#the soft kisses moving to longer talks about their situation turning to solemn glances away from each other

[toriliashine]

NEED to see irouma making out sloppy style

(Check tags btw i went on a tangent)

[edenmemes]

misc poetry sentence starters

❝  one gets so used to one’s own horrors, one forgets how they must seem to other people.  ❞ ❝  you remind me what love lives in this skin.  ❞ ❝  you are the most phantom-like of all; you are a mere dream.  ❞ ❝  i’m not telling you a story so much as a shipwreck—the places floating, finally legible.  ❞ ❝  the world was made so we can find each other in it.  ❞ ❝  the night isn’t dark; the world is dark. stay with me a little longer.  ❞ ❝  i want you desperately. i want your strength and your softness, your hands, all of you.  ❞ ❝  is that too much to expect? that i would name the stars for you?  ❞ ❝  against your cheek my hand is warm and full of tenderness.  ❞ ❝  the world grows green again when you smile.  ❞ ❝  your share of pains would fill a sea.  ❞ ❝  i’m so stuck on the ‘was’ of people.  ❞ ❝  what i love in you is your power of loving, a bit wild, a bit primitive, but absolute.  ❞ ❝  i like figuring you out. you are so human and puzzling.  ❞ ❝  the unwillingness to try is worse than any failure.  ❞ ❝  you wanted happiness. i can’t blame you for that.  ❞ ❝  i did violence to my own heart.  ❞ ❝  i don’t know how to stay tender with this much blood in my mouth.  ❞ ❝  like a magpie, i am a scavenger of shiny things: fairy tales and dead languages.  ❞ ❝  and here you come with a shield for a heart and a sword for a tongue.  ❞ ❝  you kiss the back of my legs and i want to cry.    only the sun has come this close, only the sun.  ❞ ❝  sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof you’ve been ruined.  ❞ ❝  when will it cease, this monstrous rage of yours?  ❞ ❝  i will plant my hands in the garden. i will grow, i know, i know.  ❞ ❝  i had it all and i want it back again.  ❞ ❝  i don’t care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.  ❞ ❝  we are two reflections that cross swords with each other.  ❞ ❝  as for me, i am a watercolour. i wash off.  ❞ ❝  do you dare send me away as though you were were waiting for something better?  ❞ ❝  my dear, you are in danger of being burned by your own flame.  ❞ ❝  i am three oceans away from my soul.  ❞ ❝  you, occasionally, glimmer with a light i’ve never seen before. it frightens me.  ❞ ❝  i went to sleep last night so i could see you.  ❞ ❝  even the eyes of gods must adjust to light. even gods have gods.  ❞ ❝  how much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it’s some kind of murder?  ❞ ❝  it does me no good to be good to me now.  ❞ ❝  i may look alright, but if you were to look more closely you wouldn’t find a single healthy bit in me.  ❞ ❝  i must clothe myself in other worlds.  ❞ ❝  suffering is the privilege of those who feel.  ❞ ❝  sorry about the blood in your mouth. i wish it was mine.  ❞ ❝  the vigor, the fire, that enables you to love and create. when you lose that, you’ve lost everything.  ❞ ❝  i can be bold, because i have you with me always.  ❞ ❝  you are shaking fists and trembling teeth. i know: you did not mean to be cruel. that does not mean you were kind.  ❞ ❝  not that i want to be a god or a hero, just to change into a tree,  grow for ages, not hurt anyone.  ❞ ❝  i laughed today. for a second i was unhaunted.  ❞ ❝  you are sunlight through a window, which i stand in, warmed.  ❞ ❝  there’s something electric in your blood.  ❞ ❝  you say you are broken,   but broken mirrors like you create the most beautiful patterns of light.  ❞ ❝  time doesn’t obey our commands.  ❞ ❝  i love you quite passionately, and with a touch of tragedy.  ❞ ❝  to feel anything deranges you. to be seen feeling anything strips you naked.  ❞ ❝  i love you --- like a storm bursts overhead --- i must confess it; all the more fiercely because you burn and bite.  ❞ ❝  and i have seen rivers, not unlike you, that failed to find their way back.  ❞ ❝  i am less a god now that you’ve touched me.  ❞ ❝  your words are gentle; but my blood runs cold to think what plots you may be nursing deep within your heart.  ❞ ❝  you said i killed you --- haunt me then.  ❞ ❝  your soul is frail and solemn, loyal and spring-like.  ❞ ❝  you look like you’ve eaten the sun, like you drank so much sunlight you’re drowning in it.  ❞ ❝  strangeness is a necessary ingredient in beauty.  ❞ ❝  you will hear thunder and remember me.  ❞ ❝  ever think it’s possible for us to be happy?  ❞ ❝  and i would wonder across all the deserts of this world, even after death, to search for you.  ❞ ❝  since we’re bound to be something, why not together?  ❞ ❝  i am ashes were once i was fire.  ❞ ❝  this mouth will destroy you the moment you mistake it for something soft, for something that is yours.  ❞ ❝  it’s no easy thing to bear, the weight of sweetness.  ❞ ❝  kill the light! i’d rather wallow in the dark.  ❞ ❝  i have thought of you often since the darkness.  ❞ ❝  with your presence the sun becomes irrelevant.  ❞ ❝  there is no god left in this skin. there’s just the ash. just the ash.  ❞ ❝  open your eyes, look more sharply, see me as i am.  ❞ ❝  what the hell is tragedy? i am.  ❞ ❝  i’ve got a lot of feeling for you. you’re kind.  ❞ ❝  how beautiful it is, how beautiful, that glow before the stars break.  ❞ ❝  so much to do today: kill memory, kill pain, turn heart into a stone, and yet prepare to live again.  ❞ ❝  i am myself. that is not enough.  ❞ ❝  i may be mad, god-seized, but i will stand outside my madness.  ❞ ❝  my power, which to me is still a curse ---  ❞ ❝  ocean sea with its caressing swell; it has so often cooled my heart.  ❞ ❝  do you bathe in perfume, and dry yourself in light?  ❞ ❝  i like you; your eyes are full of language.  ❞ ❝  let me tell you what i do know.    i am more than one thing and not all of those things are good.  ❞ ❝  you are the cause and the cure --- both.  ❞ ❝  i have kisses for the back of your neck.  ❞ ❝  your beautiful glance is unbearably cruel.  ❞ ❝  we might meet again, someday between dreams at dawn.  ❞ ❝  suffering is a terrible fire; it either purifies or destroys.  ❞ ❝  lately it hurts more to imagine you are a stranger rather than a destroyer.  ❞ ❝  and i say to myself: a moon will rise from my darkness.  ❞ ❝  since you walked out on me, i’m getting lovelier by the hour. i glow like a corpse in the dark.  ❞ ❝  i will not whine. i will obey and be forever still.  ❞ ❝  you move like the moon.  ❞ ❝  my eyes ache with the weight of unshed tears.  ❞ ❝  in your eyes, the fires of twilight.  ❞ ❝  do not haunt my soul; i have done well forgetting you.  ❞ ❝  i am no one. i cannot love. it’s in my blood.  ❞ ❝  you’re wearing your armor to protect your heart. who can blame you? it only makes sense in a world like this one.  ❞ ❝  you are not real. you are a dream of a dream.  ❞ ❝  there are so many things i’m not allowed to tell you.  ❞ ❝  i am indeed a shameless, evil-minded and abominable creature.  ❞ ❝  come this evening --- i am eager for stars.  ❞ ❝  i am on fire with that soft sound you make, in uttering my name.  ❞ ❝  i want you mostly in the morning when my soul is weak from dreaming.  ❞ ❝  to me you are the desert and the sea; everything secretive.  ❞ ❝  i thought i was wounded to the core but i was only bruised.  ❞ ❝  it is a dead heart. it is inside of me. it is a stranger.  ❞ ❝  i live --- but i’m mutilated.  ❞ ❝  if there is a light then i am going to swallow it.    if there is a god then i’m going to make him cry.  ❞ ❝  i am condemned to be a saint or a monster: unable to be the one, unwilling to be the other.  ❞ ❝  you will open your wounds and make them a garden.  ❞ ❝  i come home --- and i feel like a ghost returning its haunt.  ❞ ❝  i planted roses, but without you they were thorns.  ❞ ❝  everything inside me is in revolt.  ❞ ❝  how this darkness soaks me through and through.  ❞ ❝  give me my robe, put on my crown; i have immortal longings in me.  ❞ ❝  say something dangerous like i love you.  ❞ ❝  listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?  ❞ ❝  in times of crisis, we must decide again and again whom we love.  ❞ ❝  breathe the scent of little, earthly things. let the twilight touch you.  ❞ ❝  my heart is just like the ocean, has storm and calm and tides.  ❞ ❝  you became for me a sacred being, not to be touched save in adoring thoughts.  ❞ ❝  gods are stubborn. so am i.  ❞ ❝  is it better to out-monster the monster or to be quietly devoured?  ❞ ❝  there’s something soft in me. i killed it and it’s rotting.  ❞ ❝  beware. beware. there is a tenderness.  ❞ ❝  half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers. real gods require blood.  ❞ ❝  i’m alive. like a wound, a flower in the flesh, the path of aching blood is open within me.  ❞ ❝  you dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth.  ❞ ❝  i have it in me...to scare myself with my own desert places.  ❞ ❝  my mouth still houses century-old magic.     in my ears i hear a ringing and singing and no god.  ❞ ❝  keep talking. i’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice.  ❞ ❝  i’m full of poetry now. rot and poetry. rotten poetry.  ❞ ❝  this skin is sick with loneliness.  ❞ ❝  memories are sharp. they bite. i have spent most of my life trying to grow a thicker skin just to make sure i would not bleed out whenever i felt those teeth scrape up against me.  ❞ ❝  i wonder if i will ever find a language to speak of the things that haunt me the most.  ❞ ❝  after fury, what do you do with the remains?  ❞ ❝  come on, dance with me. the earth is spinning. we can’t just stand on it.  ❞ ❝  let’s admit, without apology, what we do together.  ❞ ❝  try to find the right place for yourself. if you can’t find it, at least dream of it.  ❞ ❝  it takes grace to remain kind in cruel situations.  ❞ ❝  i am too full of life to be half-loved.  ❞ ❝  today you want nothing because wanting comes too close to feeling.  ❞ ❝  there’s nothing more terrible, more alluring, more mysterious than love.  ❞ ❝  heavenly wine and roses seem to whisper to me when you smile.  ❞ ❝  my soul is devoutly and wholly under your spell.  ❞ ❝  will you see the human in my being?  ❞ ❝  if i had a flower for every time i thought of you…i could walk through my garden forever.  ❞ ❝  part broken part whole, you begin again.  ❞ ❝  i don’t know if love’s a feeling. sometimes i think it’s a matter of seeing. seeing you.  ❞ ❝  i wonder which will get you killed faster, your loyalty or your stubbornness?  ❞ ❝  whether you come as a lover or an exeutioner, i am ready to receive you.  ❞ ❝  i think i understand your longing. it looks so much like mine.  ❞ ❝  i’ve had so many knives stuck into me. when they hand me a flower, i can’t quite make out what it is.  ❞ ❝  i like the sea: we understand one another. it is always yearning, sighing for something it cannot have; so am i.  ❞ ❝  do i not live? badly, i know, but i live.  ❞ ❝  something of you stuck with me. a splinter.  ❞ ❝  i clung to your hands so that something human might exist in the chaos.  ❞ ❝  sometimes i shut my eyes, and shut my heart towards you, and try hard to forget you because you grieve me so, but you’ll never go away. oh you never will.  ❞ ❝  my golden love, if only you knew, what precious honey you are for me.  ❞ ❝  i had an old wound once, but it is healing.  ❞ ❝  always this in-betweenness, this almost, this it might be that...  ❞ ❝  when i close my eyes, i see you. when i open my eyes i want to see you.  ❞ ❝  dark as it is --- you see, that little flickering, is the light of my soul.  ❞ ❝  am i a monster or is this what it means to be a person?  ❞ ❝  i am talking about evil. it blooms. it eats. it grins.  ❞ ❝  sapphires are those eyes of yours, ravishingly sweet.  ❞

[draconic-ichor]

Love-Struck

Part 4

Matilda x Lír

Elden ring dabble

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, angst, heartbreak

Summary: There’s a bump in the developing relationship…

Feedback appreciated, 18+

As time went on the princess’s and the knight's walks grew longer, and talking became whispers. Their closeness didn’t go unnoticed, by both the royal couple and the other knights.

Gossip started to seep around the halls….

Far in the gardens, the pair sat close together. Deep ambers of the setting sun almost made Matilda’s golden horns glow.

“I do actually have a tail.” Matilda murmured.

Lír’s face dipped in closer, foreheads almost touching. Both their lips curled into soft smiles, giggles bubbling in their voices. A soft blush peppered over their cheeks, warmth blooming the longer they spoke.

“Show me?” He asked mischievously, amber eyes sparkling.

“No!” She feigned offense, face reddening a bit more, “It’s rude to ask some things of a Lady.”

Realizing exactly what he asked, his face flushed crimson.

Matilda fell into a fit of giggles, not seeing him embarrassed often. She reached out, taking his chin, tilting him closer. He sobered, meeting her clouded gaze, eyes shifting between them to her lips. Her heart hammered, pulling him closer.

Their lips met softly.

Her stomach flipped, feeling a pulse of electricity crackle between them. She gasped as he deepened the kiss. They moved a bit closer, heat blossoming in his gut.

His fingers tentatively found her cheek, her fur soft as down. All at once the gravity of their situation hit him. Lír froze.

Matilda opened her eyes, worry curdling her guts as she looked at him questioningly. Lír pulled away sharply, face pale.

“D-did I do something wrong?” She asked quickly.

“This…this is inappropriate.” He whispered, voice strained, “We can’t do this.” He pulled away, body tight and distress filtering over his face.

“What?” Matilda felt her blood run cold, “What do you mean? I-I thought-,”

“You are the daughter of the GodLord…” he frowned, looking down at himself, “A-And I am in her service…this isn’t right. The others already say I’m abusing the bonds of our friendship…”

“L-Lír I…I care for you!” Matilda blurted out, his words stinging like poisoned needles in her skin. Her eyes pricked with tears.

Lír shook his head, pain flashing over his face, “They will only see this as an attempt to reach above my station…I can’t sully your name this way. We can’t do this.” His voice sounded certain, attempting to convince himself just as much as her.

She felt like breaking, glass cracking in her chest as he backed away. He looked to her tear stained face, trembling a bit, but then retreated away quickly. She heard his hurried footsteps get fainter as he left the castle gardens.

Matilda sat stunned for a moment, feeling as if the world was falling in around her.

~

The Lady Tarnished rubbed her daughter’s back in gentle circles, face solemn. Matilda laid on her bed, face buried in her pillows as she cried. For the moment, she was inconsolable. Her mother stayed by her side, quietly giving comfort.

Hearing the distress, Morgott entered the room. Anger filtered over his features at seeing his daughter so heartbroken. His grip on the cane tightened, knuckles white. Before he could speak the tarnished fixed him with a sharp glance.

She mouthed the words silently: ‘Not a word.’

He squared his jaw a bit before turning on his heels and disappearing into the hall.

~

Days later Morgott found himself walking through the gardens. Matilda stopped crying, but was far from alright. He expected the sadness to be fleeting, a simple fancy.

She’d hadn’t left her room or eaten more than a few bites, Morgott hadn’t realized how deeply she cared for the knight. He didn’t care much for the idea of his daughter trifling about with men, yet he wished to see her happiness more.

He came across a young knight, sitting quietly on one of the stone steps.

The man was bent forward, helmet cast aside to reveal mahogany curls. Hearing the omen approach, he looked up suddenly. Morgott saw a mixture of fear and shock filter over the knight’s face as he scrambled to his feet.

“My Lord.” He saluted.

“At ease..” Morgott paused, tail flicking a bit behind him.

The knight swallowed, before sinking back down onto the bench. His posture stayed ridged bower, tension thick in the air.

“Art thou the one that hast caused mine own daughter such distress?” Morgott asked gruffly.

The man flinched before answering honestly, “Regrettably, my Lord.”

“Thou must be quite the man to bring Matilda to tears, she’s usually not one swayed so easily.” Morgott commented, raising a brow.

“My Lord, I-,” Lír began to stammer but a raised hand stopped him.

“Thou doth not need to give mineself a reason I've already been privy to.” He lowered his hand, speaking more gently, “I simply wish to offer advice. Prithee, humor an old man, if only for a moment.”

The knight looked taken back, nodding quickly once he caught himself, “O-Of course, my Lord.”

Morgott leaned heavily on his cane, eyes steady as he regarded the young knight, “I have found that people will say what they will no matter the circumstances…that it is foolish to let such gossip rule over one’s happiness. Doth not waste a lifetime in discovering that fact, as I have.”

Lír looked down at his boots, face solemn as he listened.

The other sighed, adding, “I will not force thee, but know this: Thou has my blessings if you should choose to pursue her…”

The knight’s head snapped up, amber eyes pooling with confusion. He looked as if he wanted to speak, mouth open. Whatever words died on his tongue; gaze shifting downwards once more, in thought.

Morgott nodded, turning to make his way back to the castle. Lír watched him go, head a mess.

Many long moments passed, until suddenly a thought struck the young man. He was on his feet in a moment, off on a quest of sorts.

[raz-b-rose]

Daminette Soulmate AU Scars

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23608933/chapters/56792128#workskin

For as long as Marinette could remember, she had always been covered in scars. Her parents were concerned to say the least. What was going on in her soulmates life for a new scar to appear on their daughter's body on an almost weekly starting at the age of four. Marinette however felt differently. Yes she was worried but she had the feeling that he was a fighter, and he was, in her heart, the strongest person she knew. 

The scars slowed as she grew older, but never gone for long. They almost stopped altogether when she turned eleven, only the occasional scrape in her knuckles or knees now. She did have one thing to thank about this bond though, that only she could see the colors. To everyone else she would be walking around painted in pale green lines on almost every surface of her body. She would trace his scars over and over, dreaming of the day she could see his green eyes for herself. 

She would dance around her parents, spouting her all her dreams and desires. Everything from their wedding to what their house would look like and how many kids they would have. Her parents tried to be supportive, but the possibility of what her soulmate's life was like left their hearts heavy. Marinette remained the optimist, believing that everything would be ok. 

All those dreams were crushed one day however, shortly after she turned thirteen. She had been taking a shower, when the worst pain she had ever felt pierced her heart. She cried out, grasping at her heart, trying for anything to make the pain stop. She started to cry, it hurt so bad.

Then she felt it, a new scar forming just below her clavicle, before everything went numb. 

She laid there in the bathtub, the water beating down on her, but she couldn’t feel a single thing. She can feel her panic rising, it takes her a few tries to get out of the tub, her brain having trouble connecting the loss of touch to the grip her hands are trying to maintain on the tub's rim.  

She collapses onto the floor, crying when she can’t feel the cool tile against her cheek, or the water pooling around her body. Her sobs increase when she can’t feel the tears she knows she is crying. Why can’t she feel anything?

She can hear her mother knocking on the door, her voice rising in hysteric as Marinette fails to respond. She pushes herself up slowly, fumbling at the lock on the door, feeling a small victory when she finally unlocks it before falling to the floor again. 

Her mother rushes in, quick to scoop her daughter up, crying when she sees her daughter's newest scar, quick to cover her in a towel, attempting to delay the inevitable. “Mom, I can’t feel anything.” 

Sabine tears up even more, knowing the harsh truth her daughter had to face at just thirteen years old, much too young for heart break. But was there ever a proper age for it? She gently carries her daughter to her room. She dresses her, and brushes her hair, knowing that any gentle touch she normally used to calm her Dou Dou, would have no effect now. 

Marinette kept asking her mom questions, anxious for answers, confused and scared. Her mother remained silent, only sitting behind her. Marinette glances at her mirror in the corner, watching as her mother brushes out her hair, wishing just this once she could feel the pain from a stubborn knot. Then she sees it, an ugly green scar right where she had been in intense pain earlier. 

Marinette can feel herself starting to hyperventilate. She pulls at her shirt, frustration growing when she can’t feel the soft cotton. Most of the time, scars healed in thin lines or round circles, depending on what made the original injury. This however looks like it had healed over rough and bumpy. It was still a little red, blotching around the edges, a few scabs covered it as well. 

“Mom he died” There was no way to survive an injury to cause this scar. Her soulmate was dead. Before she had even gotten to see his green eyes, he left this world. She watches, horror growing as her mother brushes her hands over her back. He had been impaled straight through. Marinette started to feel sick, at least she still had that. 

“I’m so sorry Dou Dou, but you will never be able to feel anything again.” She hugs her close, kissing her head softly. Marinette doesn't miss how her mother doesn’t tell her she’s wrong. Now her heart feels just as numb as the rest of her. It was a solemn night in the Dupain-Cheng household.  

She started therapy that week, learning to move without touch, learning to function as if her second half wasn’t snatched right from under her. It was a good thing she did, or Marinette figures she would have only wallowed in self pity, and festering anger at the unfairness of it all. But she would be strong for him, whoever he was. Was, she reminds herself. 

And strong she was. When she returned to school, she didn’t let any of her friends know what had happened, practicing careful movements, too careful sometimes and overcompensating her reactions into clumsy falls and spins. She put on the facade of one who spaced out easily, one who you had to call loudly to grab her attention. A classic space cadet. 

Life became a new normal, and the pain lessened, and she grew older. Life was good, and she was finding the ability and joy to see all the blessings she still had in life. She genuinely smiled more, her heart healing and ready to overflow with love for those around her. 

It was because of this life through her for another loop. She became the hero known as Lady Bug, and one could say her loss was a perk for how often  she was thrown against solid objects. But she took it in stride, and worked hard to improve her skills to help Paris survive. 

Chat Noir became suspicious as more and more fights continued. He finally asked after a particularly nasty akuma, if her miraculous offered extra protection. “I can handle a hit ok, but I can definitely feel it. You always get back up without flinching.” She flinched at that, and he definitely noticed. 

“My soulmate died a couple years ago, so I am unable to feel anything anymore.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry Bug, oh man”

She rubs her chest where her reminder sat, “I never knew him, but it still hurt you know, left quite the nasty scar.” She tried to lift the mood with a dry laugh, but it just made the air thicker. 

“Pain like that never goes away.” He was so quiet and gentle, leaving both relieved and saddened for the other that they could understand the pain of loss. Their bond strengthened a little more that day, and only increased more over the years. 

Her carefully built and maintained facade was quickly broken however with the arrival of one Lila Rossi. The girl was cunning and perceptive. Why she had it out for Marinette, she may never know. Lila was careful, starting with the casual talk of soulmates, before moving onto the unfortunate topic and widely varying stories of those who lost theirs. Some say you died with your soulmate, others said you couldn’t tell when your soulmates died, and of course Marinette's reality, that you lost the ability to feel. 

Lila however took these speculations a step further. She claimed that her cousin lost her soulmate and not only lost physical touch, but her emotions as well. That she could no longer love, that she went to acting classes to hide among those who could feel emotions, that she was nothing more than an empty shell. 

Marinette never engaged with these conversations, put off by the idea that it could be the truth. After all, she was proof that it wasn't always true after all. She still loved deeply and felt joy and anger and sadness. She was still herself, just without her perfect other half. 

