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sonoftatooine · 3 years

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Whumpay 2021

DAY 19: HOPE / DESPAIR

Finally, this one took ages

Characters: Padmé Amidala, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker

Warnings: Brainwashing

Summary: Winter Soldier AU - Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker disappeared from the face of the Galaxy the day Palpatine executed Order 66. Padmé Amidala, however, managed to escape from Coruscant when the Empire was formed and became a founding member of the Rebellion. Several years later, when Obi-Wan Kenobi manages to capture the Emperor’s infamous Sith apprentice, Darth Vader, Padmé is left to deal with the horrifying discovery of what happened to her husband at the fall of the Republic.

***

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Padmé Amidala, former Senator of Naboo and member of the High Council of the Rebel Alliance, frowned down at the screen displaying the flickering vid feed of her lost husband in the room adjacent to the high security—or as high security as their current base could afford them—cell in which he was being held. She had been stood there for at least ten minutes, hovering, waiting, and in all of that time, Anakin had not so much as twitched—so much so that she might have been fooled into thinking that she was looking at a still image if not for the rise and fall of his chest and the occasional blink. It was so unlike him—her restless husband, always on the move, but who had always come back to her until the day that he didn't—that it made her eyes burn with the effort to hold back tears. This was wrong, so wrong—

“Yes, Obi-Wan, I'm sure” she said once she was sure she could bite back the sharp reply that was on the tip of her tongue that the man beside her didn't at all deserve. Of course she was sure. How could she not be sure, when this was her husband—the man she loved with all the force of a thousand stars—at stake? She had to.

“You don't have to, Padmé.” Stood beside her, arms folded over his chest, and tired blue eyes fixed as unrelentingly on Anakin's frozen figure as her own, Obi-Wan Kenobi sighed, his mouth curved downwards in an unhappy line. Grief had aged him badly since the horrors of Order 66 and the beginnings of Palpatine's Empire. There were new lines around his eyes, and his auburn hair was fast turning white, but the change over those years was not nearly as stark as that which had been wrought upon him over the past few days. He looked raw and worn down, no matter how he tried to disguise it with his regular stoicism, as if he was on the verge of being swallowed by despair. Ever since the Empire had come for him on his last mission. Ever since they had managed to capture the Emperor's enforcer, Darth Vader.

Vader. Lord Vader. The name sent a shiver of horror through her, but not for the reasons that it once had. Before, she had known him simply as the latest in what seemed to be Darth Sidious' ever replenishing supply of Sith apprentices, and one of the most troubling additions to the Empire's ranks. Robed and masked entirely in black, without even the slightest indication to what lay beneath his impenetrable disguise, he had been a complete unknown to all but Palpatine himself—Empire and Rebellion alike—save for the brutal efficiency with which he carried out his duties. They had watched the Emperor's transmission introducing him to the Galaxy—her and Obi-Wan and Bail, while Luke and Leia slept soundly in their cribs watched over by Threepio and Artoo—from their bunker about a year after the Empire was formed. Padmé remembered seeing him, standing tall and motionless, three steps behind his master, and had felt a frisson of fear and misery run through her that she hadn't quite understood at the time.

She understood now. Oh Force, she thought as the image of Anakin, swamped in black robes and strapped, unconscious, to a gurney, and Obi-Wan's anguished look as he gasped out “he doesn't remember us; he doesn't even remember who he is”, swam through her mind. Oh Force, she understood now.

“Yes, I do,” she said, with a nod that looked far more decisive than she felt. She clutched the pile of warm cloaks and blankets that she had brought with her tight to her chest. Anakin had always hated the cold, and she couldn't bear the thought of him all alone in that cell without at least making sure he was as comfortable as possible. “He's my husband. I want to see him.”

She wanted to see him ever since they had brought him off the ship, ever since she had been dragged away from Coruscant by a harried Obi-Wan and Bail, crying and begging for them to take her back, that they needed to find Anakin, they couldn't leave him there. Anakin who she had last seen standing to the right of the Chancellor during the meeting of the Delegation of the 2000, hands bundled into the voluminous sleeves of his Jedi robes and not quite able to meet her eyes. Who had been sent by the Council to report to Palpatine the day of Order 66, and had never been seen since.

Until now.

“Padmé, he tried to attack me when I went to talk to him,” Obi-Wan reminded her grimly. “Ahsoka too. He doesn't remember any of us. All he knows is what Sidious has made him believe. What if he hurts you?”

Padmé shook his head.

“He won't hurt me” she whispered. He wouldn't hurt her. Anakin would never— But she didn't think he could ever have tried to hurt Obi-Wan either. Or Ahsoka. But he didn't remember any of them, because Sidious had taken him and forced him to forget everything, turned him into his weapon— She was shaking, full of rage and grief, but she pushed them both down. It was alright now. It would have to be alright. He was with the Rebellion now and they would heal him of whatever vile Sith had done to him and then he could meet their two precious children and everything would be alright—

“Padmé.” She thought, faintly, that Obi-Wan had managed to hone saying her name in a tone of utmost exasperation and frustration to a fine art. No doubt Anakin had given him a great deal of practice in the past. “He's not the Anakin we know. Not anymore.”

This time, it took a great deal more effort for her to swallow her harsh retort. Obi-Wan had given up hope a long time ago—the night of Order 66 when his bond to Anakin had snapped. He had thought him dead, and blamed himself for it—the Council had pushed him into spying on Palpatine, he had said, and he was sure that Anakin had discovered the man's secret and been killed for it. She remembered how he had looked, blurred through her tears as they rushed through hyperspace away from Coruscant—dishevelled and worn, the telltale signs of his battle with Grievous burnt into his Jedi robes, and a haunted look in his eyes, misted up with tears that he refused to let fall. He had come back from his last visit to Anakin's cell much the same, convinced that his old padawan had died with whatever it was that Palpatine had put him through, that what was left was nothing but a shell of the man he had loved as a brother.

(It still hadn't stopped him from abruptly ending a call with Yoda when the old Jedi Grandmaster had suggested “lost to the Dark, young Skywalker is; let him go, you should”.)

“I don't believe that,” she said. She had never believed Anakin to be dead. Refused to believe it, told Luke and Leia all sorts of stories about their brave and dashing father that she saw so much of in each of them, hoping beyond hope that one day he would be there to share his own stories with them. She wasn't about to give up now, when he was here—finally here, in front of her, no matter how changed, and no matter what Jedi platitudes about letting go she heard. “We can save him. I know we can.”

She turned her pleading gaze to Obi-Wan, but he refused to meet her eyes. He was still staring at the screen, and though his expression was blank, she could see the longing in his gaze—longing and fear. Fear that he would get his hopes up when nothing could be done. Fear that she would get hurt trying. Padmé sighed sadly. Obi-Wan may have given up hope, but she wasn't about to let him fall into despair.

“Obi-Wan, you'll be here the whole time,” she said, softly, soothingly. “I have faith that you'll protect me, if need be.”

Obi-Wan scowled, finally turning to look at her, but there was a hint of something gentle and fond beneath it.

“The pair of you will be the death of me” he sighed. It was barely a ghost of how he had been before, when they had all been together and happy and none of them had been brainwashed into becoming a Sith, but it was familiar enough that Padmé couldn't help but send him a watery smile.

“Please, Obi-Wan, I'm ready.”

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan nodded.

“I'll be just on the other side of the door.”

Despite her words, Padmé's heart felt like it might burst out of her chest as she stepped into Anakin's cell, the pneumatic hiss of the door closing behind her reverberating in her ears like a threat. She was not afraid. At least, she was not afraid of the figure sitting, head bowed, on the little cot in front of her—he had not attacked any of his visitors since the two Jedi; indeed, had barely acknowledged them, enough so that the High Council had deemed it as safe as it would ever be for her to see him—but she was afraid of what would happen next. Of what she would learn from this meeting. Of looking into her husband's eyes and finding him unrecognisable. But Padmé was never one to shy away from things that made her afraid, and so she took a deep breath, and murmured:—

“Anakin.”

No response.

“I brought these.” She gestured to the robes and blankets in her arms. “I thought you might be cold.”

That got a reaction from him. Slowly, jerkily, as if his head were being lifted up by a string, he turned his face towards her. The sight of him made her want to scream—scream and cry and hold him in her arms and never let go. He looked sick and gaunt, and the change from golden tan to waxy white looked even more stark under the bright lights of the cell, the circles under his eyes dark like bruises. And his eyes, oh his eyes. The sparkling blue that she remembered—had loved and missed so much for all that she saw it every day in the face of their son—had been replaced with the same horrible yellow that she had seen deep set in the sunken face of Emperor Palpatine, gleaming cruelly under the shadow of his hood, during Empire Day transmissions. But that wasn't even the worst of it. Anakin's eyes had always been so expressive, brimming with love and joy and fear and anger and grief, as if he felt too much and too deeply to keep it all inside. It was one of the things that she loved about him. Now, however, he turned those sickly eyes to her and she saw nothing in them but blankness. For the first time in his life, Anakin Skywalker looked upon her and he felt nothing.

Padmé swallowed, fighting back the urge to cry. She wanted to run to him, bury her fingers in his hair and press her lips to his as she used to do each time he came home to her from the war, but, with what felt like a monumental effort, she pushed the desire away. That wasn't what Anakin needed right now, no matter how much she wanted it. Instead, she waited for him to reply, waited for some sort of acknowledgement—anything to indicate what she should do, what she should say.

None came.

She sighed. Stepping forward, she leaned down and placed the pile of clothes next to him on the bed, trying to keep her heart from shattering into a thousand pieces at the tiny flinch he gave as she approached him. Carefully, so as not to startle him, she pulled back, coming to a stop once she was far enough away for him to relax minutely. Hot tears burnt at her eyes.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked, wishing that her voice did not sound so shaky, so thick with emotion. Anakin had always had a way of bringing out absolute honesty in her—even when she didn't even know she was trying to hide something—and now, confronted with her husband whom she hadn't seen in years, and who had spent every day of those long years suffering under the man who had enslaved the entire Galaxy to his will, all her politician's training, all her masks and airs had fled her. Even if she had wanted to, she couldn't have done a thing to hide her feelings from him.

Anakin frowned.

