothered by it, and feels apologetic for not being able to help. 

On the bustling street in the afternoon, Gavin returns to his senses, taking the oden which the girl hands over with a smile. 

When walking by her side, Gavin realises that he’s barely thinking about the things that are bothering him. He naturally picks up her conversation topics, as if they had wandered aimlessly on the street side by side before. 

Does she feel the same way? In his heart, Gavin shakes his head in self-mockery, wanting to forget these thoughts which confuse him.

Walking out of the food street, rain patters down. The pedestrians on the street crowd together suddenly, rushing towards the station. Gavin holds up an umbrella, planning to send her back. 

The yellow wintersweet flowers exude a subtle fragrance in the rain. The smell, colour, and the scent of the person next to him seem to be magnified, forming a memory of the present moment. 

Perhaps, even before he noticed it himself, while he has been deliberately neglecting the complex emotions in his heart, they have been also been growing in a place where he cannot see. When she calls his name, when she accidentally touches his hand, it’s as though some things from a very long time ago are coming back to life in his mind--

Someone had once called his name using such a tone.

Someone had once held his hand in this way.

Someone... was once his strength.

The emotions which he conceals deeply, whether they are good or bad, were once held gently. 

A scorching wave of heat suddenly rushes into his chest.

The traffic lights change, and the crowd waiting at the side of the street slowly surge towards the middle of the road. The surrounding pedestrians squeeze past each other, bumping into his shoulder from time to time. 

Gavin lifts his head abruptly, watching the side profile of the girl as she’s in the rain. It’s as though there’s an intriguing overlap. It’s as though a very long time ago, his heart had leapt this fiercely for her.

The girl suddenly turns around, looking in his direction and waving at him. Putting away her umbrella, she points to a mother-daughter duo hiding from the rain underneath the bus stop. She asks for his opinion through her gaze. Without much thought, Gavin removes his jacket, brisk walking towards her in the rain.

Raindrops patter down, and the water beneath his feet leave splashes in their wake. Akin to rain, they land on his body. It’s as though he gets slightly more drenched with each step. At this moment, Gavin realises that on days when memories are muddied, he has grasped a thin thread since a long time ago.

The jacket supports a narrow world, and wind and rain occasionally blow in. 

If their reunion was meant to verify their directions, no matter what the future holds, what he has to do now is to run forward with her, together.

[Note] Please don’t ask me about the Hunter Game! I haven’t had the chance to read the earlier chapters in detail so I don’t know the specifics 😅

💙 More S2 content: here

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[mavda]

Beast Tamers

Ch.1 |  Ch.2 | Ch.3 | Ch.4(1) | Ch.4(2) | Ch.5(1) | Ch.5(2) | Ch.5(3) | Ch.5(4) | Ch.6(1) | Ch.6(2) | Ch.6(3) | Ch.7(1) | Ch.7(2) | Ch.7(3) | Ch.7(4) | Ch.7(5) | Ch.8(1) | Ch.8(2) | Ch.8(3) | Ch.9(1) | Ch.9(2) | Ch.9(3) | Ch.9(4) | Ch.10(1) | Ch.10(2) |

Ch.10: The Two-Tails (3)

Naruto stretches his arm and searches for his wife's body in the dark. She's on her side, with her face to him, and his hand touches her belly with tentative fingers. 

He lingers and stares at the ceiling. Seeing nothing and only listening to Hinata's soft breathing and the wind rustling the leaves outside. He doesn't want to leave the bedroom. 

When he sits, he shivers as the cold finds him. He takes a second to feel Hinata's warmth and then leaves her side with a reluctant face nobody sees.

Jiraiya is always there waiting for him. And the training continues, wherever they left it at. The cold wakes Naruto and he is conscious of his body, present in whatever instruction Jiraiya shares. And yet he doesn’t see results. 

It is frustrating and annoying and it is difficult for Naruto to ground himself when he knows he needs to control this as fast as he can if he wants it to have any real effect on his body… on his lifespan. 

Hinata’s breath on his neck keeps him awake at night.