Her friends were quick to sympathize with Lila’s cousin. How tragic, and how horrible that she would never be normal again. It wasn’t until she entered the classroom one day, faced by the suspicious and scared stares of her friends, that Marinette knew her life was to change again. She doesn’t know how Lila found out, but the reality is she did, and Marinette would take it in stride. 

Lila accused her of pretending to be everyone's friend, that she was a monster trying to fool everyone around her. The class seemed to trust every word that Lila spoke, after all, logically speaking, she couldn’t have good intentions if she couldn’t feel anything. Marinette could only be offended, betrayed, shocked and hurt. 

She told them it was true she could no longer feel the physical world, but she assured them that her emotions were intact. She loved them all dearly, and nothing would ever change that. She could tell they didn’t quite believe her.

“You are a great actor Marinette, trying to trick us like that” Lila whimpers, trying to make herself look small. 

“In theory, if I can’t feel good emotions, why would I be able to feel bad ones?” Marinatte asked, desperate for them to think this through. “I could never be anything, much less mean spirited and conniving.” Lila looked like she took personal offense to that. 

“That's a good point” Rose whispers, her hands clasped tightly, clearly the whole situation stressing her out. She did hate confrontation afterall. 

“I have always loved you guys, but if you want to believe differently, I can’t stop you.” 

“How do we know you really can’t feel anything, maybe you’re just trying to get sympathy” Chloe just had to spark the situation back into a raging fire. Soon everyone is talking over the other, each looking more and more agitated as moer words are exchanged. 

Marinette just sighs. She walks up to Nathanial, asking for his exacto knife. He hands it over, with some trepidation, but hands it over nonetheless. Marinette smacks the table top loud enough to get everyone's attention.

“I was thirteen when he died,” she pulls down her shirt enough for everyone to see her scar, the emotions ranging from sympathy to horror. “And I haven’t been able to feel anything since this scar appeared.” With that she takes Nathanial’s knife to her forearm, cutting three even lines, her hand nor flinching or wavering once.

“Marinette!” Everyone cried out, scrambling to help her. She doesn't realize she's crying until someone, Kim she thinks, is asking if it hurts. 

“It’s never going to stop hurting,” she sobs, “he’s gone forever and I will never be the same again! Is this proof enough for you!”    

“What is going on here- Oh my goodness Marinette!” Ms. Bustier rushes up the steps, quickly taking Marinette to the nurses office. The adults are panicking, Marinette tells them the truth, letting the nurse know that she doesn't feel anything so she doesn’t have to waste her medicine on her. It took quite a bit of convincing from her parents to let her leave without the medicine or a doctors office visit. 

Things were tense in the classroom for a while after that, and Lila and Chloe stopped talking to her altogether. Marinette had imagined worse than this if her friends were to find out, she would take the tip toeing over the silent treatment anyday. 

The girls tried to stop talking soulmates around Marinette, but she wouldn’t have it. She encouraged them to talk about their dreams and thoughts about at all. She wanted them to continue to hold onto that hope and future for as long as they could. 

It wouldn’t be until Marinette was sixteen that her world shifted once again. It was dinner time, she had a slip with the knife, and sliced her finger. “Ow!” Marinette turns to throw away the food when the burning sensation actually registered in the unused part of her brain. She freezes, staring at the blood pooling around her finger, relishing in the hurt. Not that she enjoyed pain, no she just couldn’t believe she could feel pain once more. 

“Mom! Dad!” Marinette starts to scream because this could only be a dream. There was no way she could feel again. “Mom! Dad!” 

“What is it Marinette?” They bust into the apartment, her mother quick to grow frantic at the sight of blood now covering her daughter's hand and arm. 

“It hurt. The cut hurts.” Her parents freeze, exchanging bewildered glances. 

“What?” Her mother sounds like she’s trying not to believe it. Marinette agrees, it's too good to be true. So she reaches up to touch her hair, relishing in the greasy unwashed state, her face too oily, her shirt a soft silk. She spins around, swinging open the freezer, laughing at the burning cold of the ice cubes. She fails to notice the new scar forming along her knuckle on her right hand. 

“Marinette sweetie, please sit down so we can take care of that cut.” Her father pushes towards the island, 

She winces at the disinfectant, trying not to wiggle in her seat to feel the hardwood beneath her. The pressure from the bandaid just adds to her new reality, she starts with a laugh before it mixes with tears. 

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know sweetie, we will go to the doctors first thing tomorrow,” 

Despite Marinette having stayed up too late touching anything and everything in her room, she didn’t feel overly tired while waiting in the doctor's office. The fabric used on the waiting chairs were itchy and Marinette decided she did not like that, but couldn’t feel regretful towards her shorts at all. 

“Well Ms. Dupain-Cheng, there have been stories about soulmates falling into a coma, and that could explain what is happening now.”

“A coma?” Marinette whispers in surprise, hope blossoming in her chest once more. 

“Yes, it's very unlikely that you have a new soulmate, with you being sixteen and all.” 

“Doctor you said stories and not studies, sorry if I would like a little more of a solid reasoning.”

“Unfortunately, it's been a hard area to study so research is often limited and incomplete.”

“I see” Her mother murmurs, gripping her hand tightly. 

“The only other explainable reason is her heart healed from the loss. After all, people can’t come back from the dead.”

Marinette felt a little crushed after that. The possibility that her soulmate was possibly still dead was not one she really wanted to consider but she needed to be realistic. It has been three years now. Her body had probably finished healing from the shock. So Marinette pushed aside the notion of an awakened soulmate in a hospital somewhere and instead focused on her second chance at living life to the fullest. 

Her friends couldn’t believe it, the romantics holding out for the coma theory, despite Marinette protests. She melted into the first hug she had felt from Alya and Adrian, each of them crying tears of joy. 

When she told Chat Noir later that day, he looked at her in confusion before exclaiming something she never thought she would hear him say as LadyBug. “Marinette?”

“What?”

“You are! You’re Marinette, oh my gosh”

“What are you talking about Chat?” She laughs nervously. He drops his transformation before she can protest, leaving Adrian in his place. She gapes in surprise for a few minutes before joyously throwing herself into his arms. It had been a rough and wild two years, but things didn’t feel all that different in the long run.

Things weren’t all that different for Damian. He felt lost and empty when he woke up in his father's arms. Yes he was thankful at a second chance at life. He felt overjoyed to be with his family again, but something was missing. A year being dead so it was understandable that he couldn’t feel anything. Titus’ fur, bat cows horns, or the cool steel of his blades. Something must be wrong with him. A side effect from the magic? How would his family react to finding out? So he kept it a secret, afraid of the possible rejection. 

It was one week later that he discovered another side effect of the magic. He now had super strength and flight. It was a learning curve to say the least. At least the loss of physical touch helped with the super strength part of things. 

He couldn’t keep his secret for too long though, however six months was an amazing feat to say the least. He had gotten cut during a scuffle, the blood going unnoticed until Dick had panicked, calling for Alfred to bring the medical supplies. 

“Why did you say anything!” 

Damian can only sit quietly, refusing to look at Alfreds hands as he works the stitches into his skin. He knows he won't feel it anyway so why look. 

“Master Damian, normally you would be a squirming mess as I do this, care to explain” His words may be stern, but his voice was so gentle. Of course he already knew the answer to his question. Bruce walked over, kneeling in front of his son, and Damian was shocked by the emotion on his father's face. He looked so solem and heartbroken. 

“Damian can you feel anything?”

“No...but I’m sure it's just from the magic so I wouldn’t be too concerned father”

“Oh baby bird. Damian…” Dick sighs, coming up to hug him. Damian sits confused by everyone's reaction, for no one said anything else for a few minutes. Bruce was holding his head in his hand, and Alfred just continued to stitch him up, moving faster than normal. 

“Damian I am so sorry, but when you died, your soulmate must have died as well.” 

Well, Damian thinks to himself, that explains the empty feeling. He looks at his fingertips, where little blue prickmarks sat, then at his arms where the circled burn marks sat around his wrists. He had always theorized about what kind of girl his soulmates was. She must have a hobby like cooking for her to get the burn marks. And probably a craft of sorts for the marks on the tips of his fingers.

He always felt like she was a gentle spirit, patient and energetic. He tried to not think too hard about when they would meet, if they would ever meet. At the time he was with his mother, and soul mates were a taboo topic. With his father, he never felt the need to bring it up, and no one ever discussed it freely. So he assumed the same rules apply. 

“They say sometimes when one soulmate dies, so does the other. If you still can’t feel anything then..” Dick doesn’t finish his thought. 

“Oh” Damian hops off the table, shuffling back towards the manors elevator. He pauses before he pushes the button. “So I will be like this forever?”

“Most likely.” His father answers him.

“I see, I will use this new development to the best of my ability. Good night.” Dick can’t find the emotional energy to chastise him for taking such a rational approach. It must be his base morals rising back up to cover the hurt. 

And fighting to cover the hurt Damian was. The idea that something he only realized he wanted now that he couldn’t have it stung worse than any physical would he had ever gotten. Except maybe that stab through the chest. That definitely didn’t feel great, and he can only hope his soulmate didn’t suffer from it like he had.  

Damian decided to stop focusing on the impossible and strived for perfecting his new found abilities and refining his ingrained training. Two years and a good portion of the training was wasted. It happened in a moment with no warning. 

He had been practicing his punches on a cliff side, the rock having a similar consistency to a punching bag. He paused to take a drink of water before throwing another punch at the rock wall, only to recoil in pain. “The hell!” His hand started to throb, the skin tinted red and knuckles bleeding. 

Damian was now more confused than ever, jumping when the spray from the ocean splashes against his legs. Crouching down he runs his fingers through the sand, the damp grainy sensation oddly satisfying. He tries to fly back up to the manor, but finds he can’t do that anymore either. Well crap, Damian eyes the rocky cliffs. That's the last time Damian relies so heavily on magic.  

Finally back on the Manors grounds, he lays for a moment, enjoying the cool grass, still damp from the morning sprinklers, and the warmth of the rising sun on his face. Now the only question was, why is this happening and what does it mean. 

He marches past his family in the kitchen, heading straight for the cave, quick to gather as much information he can on soul mates that he deems necessary. Hours later the only explanation he can find is that his soulmate could have fallen into a coma at the moment of his death. So he started searching the world for anyone who had fallen into a coma the day he died, but found nothing. His frustration grew.

“Hey, you’ve been down here for awhile. Do you have a new case?” Damian eyes Tim, deciding whether or not he wants his input or not. He decides he has nothing to lose, only to gain from his thoughts on the matter. 

“I regained the ability to feel while simultaneously losing my gained powers.”

“Whoa that's like near impossible to happen”

“Unless my soulmate was in a coma for the last three years, which I have found no record of.”

“Well perhaps neither of those things ever happened, so the magic has worn off.”

“Or?”

“She really is gone, and the magic restored your body to normal with the exchange of your powers. It would be better to ask one of the magic users in the League, not really my preferred area of speculation.”

Damian immediately sought out who he could, eager to find an answer for this phenomenon. However they all had either the same theories or no answers. Even Zatanna couldn't help him, it was after the urging of his family that he halted his search. 

She might not even be out there, she could honestly be dead and his hyper focus on this false hope isn’t helping. So he let it go, let the idea of her go, let go the last sliver of hope he had that she was still out there waiting for him. It was time to move on. He tried to ignore the lingering blue on his hands, and took to wearing gloves on the regular. This decision would leave him ignorant to all the new scars that would appear as Marinette would forget to be careful some days and had reignited her passion for sewing. Marinette as well would miss her new scars as she had so many already, it was quite easy to miss the fresh ones. She would simply overlook them, focusing on never entertaining the idea of a second chance. 

It was shortly after Marinette regained her feeling that Wonder Woman approached them with the offer of mentorship and even league membership in the future. To say she and Chat were surprised was an understatement. While Chat was quick to agree, it took some convincing from her partner and the prospect of meeting a past user of Tikki’s for Marinette to agree. She also met Nightwing, the lead trainer of hero youths and Zatanna, another magic user. They both offered invaluable insight and wisdom they eagerly accepted. It was tough learning on the fly all these years. 

Damian had heard of these new heros, but elected to keep his focus on Gotham while the rest of the family was quick to introduce themselves. Chat made frequent trips to the space station to meet with other heros while Marinette stayed in Paris as much as she could, continuing her work on their search for Hawkmoth. It was through Chat that she and Red Robin met, both quick to help the other with their research. 

They quickly became profesional friends, and it was during one of their virtual brainstorm sessions that she became acquainted with Red Hood. It took a little longer for her to open up to him. Jason would consider them good friends while Marinette considered them to be good colleagues. Jason was determined to win her over to his view of things. 

Thanks to everyone's constant assistance, Hawkmoth was finally defeated by the time she was just shy of turning twenty. It had been far too long a fight in her opinion, but the man was smart, Marinette had to give him that. Now that Marinette felt safe enough to leave Paris, she accepted Red Robin's offer of training further with the league. Under the pretense of going to American College, she left home. 

It was on her first night in Gotham that fate finally played its final card. She was on her way to the assigned meet up point, enjoying the taller buildings for longer free falls. She relished the air rushing into her eyes and past her ears. Just as she was reaching for her yo-yo she saw a figure swinging towards her. Before she could react, it had grabbed hold of her, leaving them tangled together swinging through the air. Marinette squirmed to see her mysterious rescuers face. Then she felt it, a strong pull of her eyes to his and an electric spark between their bodies when their eyes met. 

Damian wanted nothing more than to stare into those ocean blue eyes for the rest of his life, but he didn’t want the rest of his life to be the next minute. He quickly swung them to a safe and secluded building top, conveniently the same Marinette had been heading for moments before. They stumble a little upon landing because of their refusal to let go of the other person. 

“You’re alive.” Their whisper of unity only draws them closer to the other. 

Marinette refuses to let pessimism take over, this is real, this is her soul mate, and he's very much alive. However she still reaches up to touch right above his heart, signing in relief as she feels the originator of her scar right there under his uniform. 

“Woah hey Demon-spawn you can let Little Bug go now, you’re scaring her” Neither register the watching parties voices. Damian reaches up to brush away her tears, hyper focused on every feature he can take in at this moment. Her button nose, the barely concealed freckles across her nose, her peach lips mouthing the word alive over and over, and obviously her eyes. 

Slowly Marinette reaches up to remove his mask, the boys freaked for a moment. After all, even they haven’t revealed their identities to her. They start to freak even more when Damian doesn’t stop her, but reaches up to help. His eyes were more beautiful than she had ever imagined. A dark green that complimented his arabian skin tone better than any color ever could. He was perfect. 

She whispers the word alive one last time before standing on her tiptoes, tangling her fingers into the hair at the base of his neck and her lips meeting his. Damian leans down, arms wrapping tightly around her waist. 

“What is happening!?” Jason shouts, desiring to run from the scene and needing to see it through to the end at the same time.

It was finally Jason’s freakout that they registered their audience but still didn’t have a care in the world. Damian pulls away first, leaning his head against hers, eyes closed, just relishing in the feeling of her in his arms. 

Marinette’s legs give out from under her, Damian softly pulling her into his lap, still refusing to let go of her. She starts to cry uncontrollably, a death grip on the hood of his cape. “You’re really here, you really are alive.”

“I didn’t kill you,” Damian sighs, burying his head into her shoulder. Letting his brothers watch him kiss his soulmate was one thing. To let them see him break down and cry was another entirely. “You lived.”  

Tim finally put all the pieces together, pulling Jason along with him off the roof. “Whoa, wait Red, they still haven’t told us what’s going on”

“And they won't for the next few hours. I’ll explain everything, just let them process this alone.” Jason finally relents to that, following him, but not without one last look at his baby brother. Damian had always been a tense on edge child, a habit that never fully went away as he aged, but never before had Jason seen him so relaxed and at peace. 

Marinette and Damian stayed in their own little world for the remainder of the night, having moved from the roof top back to her apartment. They talked about anything and everything, always touching the other in some way. Damian was the first to awaken well after the sun had risen, Marinette sleeping between him and the back of her couch. He marvels in the fact that she was here. His fingers brush over her cheek, moving her hair out of the way. 

Damian chuckles to himself. She looked like snow white with her ebony hair and peach colored lips contrasting with her fair skin. Finally Damian felt complete, no longer wandering lost in the world. He had found what he had looked for for so long. He would protect her from any more pain at all cost, the guilt heavy from having put her through so much turmoil. 

“Stop that?” Damian eyes her curiously as she stares up at him through her lashes, sleep still heavy in her eyes. 

“Stop what?”

“Blaming yourself for what happend.”

“But I-”

“You were taken advantage of, and manipulated to achieve the outcome your mother wanted. You were protecting your family, that is all that matters. That and that you’re here now.” She snuggles against his chest. “Leave the past in the past”

“Ok love, I will try for you.” Marinette hum, content with that answer for now.

Damian finally speaks again after giving Marinette a few minutes to fully reach functioning capacity, “We best go talk to everyone and get the drama over with”

Marinette chuckles at that. She would never have imagined that her soul mate would be the little brother to her two closest friends. Fate plays a funny game. “If I think too hard about it I get really embarrassed.”

“Then don’t think about it, see it as another mission to accomplish and that you will complete it flawlessly.” He kissed her hairline, slowly sitting up to stretch out. Rarely did he fall asleep in uniform, and no previous time has ever been comfortable. 

Two hours later and they are at the Manor, Jason and Tim not overly surprised to see her, neither mentioning the night before except saying she should let them know when she’s ready to go out for patrol again. Damian is surprisingly docile towards everyone's inquiries about himself and Marinette. That is until Jason says Damian should have met her sooner, then maybe he wouldn’t have been such a murderous demon. That comment did not go over well with either of the pair, however one handled it better than the other. You would think it the other way around until Damian slaps his hand over Marinette's mouth to keep her from going off on Jason.

“Let's go eat lunch now, I’m sure Alfred is close to finished anyway.” Damian gently pushed Marinette through the door, but he can’t stop her from throwing a glare over her shoulder. 

“Watch yourself Jason,” Marinette herself was growing increasingly overprotective of Damian, scared to lose him again. Jason can’t help the shiver of fear that runs its course through his body, Tim only laughs at his expense. 

“Wow she still doesn’t trust you.”

“Oh common Little Bug, don’t be like that!” Tim shakes his head at their shenanigans. It was going to be an interesting new chapter in the Wayne household.Tim Watches from the doorway, leaning heavily on it as he observes them. He had never seen more life in their eyes or on their faces. Marinette had this new glow about her, and Damian looked at her with a gentless that none of them had ever seen before. After all, scars may remind you of your past, but they also show you the potential for your future. And those two had all the potential in the world.

[apharine]

The First Annual Staff Party of the Castle That Never Was

Chapter 2: The Superior of the In-Between

Pairing:  Reader/Organization XIII

Fandom: Kingdom Hearts

Rating:  M

Read on AO3

Summary:  [Reader-insert Seven Minutes in Heaven with Organization XIII] When you woke up, you were expecting a quiet day off from missions, shared with no-one but yourself. But your day off went terribly, almost predictably, wrong, and by that evening, you'd been roped into contributing towards a potluck dinner and playing some mashup of Seven Minutes in Heaven and Spin the Bottle with your Organization XIII colleagues. Kingdom Hearts help you.

Notes:  First up we have Xemnas!  This fanfic will be updating on Tumblr every Saturday night!  There are entire first chapters for all of the Organization members already up on AO3, so please feel free to jump over there and read as well.  If you’re interested in following me on Tumblr, I always follow back and am opening requests soon!

                                        _____________________

     The bottle was pointing to Xemnas.

     Xemnas.  The boss.  The Superior of the In-Between.

     You were sure you were going to have a heart attack, right then and there, and that Dusks would be sent in after the party ended to sweep up your remains.  As Xemnas' golden eyes met yours, you were also certain that you had a total deer-in-the-headlights expression written all across your face.  The Superior's eyes narrowed slightly, and a hint of a smirk tugged at his lips.

     He knew he scared you.

     Xemnas rose slowly from his seat, the steady swishing of his cloak as he walked towards where you sat the only sound in the room.  Nobody dared to make any cat-calls or wolf-whistles or teasing remarks to the Superior.  The silence surpassed even the quiet still of the cemetery in Halloweentown.

     “Well?”  Xemnas' deep voice startled you out of your thoughts, and you whipped your eyes off the solemn expressions surrounding you and back to the Superior.  He was watching you expectantly, one gloved hand extended.

     You swallowed hard and nodded, placing your smaller hand in the Superior's as quickly as you could.  You didn't want to keep him waiting.  His strong fingers closed around your palm rather gently, but still firmly enough that he could help pull you to your feet.  The gesture, you noted, was remarkably easy for the well-muscled man.

     Xemnas escorted you to the closet, walking slowly, deliberately, as if showing off his trophy to a silent Organization.  You weren't too sure how you felt about that.

     The Superior opened the closet door himself, holding it open for you.  Letting go of his hand, you stepped inside the relatively small space with a curt nod of thanks, and immediately flattened yourself against the nearest wall, hoping you could sink backwards into it and just disappear from this terrifying situation.

      Xemnas shut the door, and for a moment, you could see nothing.  You winced, almost expecting a large hand to descend on your skin painfully, or to feel the familiar sting of an Ethereal Blade.  While you had only incurred punishment from the Superior once, it had been more than enough to make you realize just why the rest of the Organization had found your former lack of fear for Xemnas to be so foolishly naïve.  Nothing happened, though, and you glanced around the closet, wondering where the Superior of the In-Between actually was.

      “Sir?”  You squeaked, uncertain of what else to do.

      “I'm here,” Xemnas murmured from the opposite side of the closet.  As your eyes began to adjust, you caught a glimpse of his silver hair in what little light crept through the crack under the heavy closet door.

      He really was quite an exotic creature, with his dark skin contrasting beautifully against that hair of his.  Now that you thought about it, he was also one of the most well-built members of the entire Organization; his upper body was most impressive to look at, with beefy pectorals and biceps straining the fabric of his cloak.

      If it weren't for the fact that he was your boss, and he terrified you, you could have seen Xemnas as being...well, hot.

      A long moment passed in awkward silence, though it felt more like an eternity.  Your eyes adjusted fully to the darkness, and you could make out Xemnas' expressionless face, his golden orbs focused on your eyes, occasionally dipping down to roam over your body.  Every time they did, you shivered.

      “Are you well today, sir?”  You asked cordially, unwilling to allow the oppressive silence to continue any longer.  You felt you might suffocate in it if you did.

      “I am,” Xemnas responded briefly.  You kicked yourself mentally for not coming up with a better conversation starter.  Small talk and yes/no questions bored Xemnas.  What did he like to talk about, then?

      “I trust Kingdom Hearts is coming along well, Superior?”  You asked deferentially.  Maybe, if you were lucky, he could fill up the entire seven minutes just talking about his beloved Kingdom Hearts.

      “We continue to make progress on our sacred moon, yes,” he agreed, taking a step towards you and peering down into your eyes with an unreadable expression.  “More hearts are, of course, required.  ...Tell me, are you afraid of me?”

      You froze.  How in Oblivion's name were you supposed to answer that?!

      “S-Sir?”  You gaped.  When it became clear that the Superior was prepared to wait for your answer, you fumbled around for the proper words.  “I...I believe a healthy amount of fear is useful for maintaining respect and order in the Organization, wouldn't you agree?”

      The Superior smirked, taking another step towards you.  He tucked one large, curled index finger under your chin gently, tipping your face upwards.