“You are Padmé Amidala,” he answered tonelessly. His voice was as dead and as flat as the look in his eyes. He sounded hoarse and tired, like he used to after waking up from a particularly bad nightmare. Like he had when he had when he had dreamt of her death in childbirth, only a week before he had disappeared, before she had run and left him— “One of the founders of the Rebellion.”

“That's right,” she said, with a nod that she wasn't sure was meant to encourage him or herself. “Do you— Is there anything else you remember about me?”

She knew it would be no. She knew he remembered nothing. But she wanted so badly for him to remember at least something of her. Wanted to know that Sidious hadn't taken everything from him. No matter what she wanted, though, she knew what his answer would be. Knew it and feared it.

“I understand that it's more usual for an interrogator to ask their prisoner for information,” Anakin replied. He tilted his head to the side, the expression on his face somewhere between confused and wary. “Not questions about themselves.”

He didn't sound like Anakin. Or rather, he sounded like Anakin—his voice sounded like Anakin, but the words, said in that flat, dull tone— It was wrong, all wrong. Oh my love, Padmé thought. My love, what has that monster done to you?

“I'm not interrogating you, Anakin” she said. She fought keep her voice steady and calm, even as she wanted nothing more than to burst into tears. Anakin's frown deepened, a look of suspicion flitting across his face.

“Why does everyone keep calling me that?” he asked, and for the first time, there seemed to be a hint of something else in his flat tone, a hint of uncertainty, of apprehension. His hands twitched, like he wanted to twist his fingers together like he used to do beneath the sleeves of his Jedi robes when he was nervous. Instead, he balled them tight into fists.

Padmé sent him a watery smile.

“It's your name, Ani.”

My Ani, she thought, watching him twitch oddly at the contraction of his name, turning sharply away. Her Ani who didn't even remember his own name. Oh, what was she going to do. How could she help him when he remembered nothing—nothing about his friends, nothing about her, nothing about himself—and they didn't even know what it was that Palpatine had done to him to cause this? She felt despair rushing in on her like a shark that had scented blood in the water, but she pushed back against it. She couldn't given in now. For Anakin's sake, she couldn't give up hope.

“How much has Obi-Wan told you?” she asked carefully. It was a risk mentioning Obi-Wan—a Jedi, a man he had ostensibly been sent to kill before the Rebellion had captured him—but she needed to know how much he had actually taken in.

Yellow eyes flicked back to her, the wariness and suspicion turning his expression even more closed off and guarded than it had been before.

“He told me I was once his Jedi apprentice,” he replied. “But I suppose you'll claim that I was your closest friend in the Senate. Or have you had the chance to corroborate your stories since Kenobi's last visit?”

The harshness of his words—as much as their content—made it all the harder to hold back her tears. Anakin had hardly ever spoken to her like that, was hardly ever sharp with her. Around her, perhaps, when he was particularly upset or frustrated, but rarely with her. It was yet another reminder of what had been done to him—the changes Sidious had forced upon him, as if he were nothing but a droid to be reprogrammed according to an owner's desire. Well, she would fix it, she would help him, and she would never let that vile man near him again. But to do that, she would have to get him to believe her, and for him to believe her, she—

“I'm not lying to you,” she insisted. “I promise you. It's Palpatine—Sidious—who has lied to you. You were a Jedi—have been since you were nine years old. Near the end of the war, the Council was concerned about the powers Palpatine had gathered for himself and sent you to report on him. But you— They sent you to his office the day he ordered the Jedi killed and then you disappeared. The Jedi thought you were dead, but he took you and he did something to you and you don't remember it because—”

“No.”

The sharp growl silenced her rambling mid-sentence. Her mouth clicked shut and her eyes widened as Anakin stood abruptly from the bed, his expression as hard as durasteel. Padmé swallowed, a flicker of nervousness fluttering in her stomach that she ruthlessly pushed down. She wondered if Obi-Wan was getting ready to dash into the cell from the other side of the door, afraid that he was about to attack her. But she refused to share that fear. She had never been afraid of Anakin, and she never would.

“No,” Anakin repeated, more softly this time. Instead of starting towards her, he prowled away to the far corner of the cell, back not quite turned to her—just enough to keep her in his line of sight—and hunched in on himself, arms crossed defensively across his chest. It was such a familiar gesture that, despite herself, Padmé couldn't help but feel a sliver of relief at the sight of it. Whatever Sidious had done to him, he hadn't managed to chase every last part of him from his mind. “My master warned me about this,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “He told me that you would try to deceive me, turn me against him—”

“He's the one deceiving you!,” she cried, trying to ignore worm of uneasiness in her stomach at the thought of the Emperor warning her husband against the Jedi and the Rebellion—or perhaps her specifically. If she could just get him to see, just get him to believe— “I don't know what he's done to you but please, Anakin, all we want is to help you. All I want is to help you. But to help you, I need you to believe me—”

She approached him, slowly, cautiously, as one might a wounded animal. His gaze fixed on her the whole way, wary, unrelenting, but he did not move, frozen to the spot. She itched to reach out to him, to pull him in and hold him close, but she wrestled the urge down to the depths of her heart.

“Please, Ani,” she begged, barely a whisper. “Please.”

Anakin stared down at her, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flash of blue in those yellow eyes.

“You haven't told me who you are,” he said, after a long moment of silence. His tone was guarded, cautious, just as quiet as her own. “Who you were to me. If what you say is true, what did I mean to you?”

Everything, Padmé thought. You meant everything to me. You mean everything to me. You and Luke and Leia. And one day, I'll be able to have them meet their father and you'll mean everything to them too. Her heart, too full of love and fear and hope and despair, ached in her chest, snatching up all her words before they could reach her mouth. How could she say all of this to him? How could she say any of this to him, when he barely believed she was telling him the truth about his name?

“You're—”

She faltered, unsure what to do. Would it be too much for him, finding out that he was married to a woman he didn't even remember? But what could she say? She couldn't lie to him—wouldn't lie to him. She wanted him to trust her again, like he used to before everything had gone so wrong, and how could they ever help him if they too deceived him?

“I'm...I...I'm your wife.”

Anakin froze stock still.

“...What?” he whispered hoarsely.

“It's true.” Padmé could no longer stop herself. She reached out slowly with both hands, making to smooth down his hair—it had always calmed him down after a nightmare; maybe if he accepted the truth, it might soothe him a little now? He gave an odd little jerk at the contact, his tongue darting out nervously to wet his lips, but he didn't pull away, still frozen to the spot, staring down at her with wide eyes. “Please believe me. It's true. I'm your wife—”

“No,” Anakin cut across her again. This time, however, his eyes had not hardened, and he could see the uncertainty creeping into them. His voice shook. “No, you're a liar.”

His hand—the one of durasteel that she had held at their wedding after he lost it to Count Dooku—darted up to snatch her wrist. But instead of shoving her right away, he held her in place, her hand hovering between them, arm extended towards him, as if he could not decide whether to push her aside or pull her closer. Padmé stared into his eyes, vaguely aware that Obi-Wan was probably panicking by now on the other side of the door. She could feel the strength in his grip, well acquainted with what his mechno hand could do. He had been horribly embarrassed when he had managed to crush several of her cups after their wedding, still unused to the amount of force his prosthetic required compared to his flesh hand. If he wanted to, he could tighten his grip now and crush her just as he had those cups, shatter every bone in her wrist. But he did not press down. He didn't even so much as grip hard enough to bruise.

“I'm not,” she cried—really cried, the tears she had been holding back starting to trickle down her cheeks. “I swear to you—”

“You didn't corroborate your stories after all,” Anakin retorted. “I could hardly have been a Jedi and a husband.”

Padmé shook her head, blinking heavily to keep the tears from blurring her vision. It would be alright, she told herself. She could persuade him. His voice was not nearly so certain as his words, and if she could just explain properly—

“You broke the Code to marry me,” she said. “We kept it secret, so you could stay as a Jedi and I could keep serving in the Senate until the war was over—”

“How convenient” Anakin returned, perhaps not as derisively as he had intended. He still hadn't let go of her wrist.

Padmé shook her head again, more insistently this time. She reached once more with her free hand to cradle his cheek in his palm.

“Please, Anakin, please. I love you. I love—”

“No!” With a cry, Anakin jerked backwards. The durasteel fingers wrapped about her wrist pulled away. “No! You—”

But words seemed to be beyond him. He staggered back, hand shooting out to steady himself against the wall, but it wasn't enough. His legs failed him, and he sank down to the floor, forehead pressed to his knees, trembling violently.

“This isn't—,” he hissed. “You can't— It's a trick. It's a trick—”

His hands fisted in his hair, so tight that Padmé thought he might tear clumps of it out. She rushed to his side, wiping her tears away furiously with her sleeve. She had pushed him too far. It was too much for him—too much at once.

“Padmé.”

Anakin's head shot up just as Padmé turned around to see Obi-Wan standing in the doorway, trying to remain impassive and failing miserably. She caught a flurry of movement in the corner of her eyes—Anakin had forced himself to stand back up, pressed up against the wall. He looked like a cornered loth-wolf, hunched in on himself, ready to spring, his yellow eyes wide and feral.

“It's alright,” Obi-Wan soothed, holding up the palms of his hands to show him he wasn't armed. Despite the calmness of his tone, Padmé could hear the agony beneath his words. “I won't hurt you. We will leave you to rest now.”

He turned a significant glance towards her, and Padmé could do nothing but nod, for all that she wanted to stay. She didn't want to overwhelm Anakin any more than she had already. Swallowing thickly, she forced down her tears, turning to meet her husband's unnatural yellow eyes with her own glistening brown.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

She made it to the other side of the door before she broke down in tears.

(Later, when she came to check on him to find him curled up in the warm robe she'd brought him, she cried for very different reasons).

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free-pool-trash · 3 years

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maybe - stiles stilinski

This is for all my Stiles bitches who are afraid of love ❤️ @makeusfreefromthisfandom ;)

word count: 2k

warnings: angst

summary: the last thing you wanted to do was fall in love (the bridge of all too well obviously set me off)

masterlist

“Maybe we got lost in translation...”

You weren’t sure at what point you’d gone wrong. Each time you recounted your footsteps, every step was calculated and perfectly placed. Perhaps you hadn’t done enough. Or maybe you hadn’t given enough, if you were to ignore the fact that the girl you were before was almost unrecognisable to you now, that option seemed most likely.