Jiraiya senses some turmoil, but Naruto knows he won’t pry. He knows he can’t do anything, and Jiraiya is pragmatic at heart. He has never inflated Naruto’s dreams, has never told him of hopes he doesn’t share. 

Naruto has forgotten what those are supposed to make him feel.

He has a baby on the way and enemies that seem to multiply. 

The shame he feels when he stands and Jiraiya tells him that he has to keep on practicing. The irk that feels him as he realizes that he can’t even focus enough on his pregnant wife. The fear that seems to seep from his bones as he merely thinks about an attack. 

And all the things that can go wrong.

There are plans. There plans and backup plans and backup plans for those backup plans. He knows them by heart, recites them inside his head when his mind runs wild.

But his feelings are always running amok. 

Shikamaru is right beside him and Tsume and Shino check time and time again their perimeter. Nothing moves without Naruto knowing. 

But they all know this is the calm before the storm. 

The Beast Tamer meeting is a taunt. A game and a chance someone is taking for reasons unknown. They gather all the information they can. Read it and classify it and read it again. They have ideas, but nothing sure, and no one really trusts what the other Beast Tamers have to say. 

Gaara is the only one they trust and although he tries his best, he comes up with the same information Naruto can gather. 

So they set out to know more. And Naruto has meetings upon meetings with his vassals. He smiles, he laughs, he pries and he tests. And his heart rests a little as he realizes that most of them are still on his side. 

With only a few exceptions. 

He can see it in their eyes, in the way their body shifts and their words come out too late, too quick. He zeroes in on one.

Lord Graff comes into the room with a smile plastered on his face. Naruto makes small conversation and offers a drink the man accepts with a slight tremble on his hand.

They could drug him, they could kidnap him, they could very well torture him to know more. 

But if their movements have been so cautious before, if this whole ordeal is a careful plan, he fears what they can do when brought into a corner. So he will play along.

And he asks about mundane things he doesn’t care about. 

Lord Graff relaxes after a while. With Naruto sharing information about the other vassals with whom he has had subsequent meetings too. He has to show himself to be cautious, but he can’t show himself to be suspicious of someone. Not yet. Not until he is where they want him to be. 

“Harsh times we are going through, huh?” Naruto says, just after sipping his sake and giving a defeated sigh. It comes to mind that he doesn’t really need to act up the anxious-worried tone he laces his voice with, and that is enough to make him huff out and add a touch of exasperation Lord Graff buys immediately.

“Indeed, my lord! Harsh times indeed! Such a shame things seem to have piled up upon you these days! But I am sure with this new Beast Meeting information you have so kindly shared with me some fruitful ideas will be laid out!”

Lord Graff is new money and has always been eager to rise the ranks, but money? Power? Naruto hadn’t pegged him as such a greedy man. His beaded eyes run over Naruto and Naruto makes sure to show his body feels fine. 

Information for what? His family doesn’t seem to be affected by this ordeal and neither does he seem to be threatened.

A grudge? Naruto has barely known him for a couple of years. 

Lord Graff babbles on without Naruto saying much. He has downed their sake on his own, as Naruto controlled his intake and encouraged the man to keep on drinking. Naruto is in fact surprised the man still can control what his mouth says in such a situation. 

Maybe he doesn’t know much. Naruto wouldn’t let a nobody know about what he plans to do. 

“Is everything all right with your lovely wife?”

Naruto doesn’t flinch. His hand doesn’t tremble and his voice comes out with a worry he practiced beforehand. “She is, thank you for asking.”

“Oh, of course! The lord’s wife is a precious person so it stands to reason that we worry so much about her. In fact, it seems that no one has seen your wife in a long while and well-”

“I am sure you can understand, you know, with all that has been going on and what not.”

“Oh, oh, absolutely, as long as everything is all right, my lord.”

“It is, thank you.” Naruto takes a deliberate slow sip out of his cup, as hostility begins to fill his body, “I take it your family is well, too?”  

“Yes, yes, my lord, thank you so much for asking.”

There is nothing Naruto gets out of him and Lord Graff leaves after a while, positively drunk and yet tight-lipped as always. 