      “I would agree,” Xemnas murmured, his low voice a deep rumble.  By now, he was close enough that you could almost hear it through his broad chest.  “But you seem to have been avoiding me ever since that incident...”  He paused thoughtfully.  “I don't enjoy punishing you, you should know.  But it had to be done, to encourage you to avoid repeating your mistakes.”  You were certain that if he could feel emotions, he would, indeed, enjoy dealing out punishment, but you kept your mouth shut.  “All the same, you've always been loyal and eager to please me.  I've come to rely on your contributions to the Organization, and for that, I thank you.”

      You felt a swell of pride at his words, but were quickly distracted as the hand that wasn't currently cupping your chin slid around to caress the back of your neck, the warm heat comforting in the chill of the closet, but the grip rough.  The Superior leaned in towards you slowly, until the tip of his dark nose brushed against yours.  You temporarily forgot how to breathe, the air getting stuck somewhere between your lungs and mouth.

      Suddenly, the Superior's lips were on yours in a surprisingly tender kiss.  He moved his mouth lustily, the large hand on the back of your neck grabbing you a bit more roughly than before.  You remained immobile, uncertain as to what to do.  This man was beyond your fathoming. Whenever you thought you had him figured out, he always did something completely baffling.  A strand of silver bangs brushed your face, and you shivered, the reality of the current situation fully hitting you.

     Xemnas is kissing me.

     Suddenly, the Superior pulled away, leaving your lips feeling cold and tingling.

      “My apologies,” the man intoned, sounding, for a moment, almost disappointed.  That was absurd.  Xemnas never sounded disappointed, or happy, or emotional at all.  You were imagining things.  “I won't force myself on you if you really see me as such a monster.”  He turned to leave, his long fingers lingering, trailing across the soft skin of your neck, before their touch disappeared completely.

      “Wait!  Superior, you're no monster,” you blurted, gazing up at him through your lashes.  Something strange – a memory of a feeling – was bubbling up where your heart had once been; you almost…pitied the man.  Being at the top of the Organization could surely be a lonely affair; maybe you really didn't have to be quite so afraid of him?  Xemnas turned back towards you, obviously interested in what you had to say.  You swallowed hard and continued, your voice gaining strength the more you spoke.  “At least, I don't think so.  You're always sacrificing so much for us, constantly working to complete Kingdom Hearts for our benefit.  Please, allow me to thank you, for all you do for the Organization…and me.”  Brazenly, you rested a hand on his chest, pulling him back towards you as you stood up on tip-toe and stretched your head back.  For an instant, the thick layers of muscle under your hand flexed, and your stomach twisted.  Had you been too presumptuous?  Was he going to push you off, or worse, strike you?

      Xemnas' kiss was no longer tender this time.  He crashed against you like a wave, pressing you against the wall, moving his lips against yours relentlessly.  You reeled from the sensations, trying – and failing – to fight back a quiet moan, moving your hands over his well-muscled chest sensuously.  The man was a damn good kisser, his tongue exploring your mouth thoroughly even though you couldn't remember how it had gotten there in the first place.

      As suddenly as it had started, the kiss ended, with the Superior smirking down at you, his eyebrows raised.  He pulled away, still wearing that impossibly confusing smirk, his fingers lingering on your skin once again.  This time, he didn't return for another kiss, instead heading for the closet door.  As he turned the doorknob, his golden eyes slyly drifted back to you, peering at you through his silver hair with a look that clearly said you'll be back for more.

      Then he rearranged his face into that calm, very Superior expression, and stepped out of the closet and into the party once more.

[project-ohagi]

Hayato Yamagata x Reader - Soulmate AU {Haikyuu!!}

[Soulmate AU: Wherein you have the first words your soulmate ever speak to you, written on your wrist].

Trigger Warning: Self-Harm.

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

Although the day was long, the evening seemed longer - significantly so.

Volleyball practice had ended a while earlier, yet here he was, remaining in the building to run some errands. The dormitories weren't far, so it wasn't as if actually minded. Glancing down at his wrist, a solemn sigh passed his lips. Gentle fingers traced the inscription: the first words his soulmate would ever orate to him, the words fated to spark an inevitable romance, which would blossom and blossom. Despite currently being unfamiliar with his predestined partner, his heart soared at the very thought of them. He knew, instinctively, that no matter their appearance, to him, they would present the most beautiful divinity.

Their aura would be unmatched in compassion towards himself and others - this was Hayato's sole expectation. Besides that, he couldn't care less. His heart thundered with the determination to shower them the utmost love and affection. He would treat them as a god, a goddess, a mixture of the two, or some genderless celestial. Whatever their manifestation, he would love them, both passionately and unconditionally.

However, the phrase engraved into his wrist was quite unsettling.

'No, please don't touch that!'

Without context, it sent insuppressible shivers all the way down his spine. Obviously, worry consumed him - it always did. He couldn't comprehend the truth of the message. Yet...an ache tugged so violently at his heartstrings. Those words bled pain, desperation. If they, his future, needed help in any way, then with his fiercest conviction, he wished to bestow it upon them. He wanted to find them, to cradle their frame tightly, close to his chest, so that his raging heartbeat could echo in their ears, acting as the proof of his love. He desired nothing more than this, and to witness the majesty of their smile. It made him giddy, like a young child arresting its parents' attention.

...Until his mind played back the phrase, droning on in miserable notes, as an amalgamation of all the world's depressing songs.

His yearning for the information of what agonised you so greatly was causing slight mishaps in his daily life. You had yet to physically enter the scrapbook of his life, but he could almost feel your energy...fragments of your pain. It was suffocating, sometimes. But still, he didn't completely understand. Meeting you, at this point, was absolutely imperative; he figured that it could potentially be the difference between life and death. Another abysmal thought began to plague his already-throbbing mind - what could you be referring to? What would cause such wretched words to tumble from your lips, and would they be in retaliation to a forceful act on his end? He really hoped that wasn't so. If he traumatised you to the extent at which your very vocals trembled, then, soulmate or no, surely your heart wouldn't ever allow itself to love him.

That imagining was a cursed reel, and he vowed never to replay it. Besides, there couldn't have been any point to worrying so tirelessly, when you were still yet-to-be-discovered. Hayato could hazard a guess that, at the least, you weren't in his class, and, perhaps some mystical connection might have compelled you towards each other, if you ever passed in the halls. Therefore, he decided that either you simply didn't occupy a space in the third year, or you didn't attend Shiratorizawa, period.

Although his brain favoured the latter, his heart pounded for the former, since it would obviously make finding you so much easier. Hayato had been raised to place faith in his gut instinct, and right now, his gut seemed to produce two words: foreign and danger. He was unsure whether this meant that you were of a different lineage, or that you attended another school, and consequently would be alien to him.

But, danger...

...There was no doubt - you were in a precarious situation, or on the losing side of a violent, bloody battle. He prayed for your eternal safety, day in and day out. You would forever arrest his unconditional support, no matter the circumstance.

Shaking off these depressing pictures was difficult, but necessary, because torturing himself over them during your omission from his life, would only affect his health and grades on a greater scale. Hayato trudged around the building, finding the papers and other things he needed, and prepared to head back to his dormitory. So much of his mental energy had been wiped out already, and he was exhausted. Lying down on his lovely, soft bed sounded blissful.

Instead, mere moments after falling, he registered that what he was kneeling atop wasn't a bed, but in fact...a girl?

Embarrassment permeated his very core. He never achieved much with women, mainly due to his sharp glares (yes, the unintentional ones - perhaps he had the masculine equivalent of resting bitch face), but this was just...oh my lord, why? He refrained from punching himself, only since terror had gripped your features, and he didn't wish to disturb you any further. He scrambled to his feet, apologising profusely, and reaching out a hand, to help you up. Those almost-feral, chocolate eyes ghosted over you, and in an instant, he was transfixed. You adorned the regular, Shiratorizawa uniform, but it appeared to be slightly larger than you needed. Your sleeves were very long, he noted, and he couldn't see your wrists at all. Luscious, (h/c) locks swept across your face, partially shielding your (e/c) orbs from view.

"Eh...are you alright? Can you stand?" His genuine concern captivated you, but you were panicked, tears welling up amongst the glittering constellations.

When you failed to respond, he started rubbing his neck, in an effort to soothe his nerves. This was a situation unlike any other (he was often a lot more careful of his surroundings), but his aid seemed to offend you, for some reason, so what could he actually do? The waterfall, which dripped from your eyes, was something he desired to wipe away. He detested this - watching you suffer in relative silence. Why weren't you letting him help? Couldn't you speak? Was something about his actions, his words, so wrong? After a minute or two of deliberation, he decided to perch himself on the floor, in front of you.

"Do you need somebody to talk to? Should I go and find a teacher?"

The words remained lodged in your throat, slowly suffocating you.

You squirmed uncomfortably, every movement revealing slightly more skin, although you didn't appear to notice. Hayato's eyes travelled to your wrists, now exposed, and his blood ran cold. His compassionate nature kicked into overdrive, and he immediately locked on to your arm. Meek sounds of discomfort rolled off your tongue, as the knife-inflicted wounds seared with pain. He was speechless, left gawking at your arms, specifically the one he had grabbed. Despite his concern, he proceeded to squeeze your wrist (albeit, absentmindedly - he was far too focused on the actual cuts). His fingers moved closer to them, as his mind scrambled desperately for any trace of logic.

Fear widened your eyes, causing you to whisper-yell, "No, please don't touch that!"

Hayato's mind ceased its constant rotations.

His eyes graced your own, partly in astonishment, partly in worry. He remembered all his previous musings with great sobriety - he was right to be concerned for your safety. Although, it hadn't ever truly crossed his thoughts, that you could have been your own arch-nemesis. That was just...it was awful, the fact that you felt such hopelessness, to rely upon a knife to release the agony. The deadly war in which you were engaged...it was against yourself, and that knowledge hurt immensely. He wished to place gentle kisses along all those beautiful, yet disheartening battle scars.

They were beautiful, he affirmed, because they were a part of you. They had been carved on to your flesh, and in spite of their secrecy, you owned them. With enough time and care, they could be removed, but they were a testament to your survival. You had lived, through everything which tried to kill you, and that made you strong - stronger than him, by far.

With determination, he maintained the eye-contact.

"You can talk to me, about anything. I'm not going to judge you. Everyone feels pain - people just cope differently."

"You - You're not disgusted? Scared?" Your voice quivered, emotions spilling to the surface.

"No, of course not. Those scars are yours, and you're beautiful. I'm not scared of them - I love them, like I love you."

This boy, he was honestly too sweet. Someone of your position, your weak constitution, didn't deserve he who behaved so admirably. He possessed a strength with which you could never compete. He was everything you had ever wished for in life. But...you couldn't keep him, and he couldn't keep you.

Not in this lifetime.

Before the illusion vanished, before it was too late and regret began to fester, you smiled, as brightly as possible. You wanted to leave him with something positive, if only for a mere second. Hayato mirrored your expression, ears burning crimson with the inclusion of your little "I love you too.". A question danced on the tip of his tongue, but he was never allowed to pose it.

"Hey, Hayato! What're you doing over here?" Said male turned, meeting the perplexed gaze of a certain, infamous red-head.

"Tendou?" He muttered, equally as confused. "I'm helping someone I bumped into."

A strange look came upon the boy's face.

"Well, did she run away before I got here? I didn't see anyone!"

The chocolate-orbed one paused, asking, "No...she's right her-"

Although, when he tried to glimpse your divinity once more, he found nothing but an empty spot. There was no indication that you had ever been in the general area, but he hadn't noticed you leave. Tendou surely would have seen you...?

Was madness consuming him?

[bronzeflower]

Just a Little Heartbreak :)

Also on ao3

-----

Arlo was on duty for patrolling out to the Eufaula desert, looking out for any larger threats that could infringe upon Portia or Southblock when he reached the cave at the very edge of it.

Professional speaking, Arlo would say that he entered the cave to leave no stone unturned, but, realistically, there hadn't been any monsters in the cave for a while now. It was perfectly safe, and there was no reason to check it.

But Arlo wanted to. Maybe he was feeling sappy, but the cave was special.

As he walked through it, his heart filled with warmth. He couldn't stop himself from smiling at the thought of Victor gleefully fighting the monsters that once resided here, looking back at Arlo with a proud grin once he finished.

And then when Victor fell while they were climbing up the cliff and Arlo caught him. Victor got so flustered by that, especially as Arlo offered to carry him the rest of the way up.

Arlo's stomach filled with butterflies and he let out a sigh, thinking about Victor. Kind, hardworking, a little blunt at times, but the honesty was appreciated. As Arlo’s thoughts wandered, he found himself thinking about kissing Victor.

He wanted to kiss Victor in the way that made Victor the most flustered. Something soft and careful and tender never failed to make Victor’s cheeks flare up as he asked for another kiss.

The cave was actually where they had their first kiss, and it was exactly the kind of kiss that Arlo was imagining at the moment.

Arlo got to the top of the cliff face, excited to see the beautiful scenery that he knew resided just a bit further in.

But, when he reached there, every ounce of warmth slipped out of him as he froze dead in his tracks, attempting to decipher what he was seeing.

Because, because that couldn't be Victor kissing Oaks. Not in the same exact place Arlo shared his first kiss with Victor. It couldn't. It was impossible. It was a trick of the light.

But no one else had hair that bright of a red. And no one else quite smiled like that, gentle and soft and ethereal. The smile that never failed to make Arlo's knees to jelly and make his heart race. The smile that made Arlo feel like the most loved person in the world. The smile that Arlo had thought was only for him.

That smile. That perfect, beautiful, lovely smile. That wonderful, amazing, heartstopping smile. Was being directed towards <i>Oaks</i>.

Arlo’s stomach started to churn with something ugly, and it quickly slithered up to his throat, suffocating him and making his throat scratchy and dry. His heart collapsed in upon itself, and his lungs burned.

He had to get out of here. He couldn’t stand here and watch them. He couldn’t stand to look at that smile for a second longer.

Arlo shoved down the emotion that kept crawling and climbing through his chest with reckless abandon. He forced it down into his core and mustered up the strength to turn around.

He bolted.

Once he started moving, he couldn’t stop, and his emotions broke free from their weak chamber and clamored about through his chest as his mind played the scene he had witnessed on repeat. He must have gone through it a hundred times before accepting the truth of the situation.

It wasn’t Oaks who initiated the kiss.

Arlo ran past Southblock, but he slowed as he approached the Portia Bridge. He breathed in and out. In. And. Out.

He started doing the breathing exercise wherein he breathed in for as long as he could, holding it for a few seconds before finally breathing out slowly and carefully.

He didn’t want anyone to think he was running due to an emergency. And, no matter how much it felt like it, this was <i>not</i> an emergency.

Arlo walked, focusing his eyes one every little thing to distract himself from his thoughts.

There was the wishing tree, grand as it watched over the Central Plaza, bringing shade to the benches it grew beside. He listened to his footsteps, each step making a satisfying thump against the ground.

He put a hand on the railing as he ascended the stairs between Total Tools and the school, taking a glance towards the Mysterious Man’s eternally closed shop.

Why did the Mysterious Man even set up a shop here if he was going to be gone most of the time? Arlo could recall when he opened up the store every morning and cheerfully greeted customers who came by. Arlo never learned why he left, only knowing that the Mysterious Man always said that Portia felt like home to him.

Those thoughts weren’t important at the moment, but they gave Arlo something to think about other than, well...

“Good evening, Arlo,” Ginger said as Arlo started to pass by.

“Good evening, anything I can help you with?”

The words were automatic, firing off as Arlo put on his Captain’s mask.

"Have you seen Victor around?" Ginger asked, and the question immediately prompted a replay of the scene Arlo had the misfortune of seeing. "He said he would tell me about some of his adventures in the mines when he had the time."

"I haven't seen him," Arlo lied.

"If you do, could you tell him I've been looking for him?" Ginger requested.

"Yeah, of course," Arlo managed to dredge out. "I'll see you around."

They went their separate ways, and Arlo kept up his mask. He was so close to the Civil Corps. He could handle himself for the few minutes it would take to get there. Just a little further.

Arlo placed a hand on the railings to steady himself as he went up the ramps leading to the Civil Corps.

He was almost there. He was so close. He just had to focus on his footsteps. Keep up the mask.

"Oh! Arlo!" A voice greeted, and it broke Arlo's concentration, especially as he looked up to find it was Nora, and he saw how her cheerful expression shifted into worry. "Are...you okay?"

"I'm fine," Arlo ground out, and he hated how curt his voice sounded.

"I don't think you are," Nora insisted, and while, usually, Arlo would be grateful for her concern, this wasn't something he wanted to burden her with. This was something he <i>couldn't</i> burden her with.

"It's not something I want to talk about," Arlo said, and the words felt like sandpaper on his tongue. His throat had begun to clog, and he feared he wouldn't be able to hold himself together for much longer. "Not right now."

Nora went silent for a moment before looking solemn.

"Oh. Okay," Nora accepted. "Perhaps later then."

Arlo nodded stiffly and took the last few steps up to the Civil Corps building. As Arlo reached out to open the door, he noticed his hand was shaking.

He made it inside and rushed to his own bedroom, swiftly opening the door and closing it behind him.

He took a breath, and his face felt hot. He braced himself against the closed door, and he broke.

Arlo slid down to the ground, finding himself sitting on the stairs leading down to his bedroom as painful tears started to force their way out of him.

Once the tears started coming out, he couldn't stop them, and they rushed down until all Arlo could taste was salt and all he could think about was Victor kissing Oaks.

Why? Arlo thought, he thought Victor loved him.

Arlo thought that cave was special to the both of them. He thought that Victor's soft, loving smile was reserved for only him. He thought that he was the only one Victor wanted to kiss.

Arlo guessed that he was wrong.

It took a long time for him to stop crying. The tears kept flowing until his body couldn’t physically produce any more, and once he had exhausted himself of the tears, he stared down at the Flying Pigs rug at the end of the stairs, hardly registering much of anything.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there. It felt like time wasn’t passing, as if he were in his own separate bubble away from everything else. Realistically, however, Arlo knew that time didn’t stop just because he had a little crying session, which is why he eventually forced himself to move.

He started with moving individual fingers before making sure his arms were functioning as well, a task that was somehow both simple and almost insurmountable. He raised his hand up to grasp at the railing and used it as a brace to slowly bring himself up to standing height.

Arlo became dizzy as he stood, which told him that he’d been frozen on the ground for probably too long, and it took a minute for the dizziness to subside.

His chest still felt like it was on fire, but they were embers compared to the burning blaze of hurt from earlier.

Arlo held onto the railing as he descended into the bedroom. Once he reached level ground, he found himself reluctant to let go of the railing. It was something solid, real. Arlo had the feeling that, if he didn’t continue to hold on to it, he’d just fall apart again.

But, eventually, Arlo had to let go of the railing, and he stumbled over to the bed, practically collapsing onto it and passing out almost instantly.

In the morning, Arlo woke up. He tore himself out of bed and prepared for work.

He was captain of the Civil Corps. He had a duty to fulfill, and he couldn’t allow a little heartbreak to affect that duty.

And, well, as much as Arlo hated to admit it, he hoped what he saw at the cave was just a mistake. 

He knew it was stupid to rationalize such a thing. He really shouldn’t be giving Victor a second chance at all, but Arlo couldn't help but feel hopeful that Victor would gift him an apology bear, and they could work things out, and Victor would smile lovingly at Arlo and get flustered whenever Arlo kissed him softly, and everything would be okay.

Huh.

He...really had fallen hard, hadn’t he?

A few days later, Victor brought Arlo to a private area, and Arlo tried to push down the hope rising up inside him.

"So, um," Victor started, bringing a hand up and tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear, an action that never failed to make Arlo’s heart race. "I need to tell you something."

"Go ahead," Arlo stated, crossing his arms in front of himself, as if that would protect him from whatever Victor might say.

"Let's break up."

Arlo felt like he'd just swallowed glass.

"Wh-what? Why?" Arlo asked even though he knew why. He knew exactly why, but he couldn't stop the words from escaping out of him.

"I just...I don't have...I don't love you like that. Not anymore."

Arlo watched as Victor reached into his bag and pulled out - he pulled out a, a withered branch. Victor held out the hand holding the branch towards Arlo, and Arlo felt his chest caving in on itself as he forced himself to take it, pricking himself on it’s thorns in the process.

"I, I understand," Arlo said, but he didn't. He really didn't. He just clutched at the handle of the withered branch as his heart became torn to shreds.

Victor left, and Arlo made his way to the Civil Corps building. The path felt familiar in a way that had nothing to do with Arlo taking the route every day. This time though, he ran into no one.

The door to the Civil Corps building, and, somehow, the door to his room was heavier, but he went inside, and he sat down at his desk. He looked over the paperwork he had yet to finish and the mugs that he had yet to clean up.

Instead of working or picking up the mugs, Arlo brought out the withered branch.

He stared at it as if it would suddenly disappear. It was light, so light that Arlo could almost forget that it was there, but, as he ran his fingers over it, the thorns still very much hurt him.

“Ow!” Arlo vocalized as he pricked himself particularly hard against one of the thorns, the sharp pain violently jolted Arlo back into reality.

The branch was a physical reminder of what just occurred. It gave Arlo no sweet nothings, no appealing lies, just harsh, unrelenting truth.

And it was a truth Arlo had to accept. Arlo had to respect Victor’s decision, and he had to accept that Victor just didn’t love him anymore.

Victor didn’t love him anymore.

Arlo started crying. He dropped the withered branch, and it fell to the floor with a soft thump, and Arlo couldn’t even bring himself to care as he buried his face into his hands and sobbed.

Time seemed to reach a standstill as Arlo sat there, expelling all the hurt and despair that had built up inside of him.

He didn’t know how long he spent crying, but he eventually stopped. He wiped away the remnants of his tears and stared down at the paperwork at his desk.

He couldn't just stop doing his duties because of a little heartbreak.

And he reminded himself of that every time he spotted Victor and Oaks out on a date with each other, laughing and smiling and kissing.

Arlo tried not to think about old times whenever he caught sight of the two of them, but, sometimes, he couldn’t help it.

His heart ached.

[imightbeapotatobutihavestandards]

He’s Hurting Me Pt 13

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 |

Summary: Roman and Virgil come round to comfort Patton. After some Steven Universe, Patton falls asleep, leaving prinxiety to watch the sunset together and Logan left to pine over how cute Patton is.

Warnings: Panic attacks... I think that’s it. Oh and swearing (thanks Virgil)

Part 13

Roman and Virgil locked eyes for a moment, sharing a look of pure worry and concern. They stood in front of Patton’s pale blue door, waiting for it to open. Roman could hear his blood rushing through his body, the thuds of his pounding heart echoing against his ears. Logan’s text buzzed across his brain; Come to Patton’s. Please hurry, it’s an emergency.

The door opened; it didn’t creep open, slowly, nor did it swing open dramatically. It just opened. It wasn’t what either of them were expecting. Logan appeared behind it, his usual stonily impassive expression had softened slightly, he looked solemn, and almost sad. With the door open, the couple could see past Logan and into the room beyond, a figure sat crumpled over on the brown leather couch. The figure- Patton- had his face in his hands, glasses pushed up into his hair. Virgil, without really realising it, walked hesitantly into the house, eyes perceptively trained on Patton, his mind racing. Patton perked up at Virgil’s soft footsteps, he turned towards the movement, pulling his glasses down and offered a small, half-hearted smile. Virgil’s heart shattered; Patton’s face was blotchy, his eyes bloodshot, his eyelashes wet and clumped together.