For months and months you danced around each other, balanced on the tightrope between friends and more than that. It seemed all of your show stopping smiles, all of your time and all of your willingness to be at each beck and call had been wasted on the relationship that had been doomed from the beginning. But, of course, you were only now hit with that epiphany.

Truthfully, yet somewhat shockingly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to take on the blame for losing your potential other half. Yes, your heart had been completely and utterly torn to shreds in a way you’d never experienced, it was the kind of hurt you hoped you’d never have to brave again. But it wasn’t your fault that falling always felt like flying. It wasn’t your fault that he’d wormed his way through your barricades, there was nothing for you to do but surrender to the sudden ambush that was falling in love with Stiles Stilinski.

Falling in love was never something you wanted, in fact, it was something you tirelessly avoided. The notion of giving someone the power to destroy you brought you nothing but terror. Then there was him.

Stiles Stilinski. Clever, sarcastic, kind, cute and terrible at lacrosse. He’d broken down your every defence, not even knowing he was doing it in the first place. Maybe you were fooling yourself but you truly thought you’d broken down some of his walls too.

What other explanation could be given to the times when he’d show up at your house looking for a shoulder to cry on, specifically your shoulder to cry on. Or the times he would throw you a packet of your favourite sweets before school with the reasoning of “Well, I was getting gas and I know you like them. So I got them.” As if it was the most obvious thing ever.

Those being construed as more than platonic could definitely be considered wishful thinking, but the scene currently playing in your mind had to have meant something more.

In your mind you played it back, it’d started fairly normally. Stiles had shown up in his rickety jeep, told you to hop in and he drove around until he found somewhere private and quiet to park. You’d gotten food on your way to the empty parking lot, he knew your order off by heart, butterflies erupted in your stomach as he called it into the speaker with complete confidence. Dazed, you remember asking, doe eyed and almost breathless, “You know my order?”

The boy had huffed out a puff of air and looked at you incredulously, “Of course I know your order, come on.” He shrugged off your shock and the night moved on as it usually did. It was when you were sitting in the parking lot, quietly picking at your food that he spoke up.

“Hey. Can I ask you something?” Sparing him a glance you only nodded, continuing to pick at your food as you listened. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, by the way.”

With a raised brow you turned your head to look at him, his hands were drumming on the steering wheel rather anxiously, “Alright… what’s your question?”

He’d turned his body to face you as best he could in the small space and clapped his hands together, “Ok, theoretically, if someone was trying to woo you… how would they go about doing that?” He cleared his throat as he finished and if it was possible your eyebrow arched higher.

It was a loaded question. How do you woo someone who's never wanted to be wooed? You wanted to tell him, but instead you shrugged your shoulders and deflated against the passenger seat.

“I don’t know, I’ve never really had an interest in being wooed. Never really thought about it.”

The irony of the situation, looking back on it, he’d been wooing you without even trying and what’s more is that you hadn’t even felt it happening. Only now realising you’d been falling once your body hit the unforgiving concrete beneath it.

“Oh come on! There has to be something! Flowers? Chocolates?” Stiles proded, wiggled his eyebrows and he whined half heartedly when you tossed a fry at him.

You remember how you’d rolled your eyes, “Seriously, I don’t want to be pursued by some guy.”

“Blah, blah, blah, I know. I said theoretically, ok? Theoretically, if you did wanna be pursued, how would that go?” His tone went from sarcastic but melted into uncertainty towards the end of his question.

Your eyes narrowed at the boy in front of you, “Why do you even wanna know?”

His gaze softened and there was something so gentle behind his eyes, an emotion you couldn’t pinpoint and the words that fell from his lips were the catalyst to your inevitable plummet.

“You deserve someone to love you. I want you to have that.”

Bringing your train of thought back to the present, you tried your best to focus on the meeting at hand. Scott was talking the pack through a battle strategy, something about Gerard and Monroe but you weren’t paying attention.

You were internally kicking yourself, of course he’d end up with Lydia after all of this. You were so caught up in the short term sparks, the momentary hopes, that you’d forgotten about the bigger picture. Even still, you wouldn’t lie, you were feeling as though you’d been strung along.

There was a set of eyes scrutinising you from across Scott’s kitchen and it was only when you met Theo’s curious eyes that you noticed you had zoned in on Stiles’ and Lydia’s intertwined hands. The kamara gave you a knowing look, quietly moving towards you once the room broke into chatter.

“You know, if you keep oggling at them they’re going to notice.” He told you, leaning towards your ear as his legs rested against the counter beside you.

Sighing you looked at him, completely exhausted, “I really wish I was heartless like you.”

Theo chuckled, tilting his head as if he knew something you didn’t, “Well, according to Stiles, you’re pretty cold hearted yourself.”

“And Stiles told you that?” You snapped, arms crossing over your chest apprehensively.

He nodded his head, pulled his lip between his teeth and then leaned his head back towards your ear again, “He also told me that you were the kinda girl who needed someone persistent.”

Your stomach dropped, you had an idea where he was going with this. “Why? Why did he tell you all that?”

“Must think I’d be a good match for you.”

It hurt, that someone you considered a friend, more than a friend, would talk you up to someone he absolutely loathed, someone he didn’t trust at all. You’d been so wrong about the feelings Stiles had for you recently and you couldn’t help considering that maybe you fell into the same category as Theo. Just another cold hearted fool.

There was a lot to be said for Theo Raeken. Was he necessarily a good person? No. Was he trustworthy? Absolutely not. Yeah, that’s definitely the sort of person you deserved to have love you.

“I’d be offended too.” He chuckled, watching your face carefully. The way it contorted in confusion, how your lips dipped downward and acceptance settled on your face.

You hadn’t noticed Stiles looking at you from across the room, inspecting the scene before him carefully. He had this sort of anxiety flooding his chest as he watched you deflate as you spoke to Theo.

There was no denying that he was in love with Lydia but before he’d inevitably ended up with the strawberry blonde, he’d been building something quite special with you. He knew you caught onto it too and that’s what was eating away at him.

“You’re being ridiculous.” He told you, shaking his head in disbelief.

You scoffed in return, “It’s called self preservation, Stiles.”

“I just don’t get it.”

You looked at him before shooting into an explanation that he’d heard a million times before, “When you fall in love with someone you give that person so much power over you. They can either make you or break you. I don’t ever want someone to have that kind of affect on me. I don’t want someone that feels like fresh air in my lungs because if they leave I’d be the one left suffocating. Doesn’t sound all that magical to me.”

Stiles looked at you sadly, he understood what you meant but he believed in the goodness of falling in love, “What makes you so sure they’ll leave?”

“Because they always do.”

And he’d done everything you tried so adamantly to avoid. Knowingly made you fall and then knowing left you to crash and burn and prove yourself right.

You stared at him, from across the room, something about the look on your face told him that his last stitch attempt to save face had only pushed you over the edge.

He hated Theo, he really did and you deserved better than him, but he was the only readily available person that he could think of in the heat of the moment.

Theo liked the chase and you liked to run, it made sense on paper. But the look of betrayal on your face as your eyes met sent him spiralling.

Without another word you left the room, stalking towards Scott’s front porch and settling down on the steps.

It was quiet for a while, your hands busied themselves raking through your hair as your elbows rested against your knees. Were you really as bad as Theo? Was that really the impression you gave off? Sure, the boy had improved since you’d first met but that didn’t change the fact that he’d literally been sent to hell for his crimes. Did shunning romance seriously make you that evil?

A familiar presence joining you shook you from your thoughts but you didn’t move to greet him.

Stiles clearing his throat broke the silence but you kept your gaze on the empty street ahead of you. “So, uh, Theo-“

You cut him off with an empty laugh, giving him the meanest side eye you could manage, “Don’t.” You demanded though your voice sounded weak.

“You seemed upset- just wanted to check on you.” He told you lamely, rubbing the back of his neck, watching as your eyebrows pulled together.

Turning slowly to face him you let your hands fall limply against your knees, “I have a question.”

He only nodded. Preparing himself for whatever you were about to throw at him.

“Was it all in my head?” There was anger creeping along your tone but it was the desperation for an answer that took the forefront.

He swallowed thickly but shook his head, “Nah. It wasn’t in your head.”

You pulled your lip between your teeth, fighting the urge to scream as you posed your next question, “It was always Lydia. No matter when or where it was always going to be her. So why?”

His heart sank at the question, his will cracking just as your voice did when you spoke, “Why what?”

“Maybe you didn’t mean to. Maybe you were bored or maybe we just got lost in transition but I trusted you. So I guess my real question is; why did you try so hard to make me love someone only to walk away at the first given opportunity.” You wondered, quickly brushing away a tear that fell from your eye.

His silence could’ve killed you, he looked so very lost. Completely devoid of an answer he just stared at you as you inhaled a deep breath and stood up shakily.

“You know, maybe you were onto something with that Theo thing. At least if he screws me over I’ll have seen it coming.” You told him bitterly, walking inside and leaving him on the step.

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x reader #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf #just some senseless angst because i felt like it

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nostalgiabones · 3 years

Text

Fix It to Break It // L.H

So here is the first fic in my new Song Series, to celebrate 11,000 followers! I just want to say a huge thank you to everyone who reads any of my fics or blurbs and follows me on here, I appreciate it so much, and I’m so excited to share this series with you! I want everyone to be a part of this too, so if you have any songs you’d like me to write about, let me know!

Song: Fix It to Break It — Clinton Kane. Please listen to the song as you read! It really adds to the overall vibe of the fic, I think it’s such a beautiful song.

Word count: 2,539

“Remember that time I made you laugh?”

The air in the room feels thick and heavy as Luke lifts his head, his narrow eyes on you as you avoid his gaze. Your lounge, a place that was once filled with life and laughter, almost feels unrecognisable. His voice is gravelly, almost a whisper as he speaks, like the light inside of him no longer shines so bright. Your focus is on the ground, your mind silently counting the number of panels across the floor. Anything to distract from the current moment. You don’t want to face Luke.

Things have changed.

The house that you once called home feels like an empty shell of what once was there, and all that’s left is you and Luke to pick up the pieces of each other.

“I would give in to hear that sound again.” He continues. There’s no emotion in his voice, like he has nothing left. There’s so much to say, yet so little - he doesn’t know where to start. Luke can’t bear to think back over the good times through fear of breaking down. It feels like it’s about to come to a head, like he can no longer keep it inside. There’s things that need to be said.