The cold wind helps Naruto relax before walking in to the innermost part of the compound. Lord Graff is either another fool that knows nothing or his overbearing questions mean something, and Naruto wishes whoever was behind all of this would just turn up in front of him to fight it out with their fists. 

He wants peace and tranquility and his life seems to refuse to have anything to do with those concepts.  

He enters his bedroom the moment he knows his brows are not burrowed and his muscles are not taut. There is no one inside and his heart leaps inside his chest and his mind is filled with thoughts he never wants to think about. 

He begins listing places and schedules and hours and he is barely turning the first corridor when he sees Hinata walking alongside Sai and a couple maids in the distance. She is fresh out of her bath and her cheeks are rosy. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Naruto hides before anyone can see him, his back pressed to the wall, his head tilted back. He breathes in and out, and then in and out again. 

He needs to control this damned Beast, control it. But the moment he even thinks of harm coming to his family… of danger being near Hinata, his mind goes into overdrive and he knows he will tear everything apart to keep her safe. Himself included if need be. 

His hand is shaking and he stares at it till it settles. The cold wind bites at his skin and after a while he resumes his way back to his room.

 ⁂⁂⁂

Naruto comes into the room with tired eyes and Hinata is ready to let him sleep and rest and cuddle him, but the moment she walks to him to help him undress Naruto envelops her in a hug that makes her yelp. 

    “You smell good.”

    Hinata blushes as Naruto drags his nose down her neck, laying a couple of kisses on his way. 

    “I j-just took a b-bath.”

    He hums in appreciation and then rests his head on top of her head, letting a heavy sigh leave his body. 

    He must be exhausted. 

    “Sh-shall we go to bed?”

    He puts space between them and brings his finger to her chin, lifting her face to him. “Do you feel all right? Are you tired?”

    Hinata has to bite down the scoff that wants to leave her body, as he looks a hundred times more haggard than her, but she knows how worried he is and how anxious he feels about not being with her as much as he wants to, so she kissed his palm and makes him follow her into their bed. 

    She undresses him and although Naruto complains about being able to do it himself and how she has to take care of her body, she loves being able to give him comfort, so she insists. 

    He has his head on her lap as she caresses his head, their eyes on the garden outside. Naruto finds this relaxing most of the time, but he feels tense somehow, and although Hinata kisses his cheek, and does her best to soften his posture, he doesn’t budge.

    “Did s-something happen?”

    He says nothing. He only turns his face to her, blinks as if pondering and then turns his whole body to hers, his face buried between her belly and her thighs. He brings his one hand to her bottom and the other claps the hand that caresses his face.

    “I just don’t wanna go to that meeting,” he whispers. 

    And Hinata says nothing, because she doesn’t want him to go to that meeting either. She rubs her thumb over his hand and drags her fingers over his scalp. 

    “I-I’ll be waiting for you.”

    Naruto buries himself even deeper into her body and then sits with slow movements. He cups her face, maps her face with his blue eyes, then dips his head for a kiss.

     “I love you.” He says and repeats. “I’ll be back before you notice.”

    Hinata doubts it, but she can’t bring herself to tell him. Sometimes he reads her better than she can. 

    She kisses him back, brings her body closer. “I’ll be waiting.”

    Naruto licks her lips, drags his hands down her body. “You smell like soap.”

    Hinata is about to tell him again that she took a shower, but Naruto opens her sleepwear and kisses her overflowing breasts. “I’ll help you take a bath again, don’t worry.”

    Hinata laughs and Naruto brings his head up, confused and worried he may have overstepped. “Is that all right?”

    He looks so pretty under the lamp, Hinata can only stare dumbstruck. “I w-won’t need another bath.” The saliva on her skin is getting colder and it brings memories that make her legs rub together in anticipation, “I love having your s-smell on me.”

    She expects Naruto to laugh or smirk, give her one of his usual winks. Be playful like he always is. But he just gives her a bittersweet smile that makes her want to gather him in her arms and never let go. 

    Naruto is faster, though. He kisses her neck, brings her head to his shoulder, then clasps her hand and squeezes. 

    He doesn’t seem to want to let go either.