“Patton.” Virgil gasped, feeling tears prick the back of his eyes too, he ran and launched himself at his friend, engulfing him in a hug. Patton giggled but the sound was empty, he returned Virgil’s embrace, wrapping his arms around him tightly, pulling him closer and burying his face in a hoody-clad shoulder.

Roman remained lingering in the doorway,  shutting the door behind him but without taking his eyes off Patton. He watched his boyfriend and his best friend hug, while his insides felt like they were tearing themselves apart. He turned and shared a concerned glance with Logan.

“I’m afraid it’s worse than we thought. I know we expected Mike to be emotionally manipulative… I don’t think we quite appreciated the scale the abuse.” Logan spoke softly, sadly, almost guiltily. Roman’s eyes shot back to Patton, still hugging Virgil, he noticed the slight shaking, the bandages on his wrists, he felt guilt well up in the pit of his stomach. Why had they not noticed it sooner? Why had they done nothing? Why had they allowed Patton to get hurt?

Logan placed a reassuring hand on Roman’s shoulder, seeming to hear his swarming thoughts, or perhaps he was just far too familiar with them. The two wandered forward, Logan settling down next to Patton, Roman sitting cross-legged in front of him. Virgil removed himself from Patton, sitting on the arm of the sofa and grabbing his hand, Logan held the other, he was surrounded by support. He felt safe. He felt loved.

“What’s up, padre?” Roman asked lovingly, his voice kind and smooth.

Patton sighed, looking between his friends, eyes lingering on Logan silently asking for help.

“It’s okay Patton.” Logan squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to go into any detail, I can take over whenever you need.”

“Okay.” Patton breathed again. Why was his heart beating so fast? He’d done this before. It may have ended with a panic attack but he’d done it. Surely it’s easier the second time around. He was breathing too quick, he knew that. The words were going to get caught in his throat again, he knew that. His tongue ensnared and words held captive. He tried his best to force everything out. Breathe. Talk. Breathe. Talk.

“Mike… he can get aggressive, especially when drunk…”

***

Roman and Virgil stood in the kitchen, completely silent, the only noise in the room coming from the roaring steam of a kettle. Virgil, somewhat cautiously, turned to glance through the doorway at the couch, where Patton was currently sat curled into Logan’s side. He was still shivering slightly, it had been hard for him to talk about everything he’d been through, it had been hard to hear it. Guilt. Anger. Fear. Worry. Sadness. All of it set in deeply, making Virgil feel so much heavier. He couldn’t tell what emotion he was feeling, they just flowed into each other, making an awful mess. That’s what he felt. Awful.

“Fuck.” Virgil suddenly said, turning back and pushing himself up onto the counter. “Fuck Ro. Fuck.” He repeated, burying his face in his hands. “How did we not do anything?” He exclaimed, something so raw in his voice, something angry, and anxious, and guilty and frightened all at once.  He desperately looked up at Roman, who could only offer him a remorseful expression.

“I don’t know, Virge.” Roman replied, his voice far too soft, his normal bravado had disappeared entirely.

“How could we let this happen? We knew something was wrong. Fuck.” Virgil looked away, at the ceiling or a cabinet, something above him so he could hide the tears. He prayed Roman hadn’t noticed the slight waver in his voice.

“It’s terrible, what Patton’s gone through. But we can’t blame ourselves.” You should really practice what you preach, Roman thought, but after all the dismay the day had brought, he just focused on reassuring his boyfriend. “Besides, my love. We cannot erase the past.” He stood directly in front of Virgil, between his legs, gently holding onto his chin and pressing their foreheads together. “No matter how much we want to. What’s done is done. The best we can do is try our best to help Patton. Okay?”

Virgil breathed out a heavy sigh, desperately trying to listen to Roman’s words. He was right, all that mattered now was Patton, yet despite this, he couldn’t help the lingering feeling in his gut. Still, he’d try and ignore it, for Patton. “Okay.” He agreed, finally bridging the gap between them and kissing Roman gently. He felt the knot in his stomach  loosen a tiny bit.

Eventually the pair returned the lounge, each holding two mugs. Roman held two hot cocoas, one for him, one for Patton, complete with whipped cream and marshmallows. Virgil carried a tea for Logan and coffee for himself, medium strength and one sugar in each. The two took the mugs gratefully, Patton’s face brightening a tiny bit. He sipped it happily, savouring the sugary taste on his tongue, getting whipped cream on his nose. He giggled, wiping it off with one finger, the others thought the sound was heavenly, angelic, even.

They drank in silence for a moment before Patton coughed lightly. “Um, not that I don’t appreciate you kiddos being round, but you might have to, maybe, leave?” Patton managed to get out after stumbling over his words.

“Wait what?” Virgil sat up, clearly confused. “After all this you’re just gonna send us away and continue with him like everything’s fine?”

“Virgi-“

“No. He hurt you, Patton. You, you don’t deserve that. You can’t seriously be telling me you’re okay with staying with this guy, I thought this was you getting help?” Virgil continued, his voice a fusion of anger, disbelief and concern.

“It-it is. It’s just… telling you guys is a big thing, y’know. I-I don’t know if I could deal with anything else today.” Patton admitted, looking down. “I don’t want another fight. Not tonight.”

Silence. Virgil sighed deeply. “But, what if he, he does something again?” Virgil asked, his voice now softer, sadder, lost.

“I don’t think he will, not if he doesn’t have a reason to get mad, he tends to be more tired on Thursdays. Just goes to sleep. I think I’ll be okay.” Patton smiled gently, trying to ease his friend, but the concern never left his eyes, so he added; “If anything happens, anything I’m uncomfortable with, I promise I’ll leave. I won’t let him do anything, I’ll just leave. Now you guys know, I guess it’s actual an option just to appear on your doorstep like a lost puppy.” He laughed, no one else did.

“Of course, our doors will always be open to you. Whenever you need us.” Roman smiled kindly. “I understand that you’d rather remain for now, and as much as we are unhappy with this choice, we must respect it. I know it is difficult to get out a toxic situation, I know it may not seem worth the effort, but I promise you it is. So you must promise me, us, that you’ll let us help you, that you won’t be with him for much longer.”

Patton audibly swallowed. He appreciated the time, and his friend’s trying to help, but he still wasn’t sure if he could leave Mike. Admitting he needed help was easier as a concept than actually seeing it through. But, maybe this had to happen? Resigned, he nodded. He’d promised now.

“So…” Virgil begun, “Are we like, going? Or can we watch some Steven Universe before we go?” He allowed a smile to brighten his face, sliding off the arm of the couch and into the space next to Patton.

“Well… I guess one wouldn’t hurt” Patton conceded, desperate for some sort of normality. One episode was fine. Mike’s not even left work yet. It’s fine.

Roman went about setting up the TV, before settling back down on the floor. He sat in front of Virgil, who, almost begrudgingly, moved his legs so they were either side of his boyfriend and he could shuffle closer. Luckily, Roman was tall enough that he could see over the small, glass coffee table in front of him.

“You know, you can fit up here.” Virgil pointed out, threading his hands in Roman’s hair instinctively.

Roman smirked, tilting his head up into Virgil’s hand. “Ahh yes, but then you wouldn’t be able to play with my hair.”

Virgil grumbled some sort of insult under his breath, while Patton giggled and Logan rolled his eyes. The four watched the show in peace, except, Logan noticed something wasn’t quite right. Patton’s posture was still straight, closed off, in fact, his eyes weren’t even focused on the TV. Logan felt worry gnaw at his insides, his head suddenly emptying and leaving him completely helpless. What does he do? How does he help? Patton was clearly anxious, he was closing off, he was withdrawing. Logan wasn’t sure how best to approach the situation, but he knew Patton needed to relax, to rest. Before he could do anything, a sharp ringing made all of them flinch, Patton practically jumped out of his seat. The sharp ringing sounded again, in a rhythmic fashion. A phone. But, it wasn’t Patton’s ringtone, or any of theirs. Instantly on edge, they all look around for the source of the sound, except Patton.

“It’s just the landline, guys.” Patton notified the group, standing and walking past the couch to a table, on it was the ringing white phone.

“A landline? Who uses landline anymore?” Roman questioned.

“Patton, evidently.” Logan responded, pausing the TV. Patton shot a look at them all over his shoulder, voicelessly asking for them to be quiet.

“Bu-“ Roman tried to talk, but Virgil clapped his hand over his mouth and nodded to his friend, letting him pick up the phone.

“Hello? Oh hey baby… Oh okay, no that’s fine don’t worry. What time will you be back?... Okay, cool, will you want dinner?... Alright… okay, love you too, bye.” Patton put the phone down and turned, only to be met with three very curious faces.

“Was that Mike?” Virgil asked, hand still clasped over Roman’s mouth.

Patton nodded. “They’re making him work late tonight, he won’t be in for a while.”

“Sooo… more Steven Universe with us?” Virgil asked, smiling.

Patton felt the rotting of guilt inside him as he nodded his head, he was going behind Mike’s back with letting them stay, but he wanted them here more than anything. His emotions were at war with each other once again, it was inescapable, he always ended up with a torrent of conflicting feelings fighting each other. How did he get out of this?

After a small fight with his other half, Roman managed to peel the hand away from his face, meaning he was free to speak. “The real question here is, since when do you use a landline? Why can’t he just text you?” Roman asked, still baffled by the old technology.

Patton shrugged, returning to his seat. “My phone’s getting repaired. It’s…” Patton paused, debating on telling them what happened to his phone. They didn’t really need to know… but they’d probably figure it out anyone, and he’d promised to be honest with them. “…Mike smashed it. It doesn’t work anymore.”

There was a beat of silence. No one was entirely sure what to say. Patton felt the silence begin to press against him, it became heavy, he needed an escape. He reached over Logan and grabbed the remote, unpausing the TV and settling back down, pretending to be entirely focused on the show.

It didn’t take long for the others to drag their attention back to the flashing collection of pixels, but Logan still noticed how uncomfortable Patton was. His mind was clearly far from the bright and colourful world of Steven Universe, but he had no idea how to help, clearly Patton didn’t want to talk about it. Logan sighed, deciding on one thing that he knew reassured Patton.

Logan wrapped one arm around Patton’s shoulders and pulled him close, the smaller man instinctively froze, his overactive mind trying to work out what was happening, if it was wrong. After a long time of deciding and battling between different principles, Patton finally gave in to the comfort he’d been craving. He leaned his head on Logan’s shoulder and sighed deeply, Logan’s arm moved from Patton’s shoulder to his waist. Patton thought for a moment, then carefully took off his glasses, Logan took them from him and placed them on the arm of the couch.

Patton tried to stay awake, he really did. But he was so exhausted, and drained, and his eyelids were so heavy. His emotions had softened, he could still feel them, but he could also feel them fade, and suddenly the whole world was just Logan’s hand on his waist, and his body against his back, the soft breathing, the occasional comment from Roman or Virgil, and the murmur of Steven Universe in the background. In that moment; that was Patton’s world.

***  

It was quite a few episodes in when all three realised Patton had fallen asleep. Roman had been the last to notice, he got quite drawn in when it came to cartoons, and couldn’t help his attention being entirely captivated by the show. However, he did also want to be a good guest, so he set about collecting in everyone’s mugs and going to wash them, that’s when he turned and saw Patton’s sleeping form, cuddled against Logan’s side.

Roman smiled at the sight, before grabbing the cups and taking them out. As he left, Virgil shuffled slightly closer to Logan, a soft smile plastered across his face as he looked at Patton. Suddenly his smile fell, his eyes became more solemn. “He’s gonna be okay, right?” Virgil asked in a small voice, he kept his eyes low, not daring to look at Logan.

Logan frowned, looking down at the man pressed against him, sleeping soundly. He smiled as Patton shifted slightly in his sleep, nuzzling closer. “Of course, Virgil.” Logan smiled reassuringly, and Virgil couldn’t help but lift his head and meet his friend’s eyes. “Patton’s strong. He can certainly be silly and…eccentric at times, but you know him as well as I do; he’s unbelievably strong. He’ll get through this.” And Logan genuinely believed that. Virgil smiled, it was still a sad smile, but it was also hopeful. Virgil believed it too.  

Roman wandered back in, taking in the sight before him; the three people he cared about most were curled close together, smiling softly, on the worn brown couch. Sunlight danced through the large glass door to their left, coating them in a gold wash, the brilliant haze moving swiftly from one face to another, seemingly entwined with the curtains. He frowned. Sunset. They’d need to leave soon. After everything it felt wrong to leave Patton. So wrong. But forcing him couldn’t be right either. Roman knew how difficult it was to talk about these things, how hard it was to escape them. He sighed heavily, eyes flicking back to the sunset, when a ghost of smile appeared.

“Hey Virge, wanna watch the sunset?” Roman asked, leaning on the doorframe. He knew how much Virgil loved sunsets, and thought he could do with relaxing a bit.

Virgil smiled, pushing himself to his feet, but before he headed to the door, he turned a spared one last glance down at Patton. The sight of the young man curled up tranquilly, blissfully unaware of the reality he was trapped in, warmed his heart, made his smile that little bit brighter, that little more genuine. He leaned down, swiftly placing a light kiss on Patton’s hair. He looked up smiling, to see Logan sharing his smile, sharing the warmth behind his eyes.

“Love you too, dork.” Virgil whispered, kissing the top of Logan’s head, then wandering out. Roman pushed himself off the doorway, smiling brightly at Virgil’s adorable shows of affection, following his boyfriend out.

***

Virgil sat on the wooden decking, legs crossed underneath him, looking up at the sky. The colours were bleeding into each other; beautiful faded pinks melting into those dazzling orange hues and warm, faded yellows. The warm colours spread across the sky, stretching over the, now pale, blue, draining it of its life until it would eventual become a dark mass. The colours were almost like parasites; corrupting the sky, painting the tips of clouds, covering everything, until they too would fade, and leave nothing but darkness. Beautiful parasites.

Virgil turned to Roman, who was sat beside him, legs hanging over the edge of the porch, eyes gazing upwards, wrapped in the glistening glow of the sun. Virgil looked at him, really looked at him, his bright green eyes that were perpetually hopeful, his swept back hazel that could never be messed up, his lazy, careless smile that Virgil adored. He had committed them to memory a thousand times before, and here he was still mesmerised by the man beside him.

Virgil pressed his hands to his face, shutting his eyes and breathing in heavily. Every time he’d try to forget, his mind went back to Patton. Patton who had protected him ever since they were kids, Patton who’d comfort him and help him and give him advise. Patton who he’d let down. He’d failed him. He let him get hurt. Virgil wasn’t sure he could forgive himself for that.

“Hey,” Roman began, turning to look at Virgil, who reluctantly pulled his face from his hands. “Do you remember our first date?” Roman asked.

Virgil laughed slightly, looking back up at the sunset, he know Roman was trying to stop his mind from racing, so he went along with it. “Yeah, I dragged you to mine and we watched Moulin Rouge together, for the first time. T-“

“-And many more viewings would follow.” Roman announced, smiling brightly at Virgil, who couldn’t help smiling too.

“Yeah they would. Then, we went to the park by my house and… watched the sunset.” Virgil attempted a chuckle. “A lot more of that followed too.”

“We evidently just like tradition.” Roman said, slinging an arm around Virgil, who happily curled into his side again.

“That was so long ago… Hey, remember that time you nearly got expelled for “improving” those homophobic books in the library?” Virgil chuckled.

“And any book that was written by an ignorant, intolerable person!” Roman corrected. “And yes, ah how my parents loved me then.”

“Uhm,” Virgil hummed in response. “They also loved you when they came downstairs one morning to find a random racoon child in their fridge, because someone hadn’t mentioned I was sleeping over.”

“Pfft. That wasn’t as bad as the time they walked in on-“

“Nonononono.” Virgil pushed himself away from Roman, waving his hands dramatically to get him to stop. “Don’t even bring that up, I haven’t even been able to look your mom in the eyes since that.”

“What do you mean? I saw you guys talking up a storm last Christmas.” Roman laughed.

“Yeah, and I looked anywhere but her eyes.”

“Could you feel the sins crawling up your back?” Virgil slapped his shoulder for that joke. “But hey, at least you don’t even have the opportunity to look my dad in the eye after that.”

Virgil sighed deeply, leaning back on his boyfriend again. “Yeah well, I’m glad.” Virgil murmured.

“Me too.” Roman sighed, running a hand through Virgil’s hair, turning his eyes back to the sunset. He’d talked to Virgil a lot about his father, maybe too much. A lot had happened with him, but that was a story for another time, he thought. Now, at least, he was in a good place, he was okay with everything, more than okay, his only worry was Patton. “Me too…”

“You good, Ro?”

“Yeah, I’m good Storm Cloud.”

***

Logan breathed in deeply, putting a leash on his emotions. He could feel the torrent raging within him again, yet somehow, looking at Patton’s sleeping form seemed to ease him entirely. Patton looked, well, like an angel. His hair was ruffled lightly, his hands balled in Logan’s shirt, his eyes lightly shut. He looked relaxed, tranquil. After everything he’d gone through, Logan thought he deserved this, this moment, at the very least.

Unfortunately, the moment didn’t last as long as Logan would have liked, and soon Patton was murmuring and sitting up. His movements were slow and lazy, in a way, he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and reached in a random direction for his glasses. Logan smiled, placing the glasses in his outstretched hand.

Suddenly, as Patton’s vision became crystal clear, darkness surrounded his thought. He sat bolt upright, memories flooding back to him, dread crashing over him, a sickness rotting his stomach. He wanted to vomit. He could feel it. He was going to throw up. Guilt swallowed him again, he remembered; he’d told them. He’d told them everything. Everything was different now. He’d messed everything up. He’d made everything change. His breathing came in quick gulps.

I’m going to be sick. I’m going to be sick.

Disgust crawled through his veins. Hatred seeped into his brain, his heart, hatred for himself. He’d betrayed Mike. He couldn’t think. His mind was blurred.

I want to die.

He couldn’t stop it. The thought flashed before his mind, and suddenly he couldn’t escape from it. No. No he didn’t mean that. But, he didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted the feelings to stop.

His thoughts could only process one word, everything was said in those two words, and they seared into his brain.

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

I can’t what? Leave? Think? Breathe? Live?

No. No. NO.

The word morphed; Patton saw the shape melt, saw it merge and reform.

Please. Please. Please.

Please make it stop. Please just stop.

Patton felt the sharp prick of tears against the back of his eyes. It stung and he hated it. His heart hurt and he hated it. His head was heavy and he hated it. His thoughts swarmed and he hated it. He cried and he hated it.

No. I’ve cried enough.

Patton reused. He refused to cry, or to give in, he just wanted the feelings gone. He felt an arm on his shoulder, a hand on the side of his face, wiping his tears: Logan. Logan could always help. Logan always made him feel better. He leant into the touch, desperate for that support and comfort he’d felt before. Seeking that alien security Logan provided.

Nothing.

He felt nothing but guilt and regret and frustration and-

Please. Please. Please. Please.

The words screamed at him, his head was a mess. He couldn’t think, he wasn’t thinking, he just wanted to be okay, just for a moment, and nothing was working.

He wasn’t thinking when he cupped Logan’s hand against his cheek, or when he grabbed the other’s collar pulling him close. He wasn’t thinking when he connected their lips. But he was feeling. And it felt amazing. It felt like a release, or like he was dreaming. God only knows how long he’d wanted to do that, how long he’d supressed that and hidden it, it was like he was finally getting what he wanted. But it also felt awful. He was so disgusted; at himself, his actions, and that it felt so good. That he couldn’t pull away.

Patton couldn’t explain what made him do it, he just, couldn’t, anymore. He was so tired of feeling empty.

Logan, to put it mildly, was a mess. He was so shocked, and so confused, he had no idea what to do. His made was short circuiting because; holy shit, Patton was kissing him, but also; oh shit, Patton was kissing him. Beautiful, kind loving Patton. Patton who he’s loved for years. Patton, who had a boyfriend. Patton who was hurting so much that he was drowning. Patton who is lost and confused and yeah this needs to stop.

“Patton.” Logan spoke, pulling away and resting their foreheads together. Patton squeezed his eyes shut tighter, Logan could feel him shaking, feel the hot tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I…” Patton began, jerking away, looking at the taller with wide, watery eyes. “I’m so sorry, Lo. I’m so sorry. Oh God, I just, I want to be alright.” Patton choked out, looking down, ashamed.

“I know, but this won’t help you. You’ll just feel worse.” Logan spoke softly, kindly, lowering his head to Patton’s eyes and cupping his face again, forcing their eyes to meet.

Patton looked at Logan for a moment before squeezing his eyes shut again, feeling warm tears crash against his soft skin. Logan reassuring brushed his thumb against Patton’s freckled cheek, wiping away the tears.

“I know.” Patton tried to whisper, but all that came out was a light gasp. He breathed in heavily, leaning his forehead against Logan’s again. Words caught on his tongue, words he needed to say, words that were so important that they drowned out the sound of the door opening.

“I love you, Lo.”

Footsteps. Not that either of them noticed.

“I love you too.”

*** 

Long but important AN: So, we’re drawing near to the end, only three chapters left. But, that is not the end, I still have a lot planned for these bois, I was thinking of doing “lost chapters” just to fill in some gaps about Lo and Ro, maybe some for Virgil, and expand on the Logicality, but now I’m considering some mini sequels, so we’ll see!

Another important note, I was incredibly unsure of the kiss in this chapter and if I should put it in, but I’m glad I did, and that’s all thanks to @blueeyedscorpion who helped me and let me yeet ideas at her. She will also (even if she doesn’t know it yet) have to deal with a lot more of that in the future so,,, thank you love!

Annnd to bring it full circle, as there is an end in sight and it might take a lil bit of time before anything new is put out, you should check my friend out. She has an absolutely amazing story called The Lighthouse which is so beautifully written and I love it aND TRUST ME, READ IT!

Thanks for reading this very long note :)

Taglist:

@bunny222 @smedenn @beautifully-terribly @hellomusicalnerdhere @its-jambi-baby @rainbow-sides @awkwardangie410 @bluebloodstains @sopi-montezzz @am-i-heaven-or-am-i-hell @toomuchandnotenough @angered-turtle @roman-is-a-dramatic-prince @madly-handsome @candiukas @hanramz-the-fander @beach-fan @average-everyday-sane-pyscho @inan-sanders @oh-star-how-the-mighty-fall @choppedexpertbonkfire @pattonistooprecious @purpleshipper @the-life-ofa-troubled-ace @smileydog101 @daughterofsomnus @a-time-traveling-whovian @galaxygals @thatrandomautist @gay-glitter-bomb @amazable01 @blueeyedscorpion @anxious-huffle-puff @luarpice @biacetrash @astral-eclipse @fandoms-winkitywonk @her-royal-crayness @thefallendog @lionlickers05 @cochroachkappa-blog @ohwaitimtrash

[mysweetestcreature]

Wish Upon A Star (StepBro!Harry) Part IX

Part VIII

***

The bed is all too good at its seduction, with sheets that entangle her limbs, a pillow that might as well be a cloud, and the warm body that guards her back possessively. But it’s only a few more solemn minutes of enjoying the comfortable silence until a disturbance drags her out of dreamland. Her hand feels around for the phone vibrating on the side table. She squints her eyes and reads her assistant’s name that flashes on the screen. 

“Hello?” her greeting is drawn out by a long yawn that reaches octaves to put an opera singer to shame. 

“About time you picked up! Do you not know how long I’ve been trying to call you?”