You were once ‘that couple,’ the one that your friends always knew you’d become; a love so pure that others wanted to feel it. They’d ask you how you do it, but neither you or Luke ever had an answer. It was just easy. It worked. The love you felt for each other overcame everything else, and that’s all there was to it.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Luke.” You admit, still avoiding his eyes.

You can feel him looking at you. He’s anxiously bouncing his knee, the sight catches your eye, and it’s not an uncommon one. He over thinks a lot. You don’t need to look at him to know how he’s feeling; the cogs are whirring in his head far too quick for even him to understand.

Luke tries to contain his temper. There’s a lot that he wants you to say, a lot of explanations he feels he deserves. He doesn’t have it in him to get mad at you. It hurts too much. A promise he once made, that nothing is solved by shouting, not after you disclosed your painful childhood to him. As hurt as he is, he isn’t going to break that. There’s only one time he raised his voice at you, and he’ll never forget the pain in your eyes when you recoiled from him. It’s enough to haunt him into never speaking loudly to anyone again.

He clears his throat.

“Things have changed,” He says, blankly, so matter-of-factly. “We’ve changed. I want you to admit that you feel it too.”

The two of you have been living in denial for too long.

Luke has woken up alone too many times. You’d slip out of bed early, blaming a morning appointment, but wouldn’t return until late afternoon. He can’t remember the last time he held you without you pushing away. There’s always a reason to not be around, always an excuse. He’d spent the whole tour wanting to be back in your arms, to feel his lips against yours. He’s been back for a month, and he still doesn’t feel like he’s home.

“You were away for a long time, Luke,” You murmur, knowing that it’s going to hit a nerve with him. Tour was always a sensitive topic. You know he won’t get mad at you, though, he never does. It’s one of the things you love about him. “Six months. I got used to being alone. I can’t just go back to normal so quickly.

He pauses for a moment.

“Did you miss me?” He asks, like he’s nervous to hear the answer.

He doesn’t get a moment to prepare for your response before you reply, “of course I did, Luke. Why would you ask me that?”

Your mind flashes back to when he was away, the late night calls when he needed to hear your voice. He couldn’t sleep without saying good night, despite what time it was where you were. Sometimes you didn’t pick up. Although, what Luke didn’t know, was that you needed to hear him just as much. It just hurt too much sometimes, to know it would be so long before you heard him in person again.

“We’ve been through tours before,” He reminds you. “It’s never taken this long for us to adjust. You’re usually so excited for me to come home. It didn’t feel like that this time.”

When he’s been touring before, the thought of getting home to you was what kept him going. Whether you managed to make it to the airport or he met you at home, the smile on your lips accompanied with the relief of a “you’re home,” made his heart soar. He’d never felt so loved, so at home — nothing beat the feeling of waking up next to you the morning after getting home. The best sleep he ever had was the night he came home from being away for so long.

It’s a feeling he misses.

He’s been home for a month, and nothing feels the same. There’s been moments where he feels as though he’s been dreaming, whether he’s misremembering your relationship before he went on tour.

He doesn’t understand how things can change so quickly.

From falling asleep with you in his arms, to feeling like you’re miles apart in the bed. Even if you somehow untangled your legs from his own in your sleep, he would search for you, craving your skin to soothe his mind back to sleep. Now, he’s on edge, he lays in the dark staring at the wall until sleep manages to encompass him. He’s lucky if he sleeps through the night.

There’s times where you sleep in the spare room, claiming you finished work too late, and didn’t want to disturb him. When really, it’s too much to be in the same bed as him, knowing that he’s hurting. You know you’re pushing him away, yet don’t know how to stop it.

You just wanted to be able to breathe.

“I just...” You sigh, brushing a hand through your hair as you slump back into the sofa. “I don’t know what to tell you. What do you want me to do?”

Luke wants to scream. He wants to tell you that he loves you, that he wants you to love him too. He knows you used to. He’s not sure you do anymore. He can’t remember the last time you told him sincerely. He still remembers the first time he told you he loved you, how even though it took you a minute to say it back, he knew you meant it. He saw it in your eyes. Now he says “I love you” and you reply “you too” — it doesn’t feel the same. Just like everything else doesn’t.

It’s the little things he misses the most. He misses talking to you, feeling connected, and just doing nothing together. He likes the reassurance of having someone around. He’s never been one to enjoy his own company, especially not after a tour, even if all you do is sit on your phones in silence. You used to put out his coffee cup in the morning, and he remembers when you stopped. He misses you singing quietly in the shower, when you think he can’t hear you. He can. And it makes his mornings that little bit brighter. He misses the sound of your laugh when you watch a repeat of a sitcom you’ve seen a hundred times.

It’s the little things that make him feel loved.

“I want you to love me like you say you do,” Luke says, as firmly as he can without his voice breaking. “I don’t want to have to remind you to love me. I shouldn’t have to do that.”

He thinks it’s unfair for you to blame him.

Tears well in your eyes at his words, the pain in his voice like a dagger through your heart as you listen to him speak. “You know that I love you, Luke.”

“No I don’t.” He replies. He’s just being honest. “You used to. I don’t know if-”

“I do.” You cut him off, not wanting to hear the end of the sentence. It makes sense that he doesn’t feel it anymore, as much as you don’t want to admit it. You’ve pushed him away. “You know the moment I fell in love with you. I didn’t lie when I said I’ve never loved someone like I love you. That doesn’t just go away.”

He does know the moment you’re talking about. It was one of the first times he took you home to Australia, to meet his family, when you saw just how loving and gentle he is. The way he loves his family is like nothing you’ve ever seen. He has the biggest heart. He glowed different that weekend; his Mum saw it too, she told you.

Everything felt like it had fallen into place.

You were in his childhood bedroom, just having a moment to yourselves, when he had kissed you like nothing else mattered, in that moment. You felt immersed by him, like you were meant to be there with him. Where you had murmured the words “You’re a real sweetheart, you know that? I’ve never felt love like this before.” and he swore he’d never love anybody else either.

Those days feel like a distant memory now.

“I got too used to you not being here.” You continue to explain. Six months is a long time. You threw yourself into work, into anything but thinking about how much you missed him. Maybe too much, because now you’ve forgotten how things once were. “I’m not blaming this on you, Luke. I know that touring means the world to you. I just had to stop myself from sitting around and waiting for you to come home.”

It’s not the first relationship Luke’s damaged by being away. It’s a common theme in his life, actually, but he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. The band comes first. Yet he’s not sure he can do this again.

“I feel like I’ve lost you.” He admits, and now it’s his turn to tear up. There’s a lump in his throat, you can hear it in his voice. “I wanted to have this conversation for weeks now. I didn’t know if I was just making it up, that things felt so different, but they do. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

You dare to look in his direction. You find his eyes, the usual sparkling blue now dulled by the pain behind them, and it’s then you remember why you were looking away.

“I think we need to find each other again,” You admit, quietly. Easier said than done. You suddenly feel the desire to get up and sit next to him, to be close to him. It’s like he knows, like he can read your mind, and he shuffles up on the sofa to make space. You sigh heavily, your body feeling like dead weight as your feet carry you across the room. You’re almost nervous to sit next to him. “I don’t know how we do that. But we need to try.”

We. Something Luke feels like you haven’t been for a while.

“I need more.” Luke tells you. He needs more love, more affection, more conversation… more everything. He wants to feel like he’s in a relationship again. He wants to feel the love you say you have for him. He wants to feel like he’s enough for you. “I can’t go on like this. You’re worth the pain if you want to try and make this work. I just want to feel like we mean something to each other again.”

You feel like you’re lost in a crowd somewhere, or floating in the ocean, drifting further apart. Except maybe now is the time that you find each other again.

“Look at me, Luke.” You murmur, moving even closer, your hand resting on his shaking thigh to calm him down. You hear him inhale, exhale, and his eyes finally meet yours. Your voice is merely a whisper as you talk to him. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I love you so much that sometimes it hurts.”

Luke feels like he could break down on the spot when he finally looks you in the eye. It takes him back to every moment where he’s felt consumed by you, and for just a moment, he thinks that somehow, things might end up okay.

“I need to know that you’re in this for the long run.” He tells you, his eyes pleading with you more than his words are. “I’m always going to go on tour. I don’t want to go through this every time I come home. I can’t do this again.”

You nod, and your hand runs up and down his thigh in a soothing gesture.

“I’m right here,” You reassure him, your hand cupping his cheek as your thumb rubs over his cheekbones. For the first time in weeks, he feels like he can breathe, he feels safer than he thought he could in his house. “I know I haven’t been. And I know I have a lot of making up to do. But I’m going to be around to get us through this.”

Those are the words he’s longed to hear for weeks. You sit in silence for a few moments, just absorbing the conversation - just being in each other’s presence.

“That’s enough talking for now.” Luke whispers. He lays back against the cushions of the sofa, holding his arm out for you to lay against him. You oblige, sighing as you lay against his chest, the material of his jumper soft against your cheek. It’s like everything has stopped, like everything feels right once again. It feels like he hasn’t done this for months. Silently, he takes one hand to tilt your chin so your face is right in front of his. There’s pain in your eyes too, he can see it. His nose gently taps yours, and you move your face closer, before he’s brushing his lips against yours.

And then he’s kissing you.

It’s a real kiss, one that has meaning, feelings, more than anything he’s felt in weeks. The only affection he’d had for weeks was a passing kiss in the morning, sometimes before bed, but it didn’t feel like this. Your lips are soft yet slightly chapped; he tries to savour every detail. He just wants to feel close to you. His kisses taper off and he’s sighing contently, unsure where you’re going to go next, but feeling safer than he has for a while.

“Maybe we just had to break to be fixed.”

Things are far from perfect. Weeks of pain cannot be solved by one kiss. Yet you’re going to try, and that’s all Luke needs to know. You just need to find each other again.