“Isn’t it a bit early to be calling?” she glances at the clock, 8:09 am, “It’s like three in the morning over there.” Harry stirs next to her, his arm wraps around her figure and pulls her against his torso. He snuggles his face into the slope of her neck, his hot breath caressing the vulnerable flesh. 

“Actually, it’s 8:09, oh wait, now it’s 8:10! Anyway, I need you to pick me up.”

“I don’t think I follow,” she replies. 

“I just landed in Heathrow, so hurry up because airplane food does not satisfy. Oh, and I also need a place to stay, so thanks in advance!” Before she can ask any more questions, he’s saying his goodbyes and ending the call. The screen goes black, and she’s met with a reflection of her face staring back at her.

Earnest kisses press across her shoulder blade, the feeling of his morning stubble tickles her bare skin. She turns in his hold and lazily connects their mouths, her fingers lightly tugging at the astray locks of his messy hair as his own outline down her soft curves.

“Morning, my love,” he rasps, smacking her lips again. He shuffles on top of her and presses more kisses along her jaw and down under her chin. His movements are setting themselves up to become more sensual and it is only a matter of time until they’re joined together for the nth time in five days. 

“Wait, we need to-” but she stops when he begins teasing the spot below her ear, the stubble on his upper lip grazing over her lobe. What was she meant to do again? The memory is fuzzy for a couple of moments, but the orders––and who would have thought that her assistant would be giving her orders––are soon brought to the forefront of her mind. “We’ve got to go the airport.”

He looks at her with furrowed brows and panic begins to set in as she feels his muscles begin to tense over her. “I thought you weren’t leaving for four more days?” Y/n shakes her head and gives him a reassuring kiss.

“My assistant apparently took some unauthorized vacation time, and now he’s here,” she slips out from under him, and sits up to place her feet on the fluffy carpet. But he’s got his arms locked around her waist. “Harry, c’mon. I’m sure you’ve gotten enough,” she teases. She glances over her shoulder to see him shaking his head like a stubborn child.

“Can never get enough of you, love,” he says cheekily.

***

William knew there was something off about the situation, but never did he expect this. He’s been parked across the street from Harry’s apartment complex since the crack of dawn, waiting for him to come out. It’s definitely plausible that Y/n is staying with him. When a black Range Rover comes into view, he eyes the architect’s face in the driver’s seat, with Y/n sitting beside him. He ducks down until they’ve driven past him, then asks his driver to follow the car. 

The rest of the windows are tinted black, blocking his view of them. They drive miles and miles, until the airport pops up in the distance. Maybe she’s booked herself an earlier flight? 

“Just stay here,” he orders the driver. He watches as Harry backs into a spot and turns off the ignition. Now he’s got a clear view of the two through the windshield. She’s laughing at something, but he’s never been skilled at reading lips. Why are they just sitting there? It looks like they’re just talking, and for a quick moment he thinks he’s lost all sensibility.

“What the fuck?” he growls as he watches Y/n reach across the console to the driver’s seat. Harry smirks at her before he sticks his tongue down her throat. “What a slut!” he snares. He knew there had to be a reason why she never mentioned him, but this? He was not expecting this at all! It’s completely revolting, and undeniably incestuous!

***

Age 18:

The sun beams brightly over their childhood treehouse. It has been years since either of them bothered to climb the wooden planks. But as the weather shifts to nicer, more pleasant temperatures, it would be a shame to let such a beautiful day go to waste (especially with all the tensions rising in their home). So here they lay on the blanket spread on the floor within the confines of their mini palace. He’s been reading through the old comic books that he’d left up here. It’s a miracle that they’ve been able to withstand the tests of time. She reads along with him from where her head rests on his chest.

“Wait! I wasn’t done reading that,” she complains, and quickly turns back the page.

“Oi, you’re going to tear it,” he retorts. He lets out a sigh and waits for her to get through it. When a minute––but he really isn’t counting––passes, he speaks up again. “You done?”

She rolls off of him and on to her stomach. Her eyes wander over the little shelves nailed to the wall. All the toys that had never made it back to the ground. Yet, only a meager layer of dust engulfs them, and she’s starting to think that Eric comes up here to clean. On the top middle shelf are two of her Barbie dolls. One wears a purple princess dress, complete with a tiny tiara atop her head. The other, which she remembers as her favorite growing up, is dressed in a classic halter wedding dress with sequins and beads sown into the corset.

“You think my dress will be as pretty as that?” she asks. Harry follows her eyes, turning to find her staring at the doll.

“It’s a nice dress,” he muses, “but I think yours would be prettier.” A cheeky smile spreads over his face, and he puts the comic book down to cross his hands behind his head. 

His love gives him the cutest look, as she saddles a leg over him. “Tell me more about our wedding,” she dreamily asks, as she traces patterns along his abdomen. The butterflies are back and flutter about in her tummy.

“Alright, well,” he starts, one of his hands land to graze over her thigh, “I’m going to give you your dream wedding, the one you used to tell me loads about when we were small. It’ll be in one of those fancy gardens with hedge mazes. We’ll have a rose gold motive, of course, seeing as you’ve already got the necklace to match, hmm. You’ll have the most beautiful dress, make all those other brides jealous. It’ll be Vera Wang, or whatever designer you’ve got your heart set on. All I’m asking is that I can easily slip it off you,” he smirks. She giggles and falls down on his chest to snuggle him, her ear resting over his steady heartbeat. “Got to promise me that you won’t start crying during our vows though. Because you know that I’ll start crying and our guests won’t be able to understand anything coming out of our blubbering mouths.”

“I make no promises,” she responds. Just the thought of their wedding has her about ready to burst into tears of happiness.

He sighs to feign annoyance, “I guess that’s fine. As long as I get to call you Mrs. Styles by the end of it all, it’s all fine by me.”

“Hmm, ‘Mrs. Styles,’ I do like the sound of that,” she says, then pecks his lips. He cups both her cheeks to keep her there for longer. His tongue licks along her bottom lip, and she opens it just wide enough for him to slip it in. 

She moves against him, her ass rubbing over his cock every time. “Driving me mad,” he groans into her mouth. His hands guide her to grind over his growing erection even harder. She breaks their kiss, moving herself lower down his body. Her fingers hook through the waistband of his basketball shorts, and she slowly pulls them down his legs. 

“Someone’s excited,” she muses at the tent of his boxers. His breath hitches in his throat when she strokes him through the fabric. 

“Don’t tease me, pet,” he warns, but any essence of intimidation is lost. She slowly inches them off, he raises his hips to make it easier for her. He whimpers as she pumps him with her hand, stroking him at an almost offensive pace. 

“What else do you have planned for our big day?” she draws out, letting some of her saliva drop down into her hand to use as lubrication. “I want to hear all about it.”

“I-” but he’s too consumed in her actions to speak. She squeezes him, and he bucks into her in response. “I’m thinking it’ll just be close friends and family, yeah?” he gulps. “If Mum and Dad d-don’t come around by then, we can get Gregoire to give you away.”

She brings her mouth to ghost over his balls, “That sounds perfect,” she replies. She peppers small kisses over one of them, before she wraps her lips around it to suck on.

“And for our honeymoon,” he sucks in a shallow breath, “I’m thinking we can go back to Santorini. Can give you a proper l-loving on the beach…fuck, baby, taking me so well.” Her head bobs over his cock, the tip of him hitting the back of her throat. “And maybe we can-can…” the words are lost, and his eyes roll to the back of his skull as he enjoys the warm and wet sensation of the vibrations from her hums. 

He pulls her back to his lips, hands sliding down her body to remove her jean shorts. Another groan releases into the air when he feels just how wet she already is. “Want you to ride me,” he murmurs. With one last kiss, she slides back down, positioning herself over the head. She sinks down, her teeth nearly biting through her bottom lip. She allows herself a moment to adjust. Her walls stretch to accommodate around him. 

His hand slips underneath her shirt past her bra. He rolls her pebbled nipple between his fingers, flicking over the erect bud to elicit that delicious moan of hers. She uses his chest as support, as she rises up and falls back on his cock in even takes. “Keep talking,” she pants out.

“We can go backpacking through Europe as well,” he hisses as her nails drag over his flesh. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? I could make love to you in every country.” She nods her head. He feels her fluttering around him. 

“Baby, I’m close,” she whines, picking up her pace and bouncing roughly over him. Her own fingers launch at her sensitive nub, while he finds the strength to meet her thrusts her halfway. One hard pounding, and he’s filling her up to the brim. The feeling of him coating her walls prompts her own climax, and she lets out a cry of pure ecstasy. 

The sounds of their panting are accompanied by the natural sounds of the outside. In the next yard over, they can hear the neighbor’s kids splashing around in their pool. Harry’s eyes wander over the walls of the treehouse. What was once a beacon for childhood adventure has just been severely tainted of its innocence.

***

Present Day:

They walk hand in hand into the airport. Harry still isn’t quite sure why he’s here, or who they’re looking for, but he allows himself to be dragged along, nevertheless. Heathrow seems to be more crowded than usual, for an ordinary day, he notices. All around them, there are parents reuniting with their children, husbands reuniting with their wives, and friends reuniting with friends. It’s a heartwarming scene to witness. He tugs on Y/n’s hand, bringing her close enough to give her a sweet kiss. “I love you,” he says against her. She laughs when she pulls away, wiping her thumb across his bottom lip to remove any essence of her nude-shade lipstick.

“You’re such a nut!” she chuckles before nuzzling her nose into his neck. 

“Well, shit. You’re even more gorgeous in person,” they turn their heads to the voice. “What took you so long? Did you get lost?” he playfully rolls his eyes. Y/n releases herself from Harry’s grasp, and hugs the person tightly.

“You’ve got some explaining to do! What are you doing here? And oh my god, who’s taking my phone calls?” she lightly swats Miguel’s shoulder when she pulls away. The two large suitcases by his side are much bigger than she anticipated, but then again, he has never been known to be a light packer. 

“We’ll talk business later, but first,” he steps around her, “I think you need you to properly introduce me to someone.”

Y/n attaches herself back to Harry’s side. “Harry, this is Miguel, my assistant. Miguel this is Harry, whom I’m sure you know plenty about.” She pretends not to see the smirk on Harry’s face. 

Harry extends his hand out to Miguel. “Nice to meet you, mate,” he greets. 

“Believe me, the pleasure is all mine, and can I say that the pictures do not do you any justice,” Miguel replies. All Instagram posts that he and Y/n spent time looking at while working late at the office were nothing compared to the real thing. “Anyway, where are we eating? A ten hour flight, and all they fed me was questionable pizza.”

“There’s this place not far from here, has the best Thai food, if you’re interested,” Harry replies. He wraps an arm around Y/n’s shoulder and leads them to the exit. 

“No, that’s fine! I’ll eat anything at this point,” Miguel chirps as he drags both suitcases along. “Could you maybe-” but he notices that the couple is nearly ten steps ahead, already lost in conversation amongst themselves.

***

Miguel sits in the back seat of Harry’s Range Rover, carefully observing his boss and the man she’d been pining for since the day they’ve met. Harry drives with one hand on the wheel, while the other is clasped with Y/n’s. He watches as Harry kisses her knuckles every so often, and how she’ll bring their tangled fingers to cushion her cheek. Their actions, as he witnesses, are like an unconscious effort. When he first started working for Y/n, he had heard stories about them growing up and falling in love, then breaking up due to extraneous circumstance. 

It’s a story right out of a movie. Childhood sweethearts, soulmates, finding their way back into each other’s arms. Much like Love, Rosie…except instead of friends, they’re step-siblings, and Y/n isn’t pregnant––but who can say for sure because she’s absolutely glowing, from what he assumes is the amazing sex they’ve been having. He creates a reminder on his phone to start writing the novel.

“So, are you going to tell me now?” Y/n twists around to ask him.

“Okay, so get this: I’m sitting in your office, the phone has been ringing nonstop––oh by the way, Debbie called, she wants to have lunch––and Mr. Sengle called and…”

Y/n stares at him intently, edging him to go on. But Miguel holds on to the moment a while longer, enjoying how frustrated she’s getting. “Spit it out!” she all but yells.

“So, Harry, Y/n tells me that you’re an architect. Do you have any projects in progess?” he inquires.

“Yeah, I just met with the new clients yesterday, actually. They’re looking to expand their hotel chain to the riverside. Want a modern design,” Harry states. Yesterday, he’d brought Y/n with him to the office. For years, all of his coworkers had teased him about rarely going on any dates or never having a serious relationship. Nosey, is what they are. 

Well, the joke was on them when they laid eyes on his love. 

He takes his eyes off the road for just a second to glance at Y/n. He chuckles to himself when he sees the puppy dog eyes she’s brought out as her weapon. “You should just tell her; those eyes will follow you to your grave.”

“Alright, alright! So, the reason I’m here is because Mr. Sengle is suggesting––well more like ordering––you to move to the company’s London branch! I just thought I’d get a head start in finding my own place. And don’t worry, before I left, I recruited all the interns to pack up your belongings in your apartment. They should be arriving at your parent’s house in about a week.” Miguel watches as the information slowly begins to set in, and she goes from utter shock to complete excitement.

“Are you serious? You’re not joking? This is-oh my god! Baby, did you hear that?” Luckily, they’ve hit a red light, and she’s leaning over the seat to give him full kiss on the lips. 

“Looks like I’ve got myself a roommate,” he says, and then he’s kissing her again. They’re too consumed with one another to notice that the light’s turned green, that is until the cars behind them aggressively honk their horns. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Harry groans, placing his foot back on the gas. 

“Ok, but if you guys are going to be packing on the PDA, at least help me find a man of my own,” Miguel rolls his eyes. It’s annoying how cute they are. Justice for all the singletons out there. 

***

Y/n wonders if it was mistake arriving together. Would they disapprove again? Although, now that she’s twenty-four, they really have no say in who she chooses to love. As they stroll up the walkway to front door, her nerves are on fire. Harry’s been telling her to relax, but that’s not an easy task to accomplish. Before either one of them can ring the bell, the door swings open, revealing their overexcited parents. “Welcome home!” Anne chirps, bringing both in for a hug. “You arrived together?” she questions when she notices just one car in the driveway.

“Don’t badger them with questions, they’ve only just arrived,” Eric jokingly scolds. He looks behind his children and sees a stranger. Unless he’s hallucinating, he’s almost positive that the man isn’t William. “I’m sorry, and who are you?”

Anne slaps his shoulder, “Look who’s doing the interrogations now.”

“Miguel Garcia, I work for your daughter,” he says as he goes in for a hug. “Aw, it’s so great to finally meet you two.”

***

Lunch seems to be going well. It’s almost like old times, the four of them sitting around the table chatting the others’ ears off. Eric can’t help but lean back in his seat and admire his family. He can’t remember the last time they were all seated together. No harsh glares, or yelling, or anything of that nature. 

He watches closely at his two children. They’re smiling at each other in the same way they did six years ago, before they got caught. And it only just crosses his mind that maybe it isn’t too late for them. 

“The food was great, thanks, Mum,” Harry says, patting his stomach for emphasis. 

Anne grins at him, “Not a problem, bub.” She too has been watching them carefully, and if her intuition is correct, there’s a reason why William isn’t here today. But she refuses to meddle, not after what happened the last time. “You guys go into the living room, I’ll put the kettle on, yeah?” 

The rest of them take their seats on the couches and recliners. Eric asks Harry about work, and Y/n and Miguel listen as Harry explains in elaborate detail his plans for the hotel’s design. 

“And I’m thinking maybe all glass walls, the rooms would be one-sided of course.”

Eric nods his head in agreement, “Couldn’t make it more modern even if you tried.” They share a laugh and continue on with the conversation. Miguel nudges Y/n with his elbow.

“Think you’re going to tell them today?” he whispers to her. And honestly, she doesn’t know. At this point, there’s no good in hiding that they’re back together. They’re grown adults who have been through too much for anyone to say no to them.

She watches as Eric excuses himself when the doorbell rings. “Should we tell them?” she asks Harry once she’s sure her dad is out of earshot. Just as he’s about to state his opinion, he’s interrupted. 

“Sweetheart?” Eric calls to Y/n.

“Yeah?” She turns around and gasps at what she sees. “What are you doing here?”

William walks through the living room, examining each photo hung on the wall. Knowing what he now knows, he grimaces at each one. “Not happy to see me, Dollface?” he says arrogantly. “Why, you didn’t tell me you guys were having a little family get together. I’m offended that I wasn’t invited.” He takes menacing steps towards her, but of course, Harry blocks him off from getting any closer. 

“You shouldn’t be here, mate,” he warns as his eyes narrow in on him. Y/n clutches his arm, signing to him not do anything too rash. The atmosphere that encompasses them is thick with tension. It’s almost as though no one can breathe.

The intruder lets out a low laugh. “You’re an awfully protective brother, aren’t you?” He darts his eyes towards Anne. “Fine children you’ve raised. It’s amazing how close they are.” 

Does he know? But how? The questions run through Y/n’s head. There’s something almost sinister about the man’s demeanor. “In fact, I’d say they’ve overstepped any boundaries all together.” 

Four pairs of eyes exchange weary looks. Y/n comes out from behind Harry, and grabs William by the arm to lead him outside. He follows her, smirking at Harry before waltzing out the door.

“What’s the matter with you?” she shrieks at him. “We’re broken up. O-VER. I don’t see why you’re acting this way.”

“Why’d you break up with me, huh? Because we both know it wasn’t because I hooked up with some chic,” he counters.

Y/n lifts her hands up in exasperation. “You want to know why? Ok, I’ll tell you. I don’t love you, I don’t even think I like you very much, to be honest.” It was never her intention to give it to him like this, but he’s overstepped the line. 

“Why not? Too busy dropping your panties for your brother?” he shoots back at her. “Thought I wouldn’t find out, didn’t you? I never pegged you as a whore, Y/n. Because that’s all you are, aren’t you? A cheap little whore.”

“What the fuck did you just say?” Harry charges at him, but Y/n does her best to hold him back. She cups the side of his face and whispers for him to calm down. His nostrils are flaring in anger, and his eyes are hard as stone. 

Eric, Anne, and Miguel rush outside. Anne holds Harry by the shoulder when she sees the drastic rise and fall of his chest.

“What the hell is going on here?” Eric shouts at them. He stands in between the two men, looking between the two for an explanation for the raucous.

William shakes his head, “Mr. and Mrs. Y/l/n. I think you should know what your kids have been doing behind your backs.” All Eric does is lift an unamused eyebrow at him. “They’re in some kind of relationship! I saw them with my own two eyes. It’s absolutely disgusting!” He waits for a violent reaction to erupt from the older couple, but he feels himself shrink back when they remain stoic. “I don’t think you heard me: your kids are fucking each other.”

“And so?” Eric sighs. 

“Doesn’t that bother you? They’re brother and sister!” William screeches. This is not how he expected this scene to play out. “Don’t you know how much of a slut your daught-”

A fist collides with his nose, and he’s left leaning against the car for support. “Correction: they’re step-siblings. Not a single ounce of the one’s blood runs through the other’s veins,” Eric nonchalantly replies. Y/n and Harry stare at him with shock, before turning to each other. From behind, Anne has a smile on her face.

William clutches his nose, squealing pathetically when he sees the blood rub off on his hands. “You’re all fucked up, all of you! Have fun rotting in hell.” He quickly opens the car door and jumps in, and they watch it speed away. But before it can too far, Miguel throws a rock at its rear. 

“That’s right, run away, you coward!” he shouts after it. 

“Daddy,” Y/n moves closer to her father and touches his arm. Eric gives her a soft smile, and suddenly she’s engulfing him in the tightest hug he’s received in years. “Thank you.” 

“I’m sorry for everything,” he says against her hair. She nods and wipes away the tears that have cascaded from his eyes. He motions to Harry, reaching out for his son. “There’s nothing I can say to take it all back, but I just hope that one day you guys can forgive me.” 

“I’m so sorry too,” Anne comes forward, “we’re so sorry for doing the things we did. We should’ve handled the situation better.” Harry wraps an arm around his mum and kisses the top of her head. “Seriously, you two should have never broken up in the first place. Harry, I saw how miserable you were when she left. I’m sorry we did that to you.”

“Aw, and I’m sorry for calling you both terrible parents,” Miguel adds, and launches himself around Harry’s waist. 

“Excuse me?” Anne questions, eyebrows rising to her hairline. 

“It was a long time ago, before I knew what delightful people you two are,” he explains. “Yay, group hug!” 

***

It’s nearly midnight when they arrive back to Harry’s flat. Miguel, who is thoroughly exhausted and stuffed with Anne’s cooking, retires to the guest room and bids the couple a goodnight. 

The smile hasn’t wiped itself off of Y/n’s face since she watched her dad punch William earlier today. Seeing William quiver in fear, now that is one for the books. Harry notices her amusement and pulls her towards him by the waist. “What are you smiling about?” 

“I’m just happy,” she wraps her arms around his neck. “Everything is falling into place. I don’t have to go back to New York, Mum and Dad are onboard with our relationship, and now we’re roomies!” she giggles. “I think we just crossed everything off the list.”

He leans in and kisses her softly, pulling her flush against him. “Hmm, I think we forgot something,” he murmurs into her mouth. Y/n pulls away and raises a confused eyebrow at him. “I promised you that I would put a ring on your finger.”

“Harry…” she covers over her mouth when he gets on one knee.

“Didn’t expect to do this tonight, but with everything that’s happened today–– don’t even have the ring yet, but I can’t think of a more perfect time,” he starts. “I fell in love with you when I was six years old, and eighteen years later I’m still crazy about you. You mean everything to me, hell, you are my everything.” The tears begin to pool in her eyes, and he reaches up to wipe them away, mumbling for her not to cry. “And not even the six years of separation or stupid snobby boyfriend can change how much I love you. Y/n, I love you so much and all I want is to have a life with you and to have little bubs of our own. Because, baby, you’re it for me.” His heart is pounding, but in the best way possible. Now he too has tears falling down his cheeks. Y/n stands there, ready to give her answer. He doesn’t even need to ask her because he’s all she’s wanted her entire life.

“Be my Mrs. Styles?”

***

A/N: 👀Only one more part left! What did you all think? Have we forgiven Eric and Anne completely? And let’s all welcome Miguel into the family!

Comments, questions, concerns? Tell me here!

[resetmypatientviolence]

Ready (Drake x MC x Liam)

Ready– Part 14 of “Supposed To Be”

Part 1: Not Yet Part 2: Wait Part 3: Confused Part 4: Didn’t (NSFW) Part 5: I’m Pregnant Part 6: Choice (NSFW) Part 7: Future (NSFW) Part 8: Fight Part 9: Show (NSFW), Part 10: It’s Yours, Part 11: Please, Part 12: How, Part 13.1: Queen (NSFW) 13.2: Queen (NSFW-ish)

Word count: 4,831 Pairing: Drake x Jaela x Liam

Rating: PG-17

Warnings: Language; From here on out, there’s very real conversations about unplanned pregnancy. Nothing heavy in this chapter, but this is a general FYI.

Summary: After ending things with Liam-- finding a conclusion to one question in her life-- she needs to confront and talk about something else, the one thing she hasn’t had time to focus on during the roller coaster of the past few days: How does she feel about the pregnancy in all honesty?