***

Please please let me know what you think, and if you have any requests for songs you want me to write about! Thanks for reading 🥰

Masterlist

Taglist: @irwinkitten @wildflowergrae @luckyduckydoo @letstaketheups-and-downs @jazzyangel242 @cashworthy @babylon-corgis @norawashere @monsteramongmikey @late-nightdevil @maluminspace @fluffsshawn @xhaileyreneex @flowerthug @calpops @youngblood199456 @aliencal @wokeupinjapanisabop @banditocth @cashtonasfuck @5-secondsofcolor @g-l-pierce @monsteramongmgc @calmlftv @mantlereid @treatallwithkindness @another-lonely-heart @calumrose @inlovehoodx @mermaidcashton @everydayimfangirling @b-easybreezy @ilumxna @malumsmermaid @opheliaaurora23 @talkfastromance4 @zhangyixingxing1 @everyscarisahealingplace @mateisit-balsamic @saphseoul @suchalonelysunflower @findingliam-o @castaway-cashton @megz1985 @notinthesameguey @calumscalm @karajaynetoday @metalandboybands @littledrummeraussie @vxlentinecal @itjustkindahappenedreally @queenalienscherrypie @xxxstormyninixxx @chicken-ona-stick @hoodhoran @harrys-shrooms @midnightash

#ahhhh I really hope you’re excited for this series!#I have some really exciting things coming up #Luke Hemmings au #5sos au #5sos fic #boyfriend!5sos #boyfriend!5sos blurbs #boyfriend!sos #boyfriend 5sos blurbs #boyfriend sos blurbs #Luke Hemmings blurbs #Luke Hemmings blurb #lhblurb #songseries #5sos blurbs #luke hemmings x reader #mywriting

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lets-imagine-fanfics · 3 years

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Prompt: “Do you even care anymore?” with Klaus

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x reader

Words: 955

A/N: To be honest I only watched the first season of ‘The Originals’ - Klaus my fave, but i’m kinda basing this around only my knowledge from the first season and a little bit of the second season xxx

A/N/N: Okay so this request just said Klaus, and as I was about to type in the tags…The only Klaus I saw was Klaus Hargreeves… so I’mma do 2…

[Klaus Mikaelson] [Klaus Hargreeves]

[Prompt List | Masterlist | My Fandoms | Send an Ask]

You and Nik had been together for years, so many in fact that hat you have lost count but to give an example of how long, you were born the same year the Miklesons had been turned.

For some reason, Klaus kept your relationship a secret, he told his family, and you all spoke to often with one another even when one avoided the other, but other than that nobody knew. You guessed it was because he wanted to keep you safe since he's been making enemies from the day he was born.

Since you had been with Klaus for so long, there were a few things that you had become desensitised to, slight torture, killing etc. - you were a vampire, yes, but you never killed anybody - There was one thing that you could never get over, Klaus cheating.

You had caught them, Klaus and this girl, one night and you had left there and then, cut all ties with him. Elijah and Rebekah had been there to pick up the pieces of your broken heart, and you promised yourself that you would never be tricked by Klaus again.

Eventually, Nik found you and begged for you to come back to him, be his again, he slowly got you to doubt yourself and your options using that silver tongue of his. He would so easily manipulate those thoughts and memories that you had made, and you ended up taking him back after 20 years of him giving you gifts every other day.

It's easy to say you loved Klaus with everything you had, and you used all the patience you had with him too.

You had both decided to take a business trip to Paris while Klaus had been lead to somewhere in America, you said your "goodbyes and See you soon" and headed off in your different directions. It was easier to be separated for such a short period of time when you've lived several hundred years; it isn't ideal to be away from the person you love. Still, it's more manageable for the lifeless vampires that live on throughout time.

Throughout your trip you had been excited for it to end, despite enjoying it so much, to be able to see Klaus again, it was one of those trips for Klaus were he was so busy and so caught up down the rabbit hole that he couldn't message, so this whole trip there's was barely anything from him, or his siblings who accompanied him to Mystic Falls, somewhere with a lot of vampire action that apparently was not going under the radar.

The last day of your trip you receive a text, a sentence which you had read multiple times from Klaus before, although this time it was from an unrecognisable number - "Meet me in New Orleans, we have much to discuss."

On your way to a place you had once fled, and when you did, it had broken your heart, you only hope it goes better this time.

You walk through the large house that you once called home, admiring the decor that you remember as you move through the house.

You can hear talking through the house and can pinpoint that it is coming from the office - Klaus' voice is coming from Klaus' office.

As you make your way to your love, happiness fades, and sorrow hits you like a train as you overhear what Klaus and his siblings are talking about.

"She's having your child, Nicklaus, you need to do something to protect her and the child."

"Really Nik? you had to have a rebound, from Caroline, who -"

"Don't you ever mention her name to me again!"

Now here you are, standing in the corridor refusing to breathe as you were listening in to Klause and Elijah as they spoke about how it was possible for Klaus to bear a child.

A woman, with a hand over her stomach protectively despite her even showing, walked up to you. She could see the sadness in your eyes as she asked you if you were okay and introduced herself as Haley.

Haley, you had learnt a moment earlier was the woman who was having Klaus' child... So this was her, not only that but there was two of them: Haley and a Caroline.

Haley looked at you with slight concern, that innocent girl- you could have killed her there and then and end it all - but no, you were never evil, maybe a little desensitised.

You boss and begin to walk away only for you to hear the door of the old house creak open.

"Y/N?" Klaus, the person you had dedicated most of your life to loving unconditionally, asks as if you weren't even invited to the party.

You turn, holding your feelings down but refusing to flick that switch, the switch that is just there - just beginning for the rage that has been waiting to be unleashed for decades.

"Oh sorry, am I interrupting you and your family matters?" You reply with a snark.

"It's dangerous, you being here."

"Yeah, I was just leaving."

"Is that all you have to say? You know I committed infidelity and you don't have anything else to say? Do you even care anymore? There's nothing left for you to say... After all this time?" Klaus says, trying to get a rise in you or seeing how far he can push you before you break.

"...The mother of your child...she's lovely," you say before you walk away. You left that house and that family; you would more than likely see Rebekah and Elijah again but never Klaus. You promised yourself you would never cry over that man again.

#LIFics #Klaus #klaus mikealson x reader #klaus mikaleson imagine #The Originals x reader #the originals imagine #prompt #Klaus Mikealson x male!reader #gender neutral #gender neutral reader insert #gender neutral!reader #Male!Reader #male reader #female reader #female!reader #Klaus Mikealson x vampire!reader #vampire!reader

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adie-dee · 3 years

Text

@sunday-romance

Nyssa wove her way through the crowd in the mall, heading to pick up a new watch for Dominic. Not that he needed one, but she hadn’t been able to shake her guilt over accidentally destroying his favourite beyond repair.

“Leonie!” someone called behind her.

She ignored the name. It was one of her names, sure, but Leonie had been a lifetime ago.

“Leonie Anne Sutherland, stop pretending you’re not you!”

That stopped her in her tracks. Leonie was a common enough name, even though she wasn’t sure if it was still in regular use, but the chance of someone having the exact same full name as the one she once used seemed slim.

She spun on her heel, her gaze settling on a lady beaming in her direction. The woman was almost unrecognisable, her face ageworn, but Nyssa knew how to look past the wrinkles. It was all in the eyes.

And she knew those eyes, even from this distance. They still sparkled with the strength and determination that had attracted Nyssa to her, all those decades ago.

“Peggy!” Nyssa said with a smile, pushing down the discordant note in her chest. She always dreaded these reunions. Some went terribly, and others well, but they all left her aching for something she couldn’t have. Something they all represented.

“I thought it was you,” Peggy said, ambling over. “You’ve barely changed a bit.”

And you’ve changed so much, Nyssa thought. Peg’s long red locks were gone, replaced with a short white perm, and her once porcelain visage now well worn with the years that had passed. “It’s good to see you,” Nyssa said instead. “How long’s it been?”

“Fifty years,” Peggy replied. “Fifty long years.” She let out a sigh. “Do you mind if we sit? My legs aren’t what they once were.”

Nyssa guided her over to a bench near the food court.

“I feel the need to apologise,” Peggy said once they were seated, “for the way I left. It was—“

“Understandable.” Everyone left, in the end. Sometimes by choice, but mostly by death. She should have been used to it now, but it still hurt, every time. But how could she blame them? They had no choice but to leave, as much as she had no choice but to stay.

“Unfair.” Peggy took Nyssa’s hand, squeezing tight. “I loved you, and Frederick, and the ten years we spent together were some of the best of my life. I still think of you, most days. And yet I just left without a word.”

“You really don’t have to explain.” Dredging up old memories only made it harder.

“I want to, though. I tried to write, years later, except you had both moved on, no forwarding address supplied. I’m glad I now have the chance.” She took a deep breath, her gaze fixed on their clasped hands. “I was scared. Everything was going so well between us but I was scared of what the future would hold. Scared we would end up, well, like this.”

If Nyssa had a heart it would have broken. The hollow ache in her chest served a similar purpose though, signifying the love that she’d lost.

“I thought you wouldn’t want me,” Peggy continued, “once I was old. And I was scared of growing old alone, while you both remained the same. And then I found out I was…” she trailed off, staring into space. “I was a coward,” she finally said.

“We searched for you,” Nyssa told her, fighting the urge to embrace her old lover, to sweep her up in her arms the way she used to. “Right up until it was clear you didn’t want to be found.”

“My Albert helped me. Do you remember Albert?”

The name sounded familiar. “Albert Davies,” Nyssa said with a smile. “He was a mechanic.” and Dominic’s main object of affection at the time, if she remembered correctly. Not that Albert ever reciprocated.

Peg smiled. “That’s right! He left with me, and we married a few weeks later. Not that he ever- well, you know, but it saved people from asking questions about him. And me, too.”

“Why would—“

“Grandma!” A man in his early twenties came rushing over, his attention firmly on Peggy. “You’re not meant to wander off!”

“I am a grown woman, Jason,” Peggy huffed, “not a child. I do not need a babysitter!”

Jason ignored her. “Thanks for sitting with her,” he said to Nyssa instead. “Sorry if she was a problem. She keeps wandering off more and more, and—“

“I am right here, Jason!”

It was remarkable, really, just how much Jason looked like Dominic. “A son or a daughter?” Nyssa asked Peggy, the ache in her chest growing larger. They could have been a family together.

“A daughter. Helen. With me in memory only now, sadly. A drunk driver took her from us in 04. You would have loved her. So intelligent and clever, just like her father.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t care, Grandma,” he stated. “She’s just being polite. Now let’s go.”

“Unlike this one,” Peggy added, shooting a look at Jason, “who believes what he wants is more important than letting an old woman reminisce.”