Suggested Song Accompaniment: Mind Games-- Banks

Notes: This chapter... actually was meant to be longer, but I cut it. So, instead of having another hiatus the week of my graduation... I’ll release the next one on Saturday! Hurrah! That said, thank you all so incredibly much for your support of this series, and all of my writing. It means the world. And yes, we’re going to dive into mature, deep, and honest topics from here on out. If there’s one thing I’m proud of with this series, it’s that I’ve done my best to keep it real and raw with their emotions, feelings, and this situation. Not every pregnancy is a instantly happy moment and unique to each woman. This is Jaela’s story and she has a right to her feelings on this situation.

*There is a cut, but it’s tagged as Long Post for anybody on mobile.

Tag List: @boneandfur, @mariawalkerwrites, @ninamckenzie22, @hhiggs, @drakesfiance, @umccall71, @mrswalkerreynolds, @youwontlikewherewewillgo, @mfackenthal, @zarina-x-zig, @ahteneah, @tmarie82, @viktoriapetit, @heatherfilliez, @bobasheebaby, @trr-fangirl

** Giving a little angst for TRR Appreciation Week! @boneandfur / @decisso

“I love you…” Slipped through her lips, in the dark room, and she opened her eyes, blinking slowly, the respirator and steady beeping from the monitor coming back into focus as she lifted her head from Drake’s bed. Her hand was numb, but she wiggled her fingers in his still hand, unwilling to let go. How long was she asleep for? The sky was still dark, but lighter than when she snuck into his room, because she couldn’t sleep herself. And… and she wanted to be by him, Doctors be damned. All she did was sit by his side and talk to him… just trying to say everything in case….

 Jaela squeezed his hand, eyes shining with tears in the darkness. Nothing. He didn’t react, just laid there, hooked up to a million machines. At least, not in pain. No, at least not that. “Hey, it’s me again,” she whispered, bringing his hand to her lips, brushing against his knuckles. “I don’t know how much longer I can be in here. I snuck in, you know. I’m sure you do, you’d know I’d come no matter what they said.” She paused and bit her lip, letting the tears silently fall. “Drake, I love you. I love you so much. I didn’t know how much I could love until you came around.”

 Her words, hushed, were defending in the quiet. But, Jaela continued, holding his hand tight, his shirt keeping her warm in the sterile, too cold room. “I know you… you didn’t think much about the future but I was starting to see one with you. Did you, too?” A future, one that she wanted, ripped away right before her eyes. “You can tell me when you wake up…. But Drake… I-I know what you heard before… before… everything, but I was wrong. So wrong. I want you, that future, still. Somehow, some part of it. Please, Drake, come back—”

 A quiet knock and Jaela jumped in her seat, free hand wiping away the tears. The chipper nurse, looking solemn now, entered the room, eyeing her gently. “You’re not supposed to be in here, Duchess.”

 “I-I’m sorry, I just—” A glance back to Drake, still lifeless on the bed. “I-I had to.” So much to say, still. Why’d she have to leave? She didn’t want to, hand tightening in his. “I… I wanted to before I had to leave.” She kissed his palm, eyes drifting to his face.

 “The Doctors will be making rounds soon, and you’ll be discharged in a few hours. I think it’s best to get you back to your room.”

 “Five more minutes? Please?” What else could she try? Could the nurse see her desperation to cling on to him for as long as she could? Was she putting the pieces together, judging her? Wondering why anybody would turn down a King? “Please…”

 She nodded. “Five minutes.”

 Once gone, Jaela trembled and brushed back hair off his forehead, then, pushed it back, liking how to rested there better. “Drake…” What to say? “I’m so scared,” she confessed. “I’m so, so scared. I don’t think you’re supposed to be this scared when you find out you’re pregnant. You’re supposed to be happy and joyous and… and I’m petrified. I… I don’t think Liam understands how scared I am. I… I don’t know what’s going to happen today. This wasn’t the future I saw for us. It was going to be beautiful,” she sighed. “We’d travel, a lot, you know. Explore, find a dive bar in a new city and always visit them again when we go back. You mentioned a cabin, and we’d live there, away from… everything. I used to think I wanted the frills that came with life… but you made me see that I don’t. I don’t want or need them to simply… be. The frills, the extravagance—none of that. I just want things to be simple, easy. To live without pressure to be somebody else. To live and love and…”

 A tear fell, landing on his pale skin. She pressed her lips to that spot. “You know when I joked about marriage in New York? I saw you, you know. And me. We’re not at an altar or anything. I don’t think I’m even wearing white. It’s just us saying our vows, our promises to each other. Nobody else… just us. That’s all I want, us. So please, please Drake, come back to me. Let’s make us happen. I don’t deserve to love you, and you don’t deserve me, but god, I love you so much.”

 A soft hand on her shoulder, time up. Jaela looked up at the nurse, her tears still falling. “It’s time to leave now, Duchess.”

 Slowly, not letting go of his hand, Jaela stood. “Can I ask a question?” The nurse nodded. “The coma… is… is it medically induced or is he just…”

 “Hard to tell,” she said, Jaela’s heart sinking. “It’s medical for now, to keep him comfortable and to allow for a recovery after the surgery… but there’s no way of knowing what’ll happen when they stop it, if he’ll wake up on his own.”

 “Oh.”

 “He’s a fighter, Duchess. I… I’m sure he can hear you, too. I’m sure that’ll bring him back. Now…”

 She nudged her arm, urging Jaela to move, the moment she dreaded, slowly loosening her grip on his. “Drake,” she said. “Please don’t leave me. I love you.”

 Right before their hands separated, Jaela swore there was a tiny flick of his finger against hers, the pressure changing—but she wasn’t sure—and there was no use dwelling on that tiny, maybe, movement, because their hands separated and the nurse quickly led Jaela away, never tearing her eyes from Drake until the door swung shut, not knowing when would be the next time she’d see him again… if ever.

Jaela stood, holding the sonogram, staring at it as the nurse chattered on about follow-ups and details and how to be careful of her head and what medicines to take and what and….

 “Wait… I need a follow-up appointment with an OBGYN within the week?” Jaela asked, looking up from the sonogram. “But you said everything was okay…”

 “I did, yes,” she said. Jaela furrowed her eyebrows and gently placed the sonogram in the duffel bag, zipping it up. It was time to go, apparently, even though Liam wasn’t here. “It is, really, it’s nothing much to be concerned about, not yet at least.” Jaela touched her stomach, still wearing Drake’s shirt.

 “What is it?” Her mouth went dry, heart pounding. How much had she messed up this thing’s life, already, before it even began?

 “Just a lower than average heart rate, but you went through incredible stress, Duchess, so I’m sure it’s not a major cause for concern.”

 Oh god. What did she do to it? “What… what does that mean? And… and how does it happen?” Would drinking and not taking care of herself, already failing it as a mother it didn’t deserve, count?

 The nurse grimaced. “It does bring the concern for miscarriage more into the conversation, but I wouldn’t worry too much. And there’s plenty of reasons and sometimes none at all. Like I said, I’d just take care of yourself and relax and schedule an appointment for later this week to check-up and make sure things are good. You’re almost done with the first trimester, Duchess. You should be happy—it’s an exciting time for you, even if things are scary in Cordonia now.”

 And the nurse led her out, Jaela frozen at the words she said. Happy. You should be happy. But… but what if she wasn’t? Was that allowed? To not be happy? No matter what circumstance, was she allowed to feel anything but happy?

 “Maxwell?” Maxwell pulled her into a hug outside of the hospital, guards on either side of her the moment she stepped into the hospital lobby. “Where’s Liam?”

 The bright sun was warm on her skin, but yet, she felt so cold—the nurse’s words still haunting her ten minutes later. How could she tell Liam she wasn’t happy about the pregnancy? About the baby? About everything regarding this situation? How could she break him over and over?

 “He asked me to get you, Blossom. He’s busy with managing everything and the press after this.” Yet, when they pulled away, his eyes told a different story. Liam still hadn’t texted her back, not that she expected him to, but she was certain he didn’t want to spend more time with her than he needed to. At least for now. Maybe… forever, but Jaela knew she did the right thing, even if it cost them more than they imagined.  

 “Oh, makes sense. I… I saw him on the news.” It hurt to see him, to see him trying to be brave and addressing his country’s concerns, but the pain was evident in his blue eyes, lips tight. She did that. She also shut the TV off shortly after, unable to watch it.

 “Yep. Come on Blossom, let’s get you to the palace. It’s safe now.” He took her bag and Jaela got in the town car, looking out the tinted windows, silent for a few minutes, until, finally, she spoke, gathering her thoughts—or the fear that built with every passing second, bringing some clarity and realizations with her. She didn’t think much about the baby or what to say to Liam throughout the night, and morning, but every second closer to the palace turned those frantic, panicked thoughts and emotions into something—finally—tangible.

 “Maxwell,” she began, keeping her arms crossed but looking at him next to her, he looking tired too. Maxwell turned his head, the smile he usually wore gone. “Are you supposed to be this scared, when you find out you’re pregnant? Because… I’m terrified and I don’t think it’s normal to feel like I do, not this scared, at least.”

 “I don’t know, Jaela.” He reached out and touched her arm. Jaela took his hand, holding it tight, locking eyes with him.

 “Me too,” she whispered. “Me too.”

 And the palace loomed in the distance, dread filling her. Why’d Liam make her wait to face him, to face this conversation? Because, she thought, he’s scared too.

 “Oh fuck, not again,” she groaned, heading back to the toilet, heaving. What the hell was going on? She’d been nauseous all throughout New York—able to push it back, even if it was weird how it never went away when she was in Drake’s arms—but this morning while packing up to head to airport, she couldn’t stop throwing up.

 “Jaela?” called Hana, entering her room, pausing at the bathroom door. “Oh! Are you going to be ready soon or…?”

 “Mmm,” she managed, leaning back and holding her stomach. What did she eat? Had she grown that accustomed to European food? No… you know what this is. Jaela covered her mouth, wayward thoughts creeping back into the forefront of her mind for the first time since Shanghai. Don’t you dare fucking think it—

 “I’m pregnant.”

 “Hmm? Jaela? What was that?”

 But she was back over the toilet, gagging, not knowing if it was because of the nau—the morning sickness—or the words she uttered, the truth undeniable after a weeks of “being late”, the sickness, and even if Drake loved how her breasts looked as of late—his mark after the UN rooftop still lingering on one, there was no denying what was happening to her, not anymore.

 She needed to find out and confirm her fears. And before Cordonia. But how could she sneak away and find a test now? “What’s taking Abdi so long? We’re going to be late if we don’t hurry.”

 “She’s sick.”

 “Oh! Shit, sick?”

 “She told me she’s been nauseous since we got to New York… and well…”

 “Never told me but ah, I… I’ll wait in the lobby with Maxwell. Abdi? Maxwell doesn’t do well with that kind of stuff… so take your time so he doesn’t puke. I’m not dealing with that again.”

 If only they knew that her puking turned into silent tears, hands balled into fists, eyes shut tight, knowing exactly who the father was, and how much this would kill Drake the moment she told them… if she was pregnant, that is.

 Though, Jaela knew the truth. Why else would she be feeling this way after making Drake the happiest she’d ever seen him?

The oak door of Liam’s office, so tall… intimidating. Jaela stood before it, wringing her hands in Drake’s too big shirt. They arrived two hours ago, taking the back entrance after layers of security checks, but Liam—apparently—wasn’t ready for her, one of his guards telling her the moment they stepped inside. Jaela didn’t want to go to her room—the memories of Drake too vivid, though, maybe it smelled like him—them still—and she didn’t want to talk to anybody.

 So, she waited in the tunnels… right where she told Drake, finally, that she was pregnant. She wasn’t wrong, thinking that she’d kill him when she told him. She did—the look so plain in his eyes three nights ago before he turned, hitting the wall. Jaela shut her eyes and curled into a ball on the steps, just waiting for Liam.

 Maybe she dozed off here and there—it was hard to know in the tunnels, her mind drifting between memory and fear and what to say to Liam—everything but how she felt about the baby, aside from being scared—but the vibration of her phone jarred her, nearly falling over. His name flashed on her notification, Liam—but without the blue heart. Let’s talk. My office.

 With a deep breath, Jaela knocked—twice—and waited. After thirty seconds, it opened, Liam’s face devoid of the emotion he usually showed her, or well, any emotion really. Empty, tired. Wordlessly, she entered, the curtains cracked, letting in just enough light to see clearly… but it was still dim and dark, the air heavy and the silence defending.

 She gulped, looking at the desk—where just a day ago, they kissed, Jaela confused between who to choose—even if for a second—getting lost in him, his touch, her emotions. Now, thankfully—somehow—replaced with one: fear. The box that contained her engagement ring, formerly on the desk, now out of sight.

 In the middle of the room she stood, glancing to the couch on the right. Liam cleared his throat from behind her and she turned, facing him, unable to look him in the eye now all that she needed to say about them was said and done. “You can sit if you want to. I have a lot to say.”

 “Okay,” she said, going to the couch—anything to not look at his face. She thought the pain of losing her would be the worse face she could have imagined him making. But this? The emotionless man standing before her? God, that was the worst—everything that made Liam, Liam, so kind and gentle and human—erased. Curling back into a ball, knees to her chest in Drake’s shirt, Liam pulled up a chair, some papers in his hand, setting them on the couch’s other end when he sat down, fingers laced together, head on hands.

 “Jaela,” he started, then shook his head, taking a deep breath. She looked at him, nails digging into her palms. She had to face him and take control, if he couldn’t. Silences had to be end, once and for all.

 “Why did you send a doctor to check up on my mental state?” she asked, point blank. That bothered her. Liam looked up, surprised. Thank god for an emotion. Now the dam could burst.

 Liam gripped his knees, tapping a foot. “The nurse suggested a check-up might be good for you, since you were nearly catatonic looking at the sonogram when I first arrived and then caused a scene with Drake. We… we can’t have this conversation if you’re an emotional mess, Jaela.”

 “And you think I’m not, right now?”

 He sighed. “You know what I mean.”

 “Fair,” she whispered, rubbing her cheek. “Okay… okay. So. Um…” The words she wanted to say got stuck, frozen behind a wall of emotion and fear. God, how could she do this? She didn’t even know what she wanted with the baby—oh, you know exactly how you feel, why are you ignoring this, now?-- if she wanted a baby, even. “We didn’t plan this. And we were irresponsible about preventing it.”

 That much, obvious. But… a beginning. Liam nodded. “Yes. And… and you don’t want to marry me, making our child a bastard.” Jaela heart sunk, the pain back on his face. He was wasting no time with this issue. Could she blame him? The Liam she knew, back, but at what cost?

 “Is… is there anything you can do about that?”

 He sighed, deeper. “No. They wouldn’t be considered the heir and… technically, I wouldn’t be able to acknowledge their parentage. I…” He rubbed his face. “I’d suggest that you put Drake down on the birth certificate. That way, legally, there won’t be any issue.”

 Oh, no. No, no, no. Jaela blinked back tears. “Liam, you can’t be serious.”

 “I am,” he said. “The rules are the rules, Jaela. I don’t want that. But my hands are tied and I don’t want my child to suffer at the hands of the court because I… I didn’t think about the consequences of our actions, only about how it felt being with you.”

 Jaela wiped her eyes, frowning. “No. I won’t do that. I won’t make him suffer—”

 “You can do it even if he… he’s not able to be there, Jaela. We’ve can’t leave it blank, otherwise, then that draws the question of paternity into question and it could hurt us, the baby, down the road. I’m sure he’d be okay with—”

 “That’s fucking insane, Liam,” she said, a cry caught in her throat. What twisted nightmare was this? Liam suggesting Drake pretend to be the father—or not even pretend, his body just a body—either comatose or buried in the cold ground—when the baby would be born. “No. I’d leave it blank.”

 “Then put Maxwell—”

 “Liam!”

 Liam stood running a hand over his head and Jaela sat up, narrowing her eyes. “I’m being serious, Jaela, that’s what’ll happen when you have it. You need a name there, and it can’t be mine. Ideally, I’d prefer somebody we know, somebody who can cover and go along with the story.” Her jaw dropped, the sensation of feeling trapped closing in second by second. “You don’t have to be together with them, not for a long time, at least, if you don’t choose Drake. Enough to make it seem like you tried but then it didn’t work out and you’re working on co-parenting.”

 “Liam, what the fuck—”

“What? It’s what’ll happen, Jaela.” He began to pace, eyebrows furrowed. “Look, it’s not what I want. No, not at all. I… we made that baby, and god I want to be there for them every second of their life, but I can’t. You two could have an apartment in the palace, so I can be the father to them as best I could behind closed doors. It… it would work. Yes. It’ll work. And they’ll get privacy, you know, not being an heir. I know you’ll like that.” He seemed to relax, shoulders less stiff, but Jaela wasn’t relaxing any less.

 She just stared at him, not even bothering to wipe away the small, quiet tears that rolled down her cheeks. Liam turned, noticing her, an eyebrow high. “Jaela, it’s the best way to do this. We can be mature about it. You may have hurt me, but I want to be in your life still, as friends, as parents. It’ll take time, but I know we’ll be able to eat dinner together as friends, as a family, and everything that came before is pushed aside. I know we can. And—”

 “I know how you feel about this,” she said, eyes flashing. “You want this baby. Were you happy when you found out about this baby?”

 Liam glanced between her face and stomach. “Once things settled down… yeah,” Liam said, voice soft. “Overjoyed to…” He wavered, looking away from her. “Overjoyed to start a family with you.”

 Jaela tilted her head, absently scratching the arm of the couch. “Do you want to know how I felt?”

 Liam’s nostrils flared. No, she thought, knowing his real, internal thoughts. Because he didn’t want this conversation. He only wanted one. “Yes. And… and why you didn’t tell me, but told him. Why you aren’t willing to remedy this—”

 “Because there’s more to discuss, honestly, than just me having the baby, living here, and co-parenting with you, Liam,” she snapped, standing up, chin tilted up to him. Liam’a jaw tensed and she crossed his arm, blue eyes glossy. “But let’s start from the beginning and how I feel. And… and you say you’re happy, but I don’t believe you.”

 “I am—”

 “The hell you are,” she hissed. Liam ground his teeth together, but the way his eyes flicked from her, his tell, proved that she was at least partly right. “Assassins, somehow, got into the palace and hurt the nobles, tried to kill me, and may have just killed Drake. Cordonia is under attack and the person who turned you down is accidently pregnant, you’re stuck in this situation of wanting to be father you want to be or serving your country, bound by stupid rules that even you can’t change. How can you be happy when you didn’t even know about the baby unt—”

 “You think I didn’t have an idea?” he interrupted, approaching her, anger—just like in the hospital—back on his face. Jaela gulped.

 “Then why the hell didn’t you just ask—”

 “It wasn’t my place to ask if you’re pregnant, Jaela,” he said, lowering his voice—it thick with power and emotion. Jaela winced, pulling Drake’s shirt tight around her. He wasn’t wrong. “I had some thoughts here and there after our nights, wondering and hoping that we were being safe enough. I never thought it would happen, you’re right, but the moment I saw you once we got in Cordonia, before the train ride… I had an idea. You were sick. You were off. And… and that’s when I started to suspect that you might be. But…” He turned away from her, heading to the curtain, light falling on him. “I was waiting for you to tell me, to be honest—because I thought we still could talk and be honest with each other. I tried to get it out of you… but… but you didn’t and I still don’t know why.”

 Jaela stood near the desk now, his copy of the sonogram on the desk, in place of the engagement ring. “At first, yeah, I was scared at the idea. But… but you know me better than anybody. I really don’t want all of this, the responsibility of a kingdom and its people on me. I… I thought it wouldn’t be my burden. But, it is and I’m accepting that, but that can’t change what I really want, a family. A real one. So… the possibility that you might be pregnant, well, I was happy. I mean, Jaela,” He turned, eyes going right to her stomach. “Aren’t you, too?”

 A deep breath. “No,” she said, voice firm. Liam’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

 “But—”

 “I’m not happy about the baby. That’s why I ignored it for so long, denying my thoughts and fears, thinking… thinking that it would go away or… or it would be okay in the end and I wouldn’t have to worry about it.” She bit her lip. “Liam… why… why do you think it was so hard for me to tell you in the first place?” Glancing down, she smoothed the front of her tanktop, hand lingering over that curve. “How was I supposed to tell you that I’m pregnant and absolutely fucking terrified because I don’t want to be with you… and I…” There was that dangerous, lingering thought on the edge of her mind. It had always been there… but figuring out things between Liam and Drake, revealing the truth, and Drake’s current state kept it at bay, tamed, in control. But now, with all barriers down between them, it burst free, on her lips before she could process it.

“I don’t think I want this baby.”

 The words, I don’t think I want this baby, was a weight lifted from her—but only to replace with a new, weight, one heavier with fear and doubt and god, her past. No, not that. Anything but that lead weight on her mind. “Jaela,” he gasped, walking up to her, eyes wide, but she turned from his, covering her mouth as the tears came. “You don’t actually think that.”

 Muffled, she said, “I do,” before bowing her head, almost ashamed. Not quite, because she said the truth but she didn’t want to look at Liam, scared expression on his and her face, only her face reflecting the pain of her failures, already. “I-I I’m not ready—and I feel so damn bad for it. I drank so much when it was supposed to develop the most. I didn’t take care of myself and—”

 “But nobody’s ready for a baby, Jaela. You can—”

 Swift, Jaela turned, gripping Liam’s forearms, staring into his eyes. Seeing what she didn’t want—her reflection mingled with his, but god, she had to. He had to see that she wasn’t being heartless—that she was being honest on the first try with him.

 “Listen to me. I don’t want this. I’m not ready.”

 “Oh damn,” Jaela said, looking in the fountain, littered with coins all along the bottom. Maxwell followed suit.

 “What’s wrong?” Oh, I’m 90% sure I’m pregnant with the man I just rejected child and I need to buy a pregnancy test in a fucking airport, but you know, nothing much.

 “That was my lucky penny I just threw in there!” Some fucking luck. “I’ve never lost it before and…”

 Maxwell’s eyes gleam and Drake groans. “Abdi, you don’t know what you’ve just done.” Ah, but I do, Drake. I’m so sorry. And Maxwell’s hand touches the water the moment she steps back, escaping the commotion he’s causing a small crowd forming by the time she exits the tiny convenience store, pregnancy test in a bag, praying nobody followed or noticed her.

 In the stall, Jaela stares at the box between her hands, turning it over and over, more nervous and scared than she… well, had ever been in life. This was life changing… and yet, she couldn’t feel anything but fear and guilt as how bad she messed up everything. This was all hers too, not even Liam’s; she should have told him no, or to wear the condom, or to even find her own solutions for birth control, if she was going to be his mistress.

 After a minute of turning it over, Jaela finally takes the test and then stands up, just waiting for the results, watch ticking down the seconds. The final confirmation she needed for her weeks, fuck weeks, of ignorance and denial, buried deep within her. Weeks.

 She should have thought about how to break the news to Liam the moment they set foot in Cordonia. How she’ll tell Drake after her and Liam figure out what to do. She should have thought about how she felt between the two men, making a final choice then and there. She should have thought about how she felt about the baby, about what choices to make and what she wanted to do so she wouldn’t be confused or hiding away feelings and thoughts and realities until the last possible moment. There were a lot of things she should have done differently.

 Instead, as the time ticked, and Jaela watched a faint plus sign start to reveal itself with pure terror building her abdomen, the bathroom more and more like a manifestation of the cage she felt trapped in, she only thought one thing, over and over, a constant loop without a break:

 I’m not ready, I don’t want this, I’m not ready, I don’t want this…

 Until time was up and she saw it, clear and defined—no question about it: The plus sign on the stick, Jaela muttering, “Shit”, and stumbling against the stall, the locks clattering but silenced as woman poured into the bathroom at the JFK airport.