“Young woman,” Nyssa murmured, then fixed her eyes on Jason. “I can wait here a bit longer if there’s something you need to do.”

“We’re not here for me. Grandma needs to get her eyes tested, and she’s going to be late.”

Peggy pressed her lips together. “Oh, that’s right. My memory isn’t what it used to be. Aging really is a bugger, Leonie. Be glad you don’t have to.”

Slowly she stood up, moving so stiffly it was like she was the one made of stone. It pained Nyssa to see; fifty years gone in the blink of an eye. Mortality was cruel, though in a different way than what she herself had to endure.

“It was good to see you,” Nyssa said, standing up herself. “I’ve enjoyed this.”

“That sounds far too much like goodbye,” Peggy stated. “And I do not like goodbyes.”

Nyssa raised an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

Peggy smirked in return, a hint of her old self shining though. “I am at Bayside Views Aged Care, should you choose to visit.”

Jason huffed. “Stop harassing the woman! She’s not gonna—“

“I will,” Nyssa stated, cutting him off. She didn’t much like goodbyes either, but they were inevitable. She gave Peggy a hug, planting a small kiss on her cheek as she did. “I’ve missed you.”

#Sunday love #Sunday romance #Nyssa

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beni-draw-ikemen-please · 3 years

Text

Kintsugi ~ Repairing with Gold

Kintsugi ~ Repairing with Gold ◆ Ikemen Vampire Fanfiction ◆

CHAPTER 3 - TWO SUNS

Words: 4, 596

TW: Angst and Hurt ◆ References to Depression ◆ Mental Instability ◆ Mental Health Issues ◆ Implied/Referenced Suicide ◆ Suicidal Thoughts ◆ Graphic Depictions of Sex/Intercourse ◆ Vaginal Sex/Fingering ◆ Rough Sex ◆ Non-con

Pairings: M/F Leonardo Da Vinci x Seiya Amanogawa [OC] / Comte de Saint-Germain x Seiya Amanogawa [OC]

Chapter Index [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 8 ] [ 9 ] [ 10 ]

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A/N: This work of fiction is Canon x OC. For some reason everything is coming to me but I have no idea how to structure this properly, let alone beta >.< But still, if you made it this far, thank you for reading! Here’s chapter 3, fresh from AO3.

KINTSUGI - CHAPTER 3

Two Suns

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Seiya couldn’t remember why, but she remembered being fully awake on a Tuesday, 3:32 am and she just hauled herself yet again across the globe.

A new apartment, a new life, another clean slate. For the fifth, or was it sixth, time in her life.

She remembered her empty apartment, just outside Amsterdam, barely a futon and any cooking pans in possession. It was cold, but it was a new beginning and new beginnings settled her nerves. It was familiar.

The moving, the starting -- she accustomed herself to these things, sort of like a reversed coping mechanism. Adjusting and adapting to a new place, a new environment, a whole new country was something she could do without even trying.

She was exhausted. Tired from all the big cities.

She remembered booking a last-minute flight to Paris, and then visiting the Louvre for the sole reason of finding inspiration. She had been working non stop, and she came to Paris hoping to revive whatever creative soul or confidence she had before the past five years.

It felt like the crowd never ceased and it took almost all of her strength and willpower to go around the people who were barely looking at the paintings.

She remembered being exhausted, and securing a bench just outside the Da Vinci hall.

And she remembered stopping, not particularly minding or observing a piece but stopping to draw something down her notebook.

And the next thing she knew, the bright museum day turned into a star-lit sky. Darker than what she’s accustomed to, behind widows that stretched as high as the ceilings, wine red curtains framing the peculiar view in sight. A thick dark forest just outside what looked like a giant mansion gate.

She forgot a whole list of things as the man clad in gold explained the rules and basics of the mansion, and her month-long wait before she could go home.

It wasn’t particularly different from what she’d experienced before.

Another place? Another move? Only now, it’s another time.

Seiya didn’t really remember much, she barely got acquainted with her new apartment, and she wasn’t particularly attached to anything yet after she prepared herself to move and leave everything that’s been established in her life. A career that barely sustained her creativity; wore her energy and self-esteem down. People who only hung around because of her work, or because it was convenient at that exact place, exact time. There were no farewell parties on her behalf.

It was as if she quietly slipped through the back door, continued to run and run and run until she was on the other side of the world. Not knowing anyone, not receiving any other calls as to why she left, no emergency contact in her wallet. Nobody. Nothing new, really.

And yet, for the briefest moment, as she focused on him — lush locks of gold that seemed to glow and shine under the masterful lighting of the museum, and the meticulously-placed lamps within the mansion — she saw a man whom she’d hoped to be someone in her life.

The count smiled at her, careful with his words but never mincing them around her. She felt no threat, no ill intent coming from him, and immediately, she told her heart to settle down. She could — at least, she really hoped to — trust this man who called himself Le Comte. Maybe, this was the reason why she followed him that day, in the Louvre. When he chuckled faintly and softly behind her back as she scribbled what she thought would be a fitting portrait of Leonardo Da Vinci himself, all tension that accumulated in her neck and shoulders seemed to melt away at the sound of his voice.

He complimented her, saying Leonardo himself would approve of the portrait, however silly and childish her scribble looked. He said it was an accurate depiction of him. Seiya didn’t know if he was being honest, or if he was just making fun of her. But she didn’t peg him, a man dressed like a gentleman —an elegant light mohair suit and golden cufflinks — as someone who would go by so casually only to make fun of ladies wandering inside museum halls. But she had to admit, making small talk with him felt pleasant and comforting. Her first conversation in days.

She wasn’t the type to open up so easily to strangers, let alone, let them peak inside her pocket Moleskine. But something about him, the gold of his eyes, something that reminded her of time, and something forgotten —something old and true and important—called to her and swept her off her feet.

Enough to lure her into opening the door to an alternate timeline. An alternate universe. Where creatures of the night were made up of the greatest names in history. This was their domain. His domain and she was a visitor. And yet he was gracious enough to provide for her, much to her surprise. Why would someone like him care about someone like her? She always questioned it. And, as she learned more and more about the mansion, the household and the residents, she found herself watching the count. Anticipating when he’ll be back, what he’ll be needing next, and how she can be a part of it.

Seiya remembered when she felt the need to draw something. For the first time in a long time, to actually sit down and make something for herself. Make something that’s not dictated by some middle-aged, kitsch cretin. Just something for herself. Something she could hold on to, whilst she lived the dream of being scooped up from her own reality and into a world of vampires, enchantment, and time travel. Who could have thought? Who could have imagined? She most certainly did, many times, many days, all those years.

Seiya didn’t feel like anyone wanted her, really. A home was something her parents once paid for; allowance usually automatically being credited to her account. Holidays that were empty, birthdays without anyone, achievements unrecognised. It didn’t take long for her to realise that these people, who were supposed to care for her, were simply waiting for her to be old enough so they can let her be without being frowned upon by society. She quickly learned that all those years of moving and adjusting, readjusting and adapting— her so-called talent— left her with almost no one to turn to.

No foundations.

No shared experiences that forged true friendships.

Nobody.

You leave, and people feel sad, and they forget about you.

People move on.

Or people just leave.

People move on.

They forget about you, and they move on.

A mantra she’d recite every time she decided to move again and again and again.

The beginnings excited her, and opportunities were always present for those who were willing to take the risk. Opportunity was this haughty goddess she was now very much acquainted with. But she had no one to call to share the good news. No one to celebrate the good days with. And the bad days — the bad days were heavy and ruthless — bad days would stay for days, weeks, years.

So, when the count explained that she’ll have to stay for a month, maybe more, Seiya felt relief seep through her veins. The tension on her shoulders and back dissipated, and for a while, she almost fully stopped clenching her jaw.

Being around him helped her feel at ease. She never had anyone to rely on, up until Leonardo. When he promised he'd look out for monsters and watch her door until she fell asleep, she felt something she never felt before. A sense of security.

Leonardo offered more than just a brief sense of security. For Seiya, he felt like a safe room, and she, though she does not notice it herself, was acting more and more like herself around him. Truer to herself than she could ever imagine herself to be. Because of Leonardo, and those days they spent quietly together, the evenings when they both retire together, she began to see a clearer image of who she really is and how she can live her life without the restrictions and the prejudice of the modern world she was so used to.

The modern world is filled with mannerly empty phrases, words that seem to zigzag away further from the truth. Communication was done in a blink of an eye, but all other meanings— meanings that truly mattered— were lost even before the button was pressed.

He must have felt uncomfortable sleeping outside her door, though. She thought.

Seiya wasn’t sure why and what force of nature brought it back, but she felt an ounce of confidence lift her hand to catch the hem of his coat just as he was leaving. How beautiful he looked, she thought. Not at all close to that chibi drawing she did whilst sitting by that bench in the Louvre. But just as her glass-blue eyes were focusing on him and how the golden light seemed to amplify his innate glow, she saw the count’s face, clear as day, flashing before her eyes.

She felt her throat dry, at the sight of Leonardo’s eyes. The same gold as Comte’s. The same distant, unearthly, gold smoked by time, and maybe eternity herself.

Was that the reason why she invited him to her bed?

Because his eyes resembled the count’s?

Seiya remembered Leonardo’s weight shifting her bed as she waited for him to settle down. It had been years since she slept with someone. And the last time she did, she became incredibly attached. When you get used to living and being content with your own company, anyone else who breaches your space feels uncomfortable, until you unlearn the true meaning of solitude, until you start leaning onto that person, until you start being attached, dependent.

Seiya knew what it was like to be alone with her own thoughts. She kept most things to herself and barely interacted. But when one person tried to get past her defenses, she gave in. She let down her guard and soon enough, she was crumbling, ready to give anything, her everything to this person at any given word.

She knew what it was like to give her everything only to be left alone.

She knew better. People won’t reciprocate.

She should have known better. And yet,

And yet, she allowed herself the comforts of Leonardo’s company. The rhythm of his husked breathing was a lullaby she so desperately memorised, so once he is gone—by the time she is to return home—once the spell is broken and she is back to her own world, her own reality, she can sing herself to sleep. With his face in mind. With the image of his dark brown locks slowly fading into an ashen hue, locks that covered and framed his face that slept so serenely next to her. As if she wasn’t a stranger to this house.