 Pregnant. Not ready. Not wanted.

 No, this wasn’t supposed to be.

Disclaimer: All rights and characters belong to Pixelberry Studios.

[littlemissheartfilia]

Survive Ch 7

I should also probably mention that this is on AO3 as well with more chapters than what I’ve posted so far on tumblr. Check it out! :D  Also this is like one of my favorite chapters cuz Yoomin and Joonjin moments!!

Part(s): [1]   [2]   [3]   [4]   [5]   [6]

Summary: Bangtan is heading westbound on a brand new private jet when things go haywire. No one could have expected the storm to be this bad. And certainly no one would have guessed they’d be crash landed in the mountains of China fighting for their lives.

Pairing(s): Taekook, Yoomin

Setting: Real world I guess?

It had been a long day and an even longer night after the hyungs left. Yoongi knew that Namjoon had left him in charge and being the oldest here he felt heavily responsible for keeping everyone safe. But he couldn’t help the horrible feeling of failure welling up in his gut. It wringed his stomach so much he thought he might cry. But Yoongi did what he does best, bit his tongue and bottled it up. There would be no use now. And although he may feel like everything’s gone to shit he had to make sure they all make it out of this alive.

Namjoon, Hoseok and Jin are definitely coming back, he kept telling himself. And it almost served to give him a little hope but with a sad glance at the corner where their supplies had been the sinking feeling returned. It had been a full day since the hyungs left, a few hours since the tiger attack. Their pitiful fire was dying once more and they had used up almost all of their medical supplies. What little they had for food had already been devoured.

He wondered not for the first time how the people on those American survivor shows did it. He also wondered, if it came down to it, would he be able to hunt them food? How long could they even survive without it?

“That was a big sigh,” Jimin’s voice broke him of his thoughts. He hadn’t even realized he’d let out a large breath until Jimin spoke. Yoongi looked up from where he was sitting on the floor. Jimin had turned over on his bed so he could see Yoongi and their faces were close to touching. “You ok?”

Yoongi ignored the temptation to stare at Jimin’s lips, reprimanding himself that this was definitely not the time. He turned an expressionless gaze to the tarps that flapped in the breeze, letting in minor amounts of snow flurries.

Instead of giving a straight answer Yoongi countered, “You tell me. How are you feeling?”

Jimin’s eyes wandered as he replied. “Awake, alive...and worried,” he added the last part in hushed tones.

Yoongi gave him a solemn look. “Yeah, me too,” he said.

There was a heavy silence before Jimin said, “Do you think they’re okay out there?” he said staring at some place past the entrance.

Yoongi thought about his answer, “They’ll be fine. The hyungs know how to stay safe.”

“Bet they haven’t faced any tigers. Maybe they are doing better than us,” Jimin said with an almost amused look at Yoongi.

Yoongi gave an inward groan and subconsciously stared down at his arms. It still stung every time they moved and he could barely clench his fingers without the nerves acting up. He thought the bleeding had stopped but it was hard to tell when his bandages were so soaked in blood.

Almost involuntarily he glanced over at where Taehyung and Jungkook had fallen asleep together. After Taehyung’s last seizure Jungkook had insisted he lay down but Taehyung didn’t want to leave his side and the single beds were not big enough for two people. In the end they somehow both ended up on the floor, a blanket around their shoulders, leaning on each other.

“Hyung...” Jimin said softly.

“Hm?”

It took a while for Jimin to say the words. So long that Yoongi looked over at him expectantly. His eyes darted across the room and Yoongi thought they were starting to mist over. With a look of uncertainty he bit his lip and slowly began, “If we don’t make it out of here,” He glanced over at Yoongi once then back across the room. “I want you to know how much I love you.”

Yoongi had to shift in his seat so he was facing Jimin more fully. Jimin gave him a sad look and his bottom lip began to quiver. Instinctively Yoongi brought his hand up to cover Jimin’s and said, “Hey, hey,” he began and tried to wipe away a stray tear that fell down across Jimin’s nose. But his hand was shaking and still stiff with all the bandages and pain so a large part of his skin simply skimmed the top of the teardrop. “We will survive this. I’m going to keep you alive no matter what.”

To Yoongi’s surprise Jimin widened his eyes as if a realization just came to him. He swiftly turned so that he lay on his back, letting go of Yoongi’s fingers in the process. Maybe he was imagining things but Yoongi thought he saw a pale blush dust Jimin’s cheeks.

Now staring at the ceiling Jimin said, “Sorry. Forget I said anything.”

Yoongi furrowed his brow and his mind went through a million thoughts at once. It was almost too much for him to process. Jimin’s reaction to his own words was strange. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t told every member he loves them before. But that had always been a platonic, familial kind of love. What did it mean if Jimin was acting this way about it now?

“Jimin…” Yoongi tested his voice. It sounded unsure and almost scared.

“Yeah,” he replied without looking at Yoongi.

“I love you too,” he said. That got Jimin to look at him. And Yoongi could see now just how exhausted he looked.

Jimin opened and closed his mouth a few times. In the end he managed to croak out, “I don’t mean like-” he stopped himself. His ever wandering eyes started up again and he brought his hand to brush away his bangs. “This isn’t how I wanted to say it but-” Jimin let out a groan of frustration and his hand covered his eyes.

Yoongi’s heart was racing. There was no way this was leading where he hoped it was. He had been in this kind of situation before with other exes. The way Jimin was talking opened up a world of possibilities in his mind that he never thought he’d be able to experience.

“Yoongi,” Jimin said dropping the honorifics, his eyes still covered. Before Yoongi could react Jimin turned on his side once more, grabbed his head from behind and brought their lips together.

Yoongi’s eyes were still open but Jimin’s were closed. As he let the kiss happen Jimin’s fingers curled up a small fistful of his hair. Yoongi let his eyes close and deepened the kiss. He allowed his hands to travel around Jimin’s arm and cup the younger boy’s cheeks.

As soon as Yoongi’s fingers grazed Jimin’s skin however Jimin pulled away. Yoongi was left staring, his mouth puckered slightly. Jimin bit his lip and seemed to search Yoongi’s eyes for something.

Despite everything Yoongi felt the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smile, “Great time to do this, huh?” he said and almost chuckled.

 “I guess the fear of dying just brings my feelings out,” Jimin whispered.

Yoongi let his fingers slowly find their way to Jimin’s and they intertwined. Jimin squeezed his hand and he tried to squeeze back but the movement brought a prickly sensation into his arm that hurt like pins and needles. “I didn’t know you felt that way…” Yoongi said.

“I knew you did though.” Jimin’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper; it brought a new kind of tenderness and sensitivity that Yoongi was having a hard time believing to be directed at him.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “How?” Yoongi asked and Jimin scoffed.

“Sometimes you’re not as subtle as you think you are. I think we all knew. Taehyung even tried to give me advice once.”

“He didn’t!” Jimin nodded and the smile he gave Yoongi melted his heart. Jimin’s light laughter sent chills through his skin. “That little shit,” Yoongi said though he hardly meant it. “He could have given me advice.”

“You’re cute when you get mad,” Jimin said his smile so big it scrunched up his nose. Yoongi tried to look cross at him but failed miserably.

“Is it finally official?” Taehyung’s deep voice spoke up then. Yoongi looked over to see Taehyung, eyes wide open, staring at them. Jungkook stirred beside him just to pull him closer.

“It better be,” the maknae mumbled still half asleep. “Jin-hyung owes me money…”

Yoongi let out a sigh. Apparently his private affairs were not as private as he thought. Though he had almost come to expect that from all the members. Yoongi looked at Jimin before answering. Jimin just shrugged, a small smile still on his lips.

“Yeah,” Yoongi said looking into Jimin’s eyes. “It is.” Jimin smiled larger and brought himself closer so they could brush lips once more. It was only a small eskimo kiss because in the next moment Yoongi turned to Jungkook and Taehyung. “Hey who said you could make bets about this?”

Jungkook half smiled into Taehyung’s chest but it was Taehyung who responded. “If it makes you feel better Namjoon-hyung tried to stop us. But Jin-hyung’s vote out ruled him.”

Yoongi let out a dry chuckle. “Once we make it home I’m going to kill all of you.”

Namjoon made it back to the others with his hands in his pockets and his head down. He walked through the back door to see Jin and Hoseok sitting in a booth right next to the bay window that looked into the kitchen. It was darker inside now and he could tell the sun was going down behind the trees.

They both looked up, their mouths stuffed with something he took to be ramen. Hoseok held up a tin of the stuff, an invitation for Namjoon to come over. Namjoon made his way around the corner and took a seat beside Hoseok with a slump.

He grabbed noncommittally at the can of soup. He hadn’t been able to get the electricity up but soup was okay enough to eat cold. Not that any of them cared. Namjoon was so hungry he was sure he could down three of these. Still he stared down at the soup in hesitation.

Jin swallowed hard and said, “No luck with the breaker?”

Namjoon rubbed at his forehead and nodded his head. Hoseok silently slid a pair of chopsticks over to him and he began to eat slowly. There was a heavy silence over them all as they slurped down their ramen hungrily.

A few minutes in Hoseok let his chopsticks slow down and said, “So we have no way of calling for help…”

Namjoon shook his head still staring at his ramen. Jin slurped his noodles in thought.

“We should head back to the others,” Jin began. “They need food as well, and who knows if Jimin or Taehyung got worse at all. We need to be there for them.”

Namjoon looked Jin in the eye seriously, “What if help has no idea where we are? We might not last long enough for anyone to find us, even with the food we found here.”

“Maybe there’s another way,” Hoseok said trying to invite some hope into the situation but Namjoon couldn’t bring himself to believe it.

“The maknaes have no way of getting food on their own,” Jin looked at Namjoon, directly countering what he had said. “They need us to come back with or without a rescue.”

“I told everyone we’d be back in a few days. It’s been one day we still have time to keep looking for help. For all we know the road that leads to this place will lead us to a town.” Namjoon started lowering his voice and speaking slowly in an attempt not to start a fight but it may have had the opposite effect judging by the look on Jin’s face.

“And what if it doesn’t?” Jin argued. “It certainly didn’t look like there was any sort of civilization for miles. We could spend days just trying to get there!” Jin’s voice was raising a little and although Namjoon knew this wasn’t a time for arguing he felt anger prickling his skin until he spoke without thinking.

“We can’t afford to stop when we may be so close to finding a rescue.” He made his words firm and his gaze steely. Jin matched it.

“You don’t know that!” Jin put down his chopsticks and was bracing his hands on the lip of the booth.

Hoseok put his hands in between them and half stood up then. “Fighting won’t help us accomplish anything-” His warnings fell on deaf ears.

Namjoon didn’t break eye contact with Jin and continued, “We have to keep trying. We can’t go back empty handed!”

“I’m telling you,” Jin said both of them nearly standing up now. “Jimin and Taehyung need help now, whether it’s from us or a rescue, but we can’t give them anything if we’re running around in the middle of nowhere wasting time!”

“Both of you need to calm down,” Hoseok said meekly. He placed a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder which Namjoon ignored. “We aren’t going to solve this on our own especially if we do it like this.”

“Going back now is as good as throwing in the towel isn’t it?” Namjoon said doing his best to ignore Hoseok’s words. Jin’s eyelids twitched but he listened with thin lips. “I can’t sit and watch as we run out of food waiting for help to come.” There was almost a crack in Namjoon’s voice and he thought some of his deeply rooted fear slipped in too. He wondered if the others would understand where he was coming from. It didn’t seem to him like Jin was willing to try and understand.

“Look around, isn’t there enough food to last us a while? We know people are searching for us. They have to be. We need to make sure all of us are alive and in one place when they come.” Jin said pushing his finger into the table on every other syllable for emphasis.

Namjoon opened his mouth but Hoseok grabbed at his elbow to force his attention on Hoseok instead. “Namjoon we really shouldn’t be fighting over this.” Then he turned to Jin, “We need to talk calmly and come up with a solution.”

Namjoon sighed and said harshly, “We’ll put it to a vote then. That’s always solved things in the past.”

“Fine,” Jin said firmly, straightening a little in his seat.

“In favor of finding help somewhere else?” Namjoon said and raised his hand. Jin just stared at him while Hoseok seemed to be fidgeting with his fingers. Namjoon felt a mix of emotions opening up in him.

“In favor of going back to the others?” Jin said and raised his own hand while Namjoon put his down. Hoseok hesitated but with a shy look at Namjoon raised his hand as well.

Despite his better judgement and wiser mind Namjoon felt anger twist his gut for being outvoted. He knew it was probably selfish to think but he felt betrayed by Hoseok. Still he did his best to hold his tongue and accept the fairness of the vote.

“Then we go back…” Namjoon said quietly. He felt like nothing had been resolved, especially regarding the look of triumphed pride and mock impatience Jin gave him.

His inner conflict told him to have the last say and he pointed at the tins of ramen. “Finish eating and we’ll pack the rest. We’ll leave when you’re ready.” He didn’t let them protest or say anything else before he was walking to the entrance of the diner.

Bitterly cold air floated in from the broken glass doors. A swarm of white fluff was carried in on the wind. Namjoon stepped over the doorway and waited with his back leaning against the wall to his left. It was getting colder out and he shivered, trying to rub some feeling back into his gloved hands. As he looked around the snow seemed to be falling again, slowly but steadily picking up until the atmosphere was a grey blur with the snow and coming dusk.

It didn’t take long for Hoseok and Jin to show up. Once he caught sight of them Hoseok readjusted the pack over his shoulders so that it stayed like a messenger bag on his arm. Jin kept his head down and took up the front again.

Hoseok and Namjoon shared a quick look. Hoseok’s expression told Namjoon he wanted to pry but he didn’t let him as he took up stride staring at Jin’s heels. They weren’t long out of the tourist park when Namjoon began regretting getting upset with their oldest member. As leader he often tried to wrangle every member and take initiative but sometimes he failed to consider any other way but his. The more Namjoon thought about it the more he wished he could take it all back.

Before he knew it they had made it to the incline of the mountain, following their own tracks to know the way back. Namjoon was still thinking of what to say to break the ice he felt forming between all three of them. None of them had said a word up to this point.

But the silence was broken too soon. Namjoon almost hadn’t noticed it through the cover of trees and being inside his own head but a blizzard had picked up and a fierce wind blew through the trees.

He looked overhead to see the leaves of the evergreens sway like waves and a cascade of snow blew over them ceaselessly. The frozen crystals caught the light of the setting sun so they glistened red orange, creating a great contrast on the green pines that left Namjoon unsettled. None of them stopped walking. He felt a nagging in the back of his mind that they shouldn’t be here right now. Swallowing his insecurities he spoke up, “Hyung?”

Jin turned slightly to look over his shoulder and seemed to noticed the increasing storm for the first time. He looked around accessing the environment. “Maybe we should get out of this before trying to go anywhere?” Namjoon offered again.

For a moment it looked like Jin was about to protest but he just nodded his head and said softly, “Yeah, okay.”

Before they could move however there came a sound like a sack of potatoes being dropped. A loud whumph and something about the mountain skyline was shifting. Namjoon realised almost too late that it was a tsunami style wave of snow rushing toward them.

On instinct he slapped Jin and Hoseok’s arm which seemed to push them into action, “Run. Run!” He screamed and they all turned the opposite direction. The sound of the snow came on like a roar in his ears.

With Hoseok beside him he stumbled down slopes and through the ever growing layers of snow. He hoped Jin was right behind them but he couldn’t be sure with all the sound. The pounding of his own heart left him with tunnel vision.

He looked behind him for a second. Jin was too far behind and clutching again at his ribs. Namjoon had been too busy focused on his hyungs struggle that he didn’t realize he was falling until he tripped over his own ankles. Clumsily he landed on his shoulder in a snowbank right under a small overhang created by a large boulder.

Hoseok slid down next to him expertly. His hand reached out over the boulder as he called for Jin. “C’mon!” Namjoon looked over the boulder and his breath caught in his throat. Jin was running fast but the avalanche was faster. It surged right on his heels, a white monster swirling and roaring in anger.

“Hyung!” Namjoon called out but too soon their vision was filled with white and it was all he could do to grab Hoseok and pull him farther under the boulder so they wouldn’t be swept away.

He was still on top of Hoseok as the avalanche sounded harshly over them. He covered his ear to try and drown it out. Over the noise he thought he heard one of them screaming but he couldn’t really be sure which one of them did.

The avalanche seemed to end quickly and take too long at the same time. He had no sense of how long it lasted, it was definitely over faster than he could process. As soon as the roaring fading out and dimming light shone on the underside of the boulder again he dared a look over his shoulder.

The whole world was still filled with white that slowly subsided as the avalanche made its way down to level ground and stopped moving. Hoseok quickly pushed Namjoon to his feet as he ran out and screamed, “JIIINNN!”

Namjoon felt a horrible lump catch in his throat and tears blurred his vision. He wiped them away quickly and ran to follow after Hoseok. Together they called out for Jin as loud as they could carry their voices.

The forest was still the same for the most part. But there was a whole new layer of snow that seemed to raise the ground by two feet and Jin wasn’t in sight anywhere. He began his search in the opposite direction of Hoseok, looking around the sparse selection of trees and calling out feverishly.

His feet sunk deep into the snow and the more he called out the more panicked he became. Soon Namjoon was stumbling over himself all hands and knees trying to reach into the snow in case Jin was buried while still calling out with a trembling voice.

He was barely aware of it through the numbness of his own limbs but eventually something underneath the snow felt different. It was hard and it flailed and attached itself to his arm. When he realized it was a hand he grabbed hold and pulled as hard as he could, digging with his other arm.

Jin must not have been very far buried because he surfaced quickly, coming out spitting and coughing. Jin’s torso came up and he flopped forward catching his breath while Namjoon practically laid himself over Jin’s back in relief.

Grunting with the effort Jin wiggled his body until his legs were free too and he was sprawled on his stomach on the surface. Namjoon hadn’t lifted his hands from Jin’s back. Weakly he crawled so he could be closer to Jin and moved to squeeze the other boys wide shoulders.

Jin was squeezing his eyes shut but with Namjoon’s help he managed to sit up. “Hoseok!” Namjoon called loudly knowing his hyung would hear and come find them. Namjoon seemed to hold onto Jin fearfully, a gesture that surprised even him. “Hyung-” he coughed out and Jin’s panting face turned to him. “Tell me you’re okay?”

Jin tried to give him a fake half-smile and he nodded. “You found me…” he whispered.

Namjoon stared into Jin’s dark eyes feeling his own begin to mist over. “I’m so sorry,” Namjoon said and before he could stop himself he was starting to ramble. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry at you and I-I didn’t- never-wanted to fight. I was so scared I lost you, hyung. Please don’t hate me.”

Jin put his arm around Namjoon’s neck and brought him closer so they could be wrapped in each other. Namjoon was vaguely aware of Hoseok’s panicking breathing coming up right behind him but he was more intent on what Jin was whispering to him. “I could never hate you, Namjoon. I’m also sorry.” Jin pulled away then and let his whisper raise in volume. “I let my pride get the better of me. We shouldn’t have fought.”

Hoseok made a noise of disbelief from behind them. “Ah!” he panted and plopped his hands on his knees almost in defeat. “We almost just died and you’re still thinking about that? AH!” Hoseok made a show of looking around him and catching his breath. “You two are too much sometimes.”

It was only then that Namjoon realized how Jin’s arm was still lingering over him and he looked the older man in the eye. He was met with a look somewhere between uncertainty and happiness. It was Jin who broke it off by taking his hand back and looking up the mountain where now a large section of rock could be seen left by the fallen snow.

“That doesn’t look like it could happen again right?” Jin said and Namjoon shivered at the thought.

Grabbing at Jin’s hand as he stood to bring Jin with him. “Let’s not stick around to find out. You were right, we need to get back to the others,”  Namjoon said.

[koltarmi]

Home for the Holidays - Chapter 3

Thank you so much for all of your responses. Here’s the next chapter which becomes a little less fluffier and sweet. It’s also three times longer than my previous two chapters. Why do I like writing sad things.The world may never know.

Oh the bit of French are translated below. Excuse any mistakes, I’m relying on my year-old knowledge of Quebecois French:

“Hello Sébastien! How are you?”

“Very well, miss. Is this the man your grandmother has been talking about?”

Chapter summary:  Anya and Dmitry land in France. Along the way, they learn more about each other’s family and past. 

Can be read on AO3 or below.

Dmitry feels like he would not be surprised if it turned out this was all some elaborate situation he had dreamt up and that sooner or later he would wake up on his lumpy couch in his apartment with a sore back.

A two-week-long vacation in France as his best friend’s pretend boyfriend was a scenario that seemed only plausible in the world of cheesy rom-coms.

Yet here he is, watching over their luggage as Anya chatters away in French with clerk at the car rental desk.

Moments later, Anya returns with a set of car keys in his hands and a grin on her face.

“When did you learn to speak French?” he asks, as she double checks that they have all their luggage.

“Basically from the moment I was born. My parents thought it was important that my sisters, brother and I were fluent in a multitude of languages before we could walk,” she replies, remembering the hours upon hours of French tutoring she had endured.

Dmitry looks at her with surprise. “I thought you were always an only child. How many siblings do you have?”

A solemn look passes Anya’s face that leaves him instantly feeling uneasy. Over the years, he has become familiar with her many expressions from anger and annoyance to unbridled enthusiasm and happiness. This resigned and muted look of sadness on her face is uncharted territory.

“Had,” she murmurs. “I had three older sisters and a little brother. They died with my parents when I was 17.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Anya shakes her head. “It’s alright, you didn’t know. I don’t talk much about my family. It wouldn’t make sense if we’ve dated and you didn’t know. What about you? Any siblings?“

"Nope. Just me. My mom died right after I was born and my dad died when I was about 8. I grew up with my aunt once removed and we haven’t talked since I moved out. I was more of a liability than anything.”

“Oh god, I’m sorry.”

“It happened a long time ago,” he replies.

“That doesn’t mean it hurts any less,” Anya says. Her eyes were slightly watery. “Seems neither of us had the ideal family life.”

“Just another thing we share in common besides our distaste of loud frat boys partying until four in the morning.”

“Ugh, we were bonding for a moment,” Anya groans. “Why did you ruin the moment by bringing up Chad?”

Dmitry lets out a laugh. “Hey, we should be thanking him. Isn’t that the story we’re going with? Our mutual annoyance of our rude neighbour finally brought us together and that’s when you fell madly in love with me.”

“I’m no damsel in distress. We fell madly in love with each other together.” Anya smirks and sighs, “Now come on Romeo, we’ve got a hour drive ahead of us.”

In his mind, Anya’s grandmother lived in a small and quaint little cottage on the outskirts of Paris. The gated mansion with a mile-long driveway is, suffice to say, not what he expected.

As Anya parks the car in front of the large double-doors, a couple of uniformed men and women descend upon the car from the small entourage of them standing on the stairs. Once they reach the car, they pop open the trunk and begin unloading the four pieces of luggage they have.

One of the older uniformed men steps forward and Anya greets him with a warm smile.

“Bonjour Sébastien! Comment ça va?”

“Très bien, mademoiselle. Est-ce qu'est l'homme que votre grand-mère a parlé à propos?”

Noting the lost look on Dmitry’s face, she switches back to English.