Just so she wouldn’t have to rely on anyone, ever again. Not ever.

But Seiya underestimated the romance that 19th century Paris brought, and along with it came the renaissance man.

He was especially good with his hands, she noticed. And she found comfort in them. They were warm and larger than her own, and they easily found hers whenever she was unsure where to go, what to do, what to say. Her fingers found safety and solace between his gloved ones, and slowly, very slowly, she caught herself able to touch him freely. Leonardo touched her often, too. And Seiya did not mind, no.

It was new, at least to her. It was different. It was a treasure she was adamant to keep around her. A soothing companion, a calming presence, a safe haven, all these things meant Leonardo in her heart’s dictionary. But something inside her doubted this dream. Doubted the comfort of his touch and if she was the one who was deserving of it. She felt, at times, like a fraud.

Odly enough, they could communicate well, though she felt confused and uncomfortable whenever he would grumble, maybe even curse in Italian. But after a while, she grew accustomed to his quirks, even picked up a few Italian swear words. It made the count frown, but it made Leonardo smile the biggest smile she ever saw him smile. Leonardo, at least to her, was like the sun.

A radiant and roaring presence, even if he tried his best to lay low, even often slouched when he walked, but no one could deny the presence that was Leonardo. Seiya liked that about him. Her life, for the longest time, felt like a dark room with just her in it. And she— at least to herself— believed she liked being in the dark. She was able to convince herself, throughout the years that it was cool, and calming, and no one could touch her there. It’s safe there. No one could hurt her. No one could leave her. No one could disrupt this oasis she’s built for herself, albeit the lack of light. Everything she needed, she could buy, she could get her hands on. Except for a warm, inviting and soothing source of light.

Comte, to her, looked and felt like the sun, too. Far away, unreachable and untouchable. The brightest treasure to everything it supports, everything it touches. A gem on the horizons that pull her to her feet in the morning, and one that gently whispers goodbye as it hides itself back.

But Leonardo was a different kind of sun. Leonardo was the sun you could embrace. The sun on midday, that dries the white sheets hanging behind the mansion. The crisp scent of cleanliness and warmth all tangled together inside the consumable, describable word of fabric.

The sun that keeps your heart warm. Like the stained glass colourless sun that would seep between the leaves of the trees as you walk along the forest. Like the warmth you feel while you’re immersed in a novel, laying by the grass without a care in the world.

The sun that kissed your cheeks pink, planting loving marks on the bridge of your nose and your shoulders.That sun is now slowly bringing that warm light inside her dark room.

There was no way for Seiya to stop the light. She tried to, half-heartedly. Something inside her wanted that light, wanted that warmth. But she already made up her mind and her heart, not to yearn and not to ask for things she cannot have. In this case, in Leonardo’s case, something shifted within Seiya’s world. And it all came together with the lingering scent of velvet cigarillos, the faint smell of leather, and wood, and something metallic but sweet when it hits the tongue. Something dark, and something light, all at the same time. Everything that made up the renaissance man and more— indescribably luscious and sensuous even to someone who has their guard actively up.

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Sebastian would notice how their new resident would ask if she could bring Comte’s meals up to his study. And, when given the chance, if she could be the one to welcome him home. Sebastian noticed the smile on her face whenever she was tasked to take Comte’s coat. Or, when he finds her with some free time in the afternoon, the blush on her cheeks when he would invite her to share some sweets over a fresh pot of tea.

Sebastian thought it was adorable of Seiya to follow the count around whenever she had the chance. And, Sebas being himself, would reward Seiya for finishing her chores with more tasks - picking up things Comte asked for. Getting his favourite macarons and picking new tea leaves so she and Sebastian could blend a new flavour for the next day.

When she could, she would bring back flowers for his room and his study. Yellow chrysanthemums, sometimes white. They reminded her of home, but also reminded her of him. And she would make sure there were always fresh flowers whenever Comte was around. It was for him, though she would not say anything in words, Sebastian knew she was putting them up for the count.

And he would notice this red leather book wrapped in black lace whenever she was working in the kitchen or carrying the residents’ meals. It would be next to her by the counter, or at the bottom of her trolley whenever she lunged it around the mansion.

Sebastian too, had his own secret notebook where he writes his observations, the quirks he’s learned from the residents and research. But something about Seiya’s book intrigued him. But he would always brush it off, telling himself that a lady is entitled to her own privacy.

Seiya didn’t say much around the other residents, except for Isaac and Vincent, but to Sebastian’s dismay, he was stuck with all her questions.

Sometimes, she would just throw them at him like a curveball. With a straight face, whilst they polish the silverwares or refill the blanc bottles.

“Why do they have to eat so much food?”

“If I sliced a finger off, would it grow back?”

“Why do they sleep? Aren’t they supposed to be nocturnal?”

“Can they smell us like how other animals can?”

Sebastian then learned that Seiya was simply curious and to her, she was entitled to answers if her means of travel home was inoperable, prolonging her stay in the mansion.

She didn’t seem too displeased with that fact. And now, it had been more than a month since she travelled through the door.

“Can they,” Seiya paused for a moment, a new question at the ready. Sebastian’s skillful hands kept with the polishing of the silverware. It was quiet as they both slowly settled the objects down. “Can they feel pleasure, like how humans do?”

Her eyes stayed on the shine of the fork she’s been polishing. And Sebastian’s eyes focused on her hands as he waited for a follow up question. She’s heard Arthur mention this before. How a vampire’s bite can be nothing like any kind of pleasure humans can fathom. But she wanted to know, truly, if a kiss, an embrace, or just being against someone’s back gave the same kind of satisfaction and pleasure as it would give a normal human.

“Vampires are not so different from us, Seiya-san.” Sebastian’s hands continued the work as he cleared his throat. Continuing his sentence made Seiya’s curious eyes look up at him, her pale hair, now tied into a loose bun behind her, gave him a better view of the expression on her face.

A childlike curiosity blinked several times before he could finish his sentence. And the colour of the sky slowly widening before him as he assured Seiya that yes, vampires do feel pleasure like humans do. Not entirely the same, but it’s there.

Seiya wore a meek and triumphant smile as she continued with her work. Sebastian was happy to teach, and help her, any way he could though they are from different timelines from the future, they grew incredibly closer. They spoke Japanese to each other, and when Dazai fancied joining in on their traditional tea ceremonies.

She felt at home around them. Somehow, they accepted her, jaded and broken as she was, she was welcomed by the most unusual crowd. But she liked that. How they were all patched together, irregularities and quirks and all. Somehow, it all works out, and everyone lives in harmony and comfort.

She saw it first hand, the warmth within the mansion, albeit the frequent tension. Everyone, somehow, accepted one another. Perhaps being brought back to life by Comte proved to be a necessary common ground. Perhaps, he was the one who kept the household together.

Seiya didn’t understand it, until she started attending society balls and parties as Le Comte’s companion.

The brilliance and radiance that is Le Comte de Saint-Germain is not limited to the walls of the mansion. Everyone wanted to meet him. Everyone wanted a moment of his time. Everyone wanted to shake his hand. The women so desperately asked and waited for a chance to dance with him.

She remembers it well, that night. When the light of the lamps burned somewhat brighter for them, Leonardo asked about the meaning behind her name. Seiya never saw anyone so excited whilst she wrote these characters that make up her name.

As she settled her pen and showed him the characters, his gold eyes slowly shifted from the characters she’s written down, to her face.

Her lips.

She wasn’t able to notice the shift in weight, but his hand, somehow, ended up on her neck. She could feel herself trembling.

Him, a creature of the night, with his hand on her sweet spot—the place where vampires sunk their teeth in movies she’s watched over and over again. Her eyes found herself in his as they closed the gap between them. Something about the way he pressed his weight down her neck and shoulders that tempted her to surrender her heart, even though she was in fact warned through a dream, an apparition, not to.

“Leonardo,” her lips barely forming his name as a whisper, a prayer, a wish perhaps. She wanted to know why he was so eager to tend to her needs and why he would reach out to her, at random times during the day or mid conversation. Why his eyes felt so heavy whenever they settled on her. And why, he was holding her like this right now.

Why now, Leonardo? She thought.

All thoughts and questions seemed to disappear when their lips met. The taste of him, entirely new and yet somewhat expectedly familiar to her. Cigarillos, and somehow, sweet like apples. Lips so light on hers, she even questioned if they were really there. But, after a moment, his hesitation dissolved into a deeper, hotter, heady kiss. His mouth was rough, and yet smooth as his lips glide with hers. Tongue licking her lips down, and then down her chin and then back up, back to her lips and finding its way entwined with hers. She felt hunger from him, and she felt a chill down her spine.

But Leonardo pulled away, panting. His eyes hesitated to look at her after leaving her in that state. Lips so desperately kissed and flushed. Cheeks red as his favourite apples and eyes misted with unanswered questions.

He managed to mutter an apology, but Leonardo was surprised when he felt Seiya tug his collar and soon, her lips were once again crashing with his, only this time, she was able to show him that there was no need for hesitation. Not from him, not from her, ever.

And so it began. This peculiar thing they did. A comforting ritual, perhaps. They would retreat in her room, sometimes his. And more often than not, the library. Seiya could imagine the scowl on Mozart’s face whenever they knocked a pile of books as they kissed. Or whenever they’d forget to fold the blankets they brought with them whenever they felt like reading by the fire. But in a sense, she felt happiness in his arms. A shriveled sort of happiness that came with the comfort and security that was Leonardo da Vinci himself. His hands always behind the small of her back, guiding her through; hands and arms pulling her close to him whenever he felt like, not that she mind, no.

There was solace and tranquility in his voice whenever he spoke to her and reassured her he was around. She never had anyone in her life that guarded her like a prized jewel. Not anyone who made sure she knew they were around. Not anyone, unfortunately, to treat her the way Leonardo treated her.

And everyone noticed.

The special treatment wasn’t intended to be kept a secret. Somehow, Leonardo now can’t be found half-dead or asleep like a log someplace where people could step on him. Oddly enough, to Mozart’s satisfaction, and in the very rare occasion he would peek through Leonardo’s room, he found not chaos but a semi-organised mess. He would be where Seiya was. And he would be watching her, attending to her, making sure she was safe, comfortable and smiling.