“Yes, it is. This is Dmitry.” Anya links their hands together. “My boyfriend,” she adds with a dash of bashfulness, playing up the part of the enamoured girlfriend. “Dmitry, this is the house steward, Sébastien Dupont.”

Following Anya’s lead, Sébastien switches to English as well as he offers his hand to Dmitry to shake. “Welcome, monsieur. Mademoiselle, your grandmother waits for you in the parlour.”

Sébastien turns to walk up the large stone steps. Anya tows Dmitry along who openly stares at the imposing mansion in front of them.

Past the double doors, Dmitry is lead through a series of hallways with antiques that cost more than all of his life savings combined and ceilings so high they look like they belong in museums or churches.

They end up in a plush room with a blazing fireplace that’s crackling the logs. As they enter, a stately woman with a head of grey hair stands, her posture exuding a air of dignity and a no-nonsense attitude. As soon as the elder woman spots Anya, a smile stretches across her face, but the heavy tension remains in her stiff spine and shoulders.

“Anastasia, darling,” she says, crossing the room to greet the trio.

Dmitry has just enough time to glance at Anya and mouth ‘Anastasia?’ before her grandmother’s arms envelop her into a tight hug.

“Nana, it’s so good to see you,” she replies. “And it’s just Anya now, remember?”

“Of course, dear. Now introduce me to my future grandson-in-law.”

Anya’s face instantly turns a bright shade of red as she begins to stutter. Seeing her suffer a internal meltdown, Dmitry takes it upon himself to make an introduction.

“Dmitry Sudayev. It’s a pleasure to meet you, m'am.”

“Oh please, call me Maria,” she says, pulling him into a hug as well. “You two must be exhausted from the flight. Sébastien can you show you to your bedroom and you can rest before dinner.”

“Our bedroom?” Anya asks.

“Darling, I’m not so old-fashioned as to believe that you two haven’t shared a bed at least once-”

“Nana!” Anya exclaims as her ears also turn a vibrant shade of red.

Maria continued on as if nothing happened. “It’s your old room, dear. But don’t worry, I had it cleaned and aired out before you two arrived so it looks just like new. I have to finish up the last few details about a charity fundraiser, but I’ll see you soon. We have so much catching up to do.”

Still embarrassed, Anya doesn’t move as Maria kisses her cheek and exits the parlour that has suddenly become a little too warm for Dmitry’s liking.

The bedroom they’re staying in is about as big as his entire apartment. The headboard of a large four poster bed was pushed up against the right wall and their luggage sat at the foot of it. A settee faced a brick fireplace and a pair of glass balcony doors had a view of what looked a snow-covered garden.

Dmitry waits a minute after Sébastien leaves before he turns to Anya, a million questions on the tip of his tongue.

The first word that comes out of his mouth is, “Anastasia?”

With a sheepish look on her face, Anya sheds her coat and throws it across the settee.

“My name is legally Anya Roman, but I changed it when I moved out of my grandma’s home,” she admits. “My name is, or technically my birth name was Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov.”

“I see why,” Dmitry says, unravelling his scarf. “That’s a mouthful.”

A small grin tugs at the corner of Anya’s lips.

“Why does the name Romanov sound so familiar?”

“Both my mother and father came from wealthy families.”

Dmitry gestures at the room and mansion as a whole. “That much is obvious.”

“My father was a politician in Russia before he was…” Anya grits her teeth. “Before he was—before they were…”

An image of a newscast flashes in the recesses of Dmitry’s memory. He had been at a small deli nursing a hot cup of coffee when the owner of the shop turned up the volume of the television.

“The remains of Russian politician, Nikolay Alexandrovich Romanov and his family have been found dead after being reported missing for two months. Investigators have declared their deaths to be foul play. Their youngest daughter, Anastasia Romanov, remains missing.”

“Oh god, Anya. That’s awful. I’m so sorry.”

A tired look of relief washes over Anya’s face as she is saved the trouble of explaining the fate of her family.

“Again, it’s alright. You didn’t know,” she says, repeating her words at the airport. “When I was finally found, my Nana thought I would be safer if I changed my name and when I moved, I wanted to start afresh. Not as Anastasia, just as Anya. I’m just so used to being known as Anya, I forgot my grandma still sometimes calls me by my birth name.”

Dmitry walks to Anya and wraps his arms around her, unsure of what else to do. She accepts the hug, burying her face into the soft fabric of his coat that carries the faint scent of his cologne.

“Why don’t we take your grandma’s advice and rest before dinner?” Dmitry suggests.

Anya nods.

“I’ll take the couch,” he says, pulling away from the embrace.

Anya furrows her brow and grabs the sleeves of his jacket before he can fully move away. “That’s absolute nonsense, Dmitry. We’re both adults and the bed is big enough for us to share.”

Not wanting to argue, Dmitry takes off his coat and settles on top of the covers as Anya climbs in to the other side of the bed.

Just as he’s about to drift off, he hears Anya voice call his name.

“Dmitry?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” she says, turning her head to face him. “For being here.”

Dmitry reaches across the space between them and takes Anya’s small hand in his; a gesture he was becoming far too comfortable with.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

For the first time in his life, Dmitry finds that response to be true as he falls asleep, hand in hand with Anya.

[kalendraashtar]

Fanfiction - A Lifetime of Her (Part VII)

Part VII – “You bleed just to know you’re alive”

Twenty-eight

Why do sirens cry in blue and red?

Are they calling for help, for the crushing urgency, the need to rob time of time itself? Or are they warning us to look away, to prepare ourselves because tragedy is upon us – we might as well be next?

Even after many years, I’d recall their grieving sound. The way my hands pressed upon Claire’s belly, blocking the exit of her life with my palms. The screams around me, senseless, enhancing my growing despair. How her eyes never left mine – daring me to stay with her, to keep death at bay.

The paramedics came. They could have taken from seconds to a lifetime to reach us – I wouldn’t be able to say. Time skipped and jumped, a leaf on the fury of wind, fragile at the thought of flying.

“I need you to step aside, sir.” A small man told me with assertiveness, trying to dislodge me from my position, kneeled next to Claire on the ground. His gloved hands were already evaluating her pulse, placing an oxygen mask on her face.

“I will not leave her side!” I growled, ferocious. He gave me a serious look, but didn’t make any further attempts to take me away from her, certain I would strike and maim any man foolish enough to try. He was right.

They quickly bandaged her abdomen with a pile of snow white compresses, held tight against her body by a bandage skilfully applied. Claire tried not to moan, but I could see her pain in every ragged breath, in the sweat that dripped from her brow.

The ambulance flew across the roads of Edinburgh, transporting us to the closest trauma centre. The driver had opened his mouth – about to object my presence – but was shortly discouraged by my menacing glance and a shook of head from the short paramedic.

“Hold on.” I repeated to Claire, like a mantra, holding her band – being almost thrown to the opposite side of the ambulance as the vehicle raced to the hospital, jumping on speed bumps and sliding on the curves like a car in hot pursuit. “Dinna die on me, mo nighean donn. I won’t let ye, do ye hear me?”

“I’m… not… too keen…. on the idea… either.” She puffed haltingly, making a weak attempt of a smile, which almost broke my heart.

“Woman of thirty, victim of an armed robbery, gunshot wound to the upper right quadrant with no exit wound – she’s losing blood fast.” The paramedic announced, as they erupted through the emergency doors, a team standing by to receive them. “Glasgow fifteen, she has been responsive during transport. Her blood pressure kept dropping, the saline is wide open but ineffective fluid challenge.” He informed to a man with brown hair and olive eyes, who nodded in acquiescence, leading the gurney carrying Claire to a trauma room as I followed closely.

“Denzel.” Claire whispered to the young surgeon, as he started to unpack her abdomen to access her injuries. “Is that you?” He looked at her face, surprised at hearing his name, and his eyes opened in shock.

“Claire!” He touched her face in greeting, as nurses hurried around, preparing trays and drugs that might be necessary. “Dear God! What happened?”

“Do ye know her?” I asked, grabbing her hand in spite of a nurse’s protest, prepared to shoo me away from the secluded room.

“Of course.” He looked at me with concern in his calm eyes, as he started to palpate her belly. Claire hissed in pain and he pursed his worried lips. “I met Claire during medical school in Boston and was very pleased when she decided to return to Scotland and be a resident here, as I am. You really shouldn’t be here, sir.”

“Please…” Claire pleaded, closing her eyes for a second and licking her chapped lips. “Let Jamie stay…just a while longer.”

“Alright.” Denzel Hunter patted her hand in reassurance. “As long as he doesn’t faint on me.”

“How… bad… is it, Denny?” She asked, her eyes more unfocused and glassy. “I’m…fairly…sure…it went through…my liver.”

“And I’m sure you’re right - brilliant even in this situation, my dear. I’ll ask Doctor Myers to come in to operate.” Denny smiled, skilfully inserting a catheter on her jugular vein.

“I’ll be dead…before…he gets here.” Claire said sheepishly, raising her brow. Her face was hazardously pale, her whiskey eyes shining even brighter, her orbs dilated from pain and blood loss. “It has…to be you. I trust…you.”

Denny nodded, solemn, checking her pupils with a small flashlight, as she suddenly became unconscious – the monitors around them going crazy with alarms. “She’s bleeding out! Let’s move people, hang that saline wide open and two units of blood on the rapid infuser!” He commanded, concentrated in the wound’s trajectory. “Do you know her blood type, by any chance?”

I didn’t know her blood type – never had the chance to ask her, that information amongst a million other precious details of her that I knew nothing about. I didn’t know her birthday, even though I knew the position she slept in. I didn’t know her favourite dish – even if I was aware she preferred sneakers than high heels. I almost choked at the realization of the lifetime of things I could be robbed of, so devastatingly – left wondering, forever, because the time we had been offered hadn’t been enough. Knowing how much I loved her – and yet knowing so little of the one I loved.

“I dinna ken.” I admitted, gripping my fists, fighting the urge to curl into a ball and weep on the floor, stained with her blood.

“That’s alright.” Denzel assured me, throwing away compresses soaked in blood. “Let’s go with O-negative! I need a blood gas test as soon as possible and someone call the OR, let them know we’re coming! I want to be doing the first cut in less than five minutes!”

“Is she going to be alright?” I fearfully asked him, reluctantly letting go of her hand as a nurse took blood from her wrist with a fine syringe.

“She’s going into shock from the blood loss.” He explained in a steady voice. “I need to repair the damage right away, before she’s too unstable to endure the procedure. We’ll take her away now.”

I approached her, feeling numb as if my own blood had been turned to ice in my veins. I kissed her forehead, my lips hot against her perspired skin.

“Don’t leave me, Claire. This time I’ll beg.” I whispered in a broken voice. “Don’t leave me.”

****

I roamed the strikingly white corridors, incapable of sitting any longer in the waiting room outside the OR, where other husbands, daughters and mothers gathered, hope and fear lurking inside their eyes.

I came upon the small chapel, whispering of shelter and tranquillity in the half-light. I sat on the wooden bench, my hands entwined in prayer – I was ready to surrender to His will well enough, but was intent on offering a bargain.

“Lord, ye gave her to me.” I whispered, my eyes fixed on the cross where he had been martyr, symbol of the most loyal of loves. “I canna make sense of it in any other way. When my need was greatest ye set her upon my path so she could heal my soul. All along I was meant for her.” A warm tear streamed down my check, too raw to be contained. “And I intend to love her well the rest of my days – to care for her and make a home of her heart. I shall repay the gifts bestowed upon me by loving her to the best of my abilities. So I ask ye now – dinna take her away.”

I clenched my teeth, fighting against the sobs that threaten to wreck my body. “For if ye ever loved, ye know this – there’s this place inside me that only exists as long as she walks the earth. Once she’s gone, the part of me that lived in her light – the best, the one that makes me myself and no one else - will die with her.” My voice was unhinged, resounding in the naked walls, pulsing as the chambers of His heart. “I’m none so brave as I was before, ken?” I added very softly. “Not brave enough to live without her anymore.”

I heard footsteps approaching the door – I didn’t bother to clean away the tear tracks on my cheeks. I didn’t turn either – I knew who had come to bring me news.

“Does she live?” I asked aloud – the hint of pain, of shaped glass an inch away from shattering, creeped into my voice.

“She lives.” Denzel Hunter sat next to me, sighing in tiredness as his bones found comfort in transient rest. “It was touch and go for a while, but I was able to retrieve the bullet and repair the vessels – she lost a bit of her liver, but it will regenerate itself with time.” His outline was sharp, softness mixed with edges, akin to a bust of an angel descending from grace to speak of hope to the lost crowd. “It will be a slow recovery – but she lives.”

“Thank ye.” I closed my eyes and bent my head, my body shaking from supressed grief, as I let go of the leash I had been using to keep myself together. “Thank ye.” I repeated. I didn’t know if I was thanking Denzel Hunter or God – but to me, in that moment, they were one and the same.

He squeezed my shoulder in silent acknowledgment and left me alone – to cry for joy and gratitude, for my heart had been saved.

****

I sat by her side as soon as she went to a room in recovery. I jumped each time a monitor bleeped, startled to the point of panic – but she slept peacefully, her lips still hauntingly pale.

I knew sleep wouldn’t touch me – my task was to watch over her. To guard her. To will her back to me.

I marvelled with each heartbeat – found terror in the infinitesimal space between each and every one of them. I talked to her in the Gaidhlig, the language of my dreams, in which I could best tell her all my heart. I brushed her hand with inquiring fingers, learning the lines of her to make sure they were still the same. I kissed her lips softly, remembering the promise of her laugh.

And as the moon rose outside, I watched the circuit of air inside her lungs, the tiny movements of flesh and bone, adjusting to the challenging rhythms of life. I watched her breathe again and again, until she opened her eyes to look at me – and I discovered that I too could breathe again.  

[tellamoenlanoche-blog]

                   Capitulo Cuatro: “Me Llaman Enbrujada”

Movie Star Oscar: How do you feel about movies? The text arrives at 3pm on a Thursday; 2 days after Oscar gave Mari, his phone number. She didn't really think he would ever text her. She stares at his text longer than is probably socially acceptable. "¿Mari?" Her father's voice breaks her concentration and she immediately pockets her phone, when she meets his eyes. "Sorry, Pa. ¿Qué decias?" ("What did you say?") Her father, Amando, smiles fondly at her. "¿Té estaba preguntando sí querías mas?", he motions to her plate, already overfilled with food. ("I was asking if you wanted more?") She smiles, "No, Pa. Sit down, eat." He nods, gathering his plate from the counter and brings it to the small table near her. It's then that she hears her phone beep once more. She smiles apologetically towards her father as she quickly checks her phone again. Movie Star Oscar: & movie stars? Mari wants to desperately answer but one look at her father's face tells her that Oscar can wait. "¿Y quien té esta molestando tanto?" ("And whose bothering you so much?") She blushes, "Nadie, Pa. No mas un amigo." ("Nobody, Dad. Just a friend.") Amando raises her eyebrow as he begins to eat. The food calls to Mari as she begins to grab a tortilla and dig into her meal of frijoles, queso fresco and salsa roja. (...beans, fresh cheese, and red salsa.) "Pues no mas ten cuidado. Uno nunca sabe quando esos niños se ponen bravos." ("Well, just be careful. One never knows when those boys become aggressive.") He frowns and fixes her with a stern look in her direction; one that she ignores, knowing exactly who her father is talking about. "Oscar no es así," she whispers as she stuffs a scoop of tortilla and frijoles in her mouth. ("Oscar isn't like that.") "¿Oscar? ¿No es Emilio?" ("Oscar? It's not Emilio?") "No." "¿Y éste Oscar, cómo lo conocistes?" ("And this Oscar, how did you meet him?") "En la calle con su gata." (“In the street with his cat.”) "¿Mari, que tipo de persona-?" ("Mari, what kind of person-") Mari laughs, cutting off her dad's question. She loves teasing her dad. "Oscar, no más es un amigo. Me ayudo a conseguir el trabajo alla en Brooklyn. No se preocupe." ("Oscar is only a friend. He helped me get the job in Brooklyn. Don't worry.") Amando finishes chewing his food before speaking. "Lo quiero conocer." ("I want to meet him.") Mari's blush comes back, redder than before. "¡Pa! ¿Para qué?" ("Dad! For what?")

He stares at her, a solemn expression on his face.

“No más quiero ver que te tranta bien, mija.” (“I just want to make sure he is treating you right.”)

And with that Mari knows that her dad is still seeing his little girl, who six months ago had a bleeding messed up face from just ‘talking’ to Emilio.

Mari reaches out and intertwines her hand with his.

“Okay, pues, voy a ver si quiere. Y sí dice que no, pues ya no lo voy a ver.” (“Okay, well, I’ll ask him. If he says no, then I’ll stop seeing him.”)

Amando nods, sqeezing her hand before he collects her empty plate as well as his. He walks into the kitchen and she gets up to help him when her phone beeps again.

Movie Star Oscar: Mari?

Mari: Well, movies are always good and since you’re the only movie star i know, I would say movie stars are okaay when not surrounded by their fans

She goes to put her phone away when it beeps again.

Movie Star Oscar: Would you mind performing for a small party of mine? I’ll pay you!

Mari: It’s a small party, right?

Movie Star Oscar: yesss, only 10 people

Mari: Ok, no problem! When?

Movie Star Oscar: YOU’RE A LIFESAVER! & that’s the catch… it’s tonight at 9. Sorry for asking so late!

Mari: wttfffff Oscar! ! !

Movie Star Oscar: I forgot that I promised live music. Please please por favor Mari 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Mari: Did you just use an emoji to sway me?

Movie Star Oscar: =͟͟͞͞ =͟͟͞͞ ﾍ ( ´ Д `)ﾉ por favor, Mari

Mari: Okay, send me the address and is it casual or fancy?

Movie Star Oscar: Casual and here’s the address

Mari searches up the address and it’s quite a ride from her apartment (aka the apartment right above her dad’s). She looks at the time - 4pm - and knows she has a bit of time before she truly has to leave.

Her father walks back to the table and puts her arm around her shoulders. She soon realizes that she left her dad to do the dishes by himself.

“Sorry, Pa. I just got a text about a job tonight. In Brooklyn again, actually.”

He nods, understanding. “Tienes tiempo para tocar unas canciones?” (“Do you have time to play a couple of songs together?”)

Mari nods, “Siempre pa tí, Pa.” (“I always have time for you, Dad.”)

                                                      ♮♮♮♮♮

Mari pulls on her dress as she stands outside the building that Oscar had texted her to be at. She knows she should head in soon - with it being 8:45 - but finds herself, hesitating.

Her phone soons beeps.

Movie Star Oscar: you close???

Mari: yeah downstairs actually

Movie Star Oscar: QUE BUENO! I’ll get you!

Mari grins; she can practically hear his enthusiasm through her phone.

She looks up when she hears the door open and Oscar stands at the entrance and-and-

‘He looks so beautiful,’ she thinks as her heart begins to beat faster than before. She tightens her hold on her guitar, still without it’s case.

“¡Mari, vámonos! We’re on the roof!”

Mari smiles, as she enters the building. Oscar smiles and motions to the stairs, which he lets her go up first.

“Were you far?”

“Yeah but it was a nice ride. Are people here yet?”

“Yeeah, but there might be a slight change from what I texted you.”

That makes Mari stop in the middle of the stairs. She turns around to Oscar, who’s already sporting a sheepish look.

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs, “The party count may have risen.”

She frowns, “May?”

“Okay, it definitely did. There’s 25 now.”

Mari can feel the cold dread spread throughout her body. She can’t entertain 25 people. That would be 50 eyeballs on her judging her every move.  She can’t. She can’t. She ca-

“Mari? Mari, please listen to my voice. Deep breath in, deep breath out. In, out.”

She closes her eyes and follows Oscar’s whispered instructions. Once she feels like she can actually breath without being prompted, she opens her eyes.

The first things she registers is that Oscar is holding her hand. She begins to blush, knowing that she likes his hand’s warmth in hers.

“I’m so sorry, Mari. I didn’t think that  many people would show. But I guess when people hear free liquor, they just come.”

‘He’s still holding my hand!’

“Are they expecting live music?”

He nods, “Yeeah… but I don’t want to force you into a situation that you’re uncomfortable with.”

Mari glances at their intertwined hands before meeting Oscar’s eyes.

“I can do it, Oscar.”

The words tumble out of her mouth before she has time to think about when she had just agreed to.

He smiles, and it makes her heart lurch.

“Thank you so much, Mari. I can perform with you as well, if you want.”

His shy tone makes Mari’s heart melt.

“You play?”

“A bit and sing, too. Some say, I have a pretty good voice.”

And Mari would probably agree. Someone as handsome as Oscar would know how to sing beautifully.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind sharing the stage.”

He smiles and it makes Mari wants to dive in for a kiss.

“Okay. Let’s go up. They’re probably wondering where we are.”

And he holds her hand while he leads her all the way up.

When he opens the door to the roof, she can barely register all the people that fill the space with Oscar still holding her HAND.

“Oscar, where have you been?!”

A british voice makes Oscar let go of her hand while he hugs what can only be described as a really beautiful, beautiful young dark haired woman. Next to her, is an equally beautiful young man, who smiles at her.

Before she can introduce herself to the beautiful young man, Oscar puts his arm around her shoulders, which really stalls any sort of thought in her head or words from being spoken.

He squeezes her shoulder, and Mari can feel the heat of his arm on her shoulders.

“This is Mari, the greatest acoustic guitarist ever and our special guest tonight.”

The young man grins before offering his hand, “Name’s John and the over excited peanut to my left is Daisy.”

Mari smiles, shaking his hand before being abruptly pulled into a hug by Daisy. She makes sure to not let her guitar poke her.

“So good to meet ya. Oscar told us all about your awesome guitar skills!”

When she looks over at Oscar, he shrugs, “Just telling truths.”

She pulls away from Daisy, “I don’t know about being awesome but I know my way around a guitar.”

John laughs, “Oscar definitely made you sound like you invented the flamenco type of strumming.”

Daisy grins, “Like you were the goddess of Flamengo.”

At that, Mari raises her eyebrows.

“Okay, now they’re being asses.”

Mari laughs.

“Okay, see you later. Mari and I have to get ready for our set.”

“You’re performing together?”

Mari nods, “ Yeah, any special requests?”

Daisy smiles at John before whispering, “Moon River, if you can.”

John smiles back at Daisy and it clicks in Mari’s head that those two are a couple.

Oscar grabs her hand again and begins her pull away towards the little makeshift stage area. Every once in awhile, they stop and Oscar introduces her to more people.

She can only nod, because all she feels is the warmth of his hand in hers.

When he lets go and she can finally think, she registers that there are a lot of people here. A lot.

Some have already began to turn towards them, halting their conversations now that the entertainment has arrived and it makes Mari want to leave. Want to turn Oscar and tell him sorry, I can't and run away.

And she tries to; she turns around and the words are at the tip of her tongue, but she sees him with his guitar in his hands, tuning it and then he looks and grins at her. The soft lights that hang above them hit him softly and all she can think is: ‘He looks so beautiful.’

He strums his guitar once and he looks at her as if asking her if it’s tuned correctly. Mari nods; knowing she can’t speak right now and it's not because of her anxiety.

He smiles at her as he grabs the mic.

“¿Lista?” he whispers. (“Ready?”)

The light makes Oscar seem like  angelic and it makes suddenly hard to believe that Mari is sharing the stage with such an incredibly beautiful man.

“¿Mari?”

Mari knows she should speak but all she can do is nod and smile.

He grins, “Let’s begin then.”