They were quiet. A quiet couple who barely said words to each other. But what couldn’t be said with words, they made up for with their hands and lips and sighs. Vincent would often be the last person she would be hanging around with before Leonardo finally picked her up for the evening.

“I thought you liked Leonardo,” Vincent’s voice was hesitant, as he sat down with her by the bench near the gate of the mansion. It was dark and dusk already gnawed the day away, the glow of the moon reflecting on her pale hair. Vincent almost always found a way towards her. Their eyes seemed like signals to one another, the same crystal-clear kind of blue. The bluest of spring blue sky.

He didn’t like seeing her like this, tears rolling down her cheeks.

He truly believed that Seiya was fond of Leonardo. Until of course, they would have these episodes. He would walk in, and he would take her notebook away. And they would argue. It happened twice already, and until now, Vincent is unsure if he should be used to these antics already.

He was most certain that Leonardo only wanted what’s best for Seiya. At least when they are together, that’s how it looked like. To him, to any of the residents. To Sebastian, to Comte.

Seiya took a deep breath, after a moment of silence as Vincent asked her the question. Her hands willingly opening the book that had been thrown, and picked and wrapped in black lace.

“I do love Leonardo,” her voice was hoarse and her lips trembled as she slowly spoke those words. It was as if they were only revealing themselves to her now, with him. The priced treasure that was the contents of her dear leather-bound book and her confession caught Vincent off guard. His hands gently picking up the book as she handed it to him. Her head lowered, pale hair falling down the side of her face like a shimmering sheer curtain against the backdrop of the night sky and moon.

Vincent’s eyes focusing on the pages, his hands tracing over illustrations, sketches and sketches and sketches of him. Vincent took a deep breath, and Seiya waited for him to take in everything. He could’ve sworn he heard her whisper an apology in between sobs.

Vincent did not say anything, but he sat closer to her and listened as she cried the last bit of tears she could that night. Vincent understood now, why. And he felt his heart full at the thought of Seiya, drawing away her feelings for this man.

The way her cheeks lifted every time she finished a drawing. The blush on her cheeks as she tucks a small piece of folded paper in one of those makeshift paper pockets. His heart ached for her, and all he could offer was his hand. Seiya squeezed his hand, and he understood, somehow, it was her thank you. The most unusual person he ever met, even more unusual than Gaugin, and all those eclectic peculiar artists.

His friend loved this man. And he could really only hope for the best.

-To be continued-

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen leonardo #ikemen comte #Onibeni Seiya

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sincerelybluevase · 4 years

Text

Careful, Madam Chapter Three

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Mrs Danvers helped me out of the tub and began to towel me dry. “Your husband,” she said as she rubbed the towel between my toes, “shall go down to the wreck and see if he can be of assistance. I must make myself useful, too.”

I put a hand on her shoulder. “But why?”

She looked up at me. “Because Mr de Winter might bring the crew here. They’ll need to be fed. Perhaps they need to sleep here, too. Some might require medical assistance. There’s no saying with a wreck.”

“Oh.”

That strange, tender woman I had made love to had retreated once more, and now she was brusque, business-like, efficient. The woman dressed in silk stockings and scarlet slips I might have asked about her scars; the Manderley housekeeper I could not.

She misconstrued my unease, for she straightened, rested her palm against my cheek, and said, “You needn’t worry, Madam. It won’t touch you, I promise. I’ll give orders for the library to be readied for you. Unless you wish to sleep a little?”

I shook my head. “No. The library will do. Thank you, Mrs Danvers.”

“Shall you be able to dress yourself, Madam? Only I must see to the servants.”

I mustn’t show her I was hurt. I turned my face away from her and nursed that throbbing spot of nausea inside of me so I need not feel the disappointment, the yearning, the desire. “Of course. I won’t keep you.”

She went with silent step, already lost to me. Or so I thought; on the threshold she turned and rushed back to me. She did not falter, did not doubt, but clasped my face between her lean hands and kissed me. “Fear not,” she whispered, and I did not know what she wished me not to fear, and I did not care.

When she was gone I dressed myself and brushed my wet hair. Mrs Danvers had whisked away my dirty clothes. Would she, I wondered, mend that tear in the heel of my stocking for me?

Frith was in the hall downstairs. “Good morning, Madam,” he said. Did he think it unrespectable of me to walk around with wet hair? I realised that I did not mind if he did.

“Did you hear the rockets?” I asked.

“Indeed, Madam. Robert and I were just talking about it, wondering where exactly she has run aground. The fog does strange things to sound.”

“Yes. Yes it does, Frith.”

“A good thing we had none of that last night, or we shouldn’t have been able to see the fireworks. A good thing, too, that she did not run ashore then, or we should never have heard her call of distress.”

“Mr de Winter…?”

“Has gone to see if he can be of help, Madam.”

I was so tired I saw black spots dancing in front of my vision. I put a hand out to steady myself. Frith took hold of my elbow. “Steady, Madam. Are you not well?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed.

He guided me to a chair. I sank down heavily and sat with my head lowered until the clusters of darkness faded. I half expected Frith to bring me smelling salts, but he did no such thing, simply standing at my side, ready to run to my every command.

“I’m better now,” I said after a while.

“It’s the excitement,” he said.

“It’s the heat, this beastly heat. Why won’t it rain?”

“Shall I get you a glass of brandy, Madam?”

I shook my head. “No. No, Frith, I’m quite all right now.” I pushed a wet lock of hair behind my ear. “I shall be in the library. Please tell Mr de Winter to come find me there once he’s home.”

He nodded. “Madam.”

The library was cool, pleasantly so. I sat down on the sofa, feeling tired and drawn. The fancy dress ball seemed to have taken place a long time ago, but not even a full day had passed. I still had to apologise to Maxim. Strange; it was no longer such a pressing need. Perhaps I was simply too tired to think.

Despite everything, I must’ve slept then. When I woke, the mist had gone. The sky was bruised, still that filthy yellow colour that heralded a storm. The library had grown hot. I opened the windows, put my hands on the sill and leaned out. The air was oppressive, thick. There could be no tea on the lawn that afternoon, no raspberries and cream under the chestnut. I smelled the cloying scent of roses mixed with the bitter salt of the sea, strong enough to make my stomach spasm. My senses had heightened at Manderley; before, I had not such an acute sense of smell, nor such a sensitivity to scent. When I withdrew from the window, my palms left damp prints on the sill.

I thought to ring for tea, but then the door opened and Maxim came in.

His mouth was drawn, his face haggard. His skin had taken on a strange greyish hue I had only ever seen in the very sick or dying. We locked eyes. For a moment we simply stood and stared, taking the other in. Then he rubbed his face in that unselfconscious way that men have, roughly and all knuckle. The spell broken, I found I could move.

“Maxim,” I said.

“It’s over,” he said.

“What’s over, darling? How grey and tired you look. Come, you must sit.” I went to him and touched his arm, but he would not be guided. He went to the open window instead, picking up the ashtray on his way, and lit a cigarette. He smoked it quickly, eagerly, and with it some colour came back into his face so that it was no longer a waxen mask. I went to stand with him, unsure of whether to touch him, whether my affection would be welcome.

“You must forgive me,” I said.

“Forgive you?” he asked, staring at the cigarette held between his beautiful fingers. “What must I forgive you for?”

“My choice of dress. I swear I didn’t know Rebecca wore the same thing last year. If I had, I’d never have chosen it. It was a mix-up, a rotten, damnable mix-up.”

He crushed the cigarette in the ashtray. “I was very angry with you, wasn’t I?”

“Dreadfully so.”

He smiled. “Funny. It’s not important anymore.”

I didn’t know what to do with him. He seemed a stranger to me. “Maxim, darling, what has happened? Why are you acting like this, so strange, so funny? Was it terrible, the wreck? Is that it? Please, you must talk to me.”

“They found Rebecca’s boat,” he said. “The ship from Hamburg came too close to the shore and hit it full on. It’s wrecked, the ship is, though none of the crew were harmed. They couldn’t have known, of course; she was underwater.”

A twisting deep inside of me. “But how? I thought she was lost at sea, not near the shore.”

“Yes. That’s what everyone thought, that Rebecca took the boat out sailing in a storm and perished. Only now they’ve found her boat, and worse, they’ve found a body, and now all shall come in the open.”

Despite the heat, my hand and feet were numb and cold. “A body? I don’t understand. She went sailing with another? Oh, Maxim, how dreadful, how…”

He opened his mouth and began to laugh. It was a horrible sound, all rough and hollow. It petered out into a hoarse chuckle, only to start up again, louder and more forceful than before. On and on it went. I thought I should go mad, listening to that deranged laughter.

“Maxim, don’t,” I begged, and tried to put my hands over his mouth. “Darling, please don’t laugh, you shouldn’t laugh…”

He grabbed my wrists and pulled my hands away. He looked at me. His eyes were bloodshot, the irises rimmed with white, like those of a wild animal. I thought of him then as he had been on that mountaintop in Monte Carlo, when I had thought him to be not quite sane and had feared he might push me over the precipice. He looked like that now, even more so.

“You’re scaring me,” I whispered.

“You don’t understand, now do you? Of course you don’t. You live in your own little head, and no one is allowed in there, not even me, your own husband. Rebecca’s boat was not lost at sea, and she wasn’t sailing with another. I killed her. I killed Rebecca.”

And he told me.

He told me how their marriage had been a farce from the start, how she had made a deal with him to bring Manderley to glory if allowed her freedom, how her infidelities had tormented him. He told me how he had gone to the boathouse that night to scare her and her lover with the gun, and how he had found her alone. With his deep, calm voice he told me how she had confessed her pregnancy, and how he had shot her and then disposed of her.

I listened, feeling more numb all the while. It was as if I was dreaming. Soon, I’d wake up, and none of this madness would’ve happened. These things didn’t happen to me. You read about them in newspapers sometimes, but they never happened to one personally, not even to people one knew.

“But now it is all over,” Maxim went on, “They’ve found her, and they’ll know. She’s only bones, but there are things there to identify her, her rings… If only I had never identified that poor, unnamed woman as my wife…”

“It was a mistake,” I said automatically. “You must say it was a mistake. Corpses that have been in the water for so long, they’re unrecognisable, aren’t they? And you were mad with grief.”

He frowned, and then he laughed again. “Mad with grief? Did you think I loved her? I’ve never cared for her. I hated her. She was a vicious little bitch. She wasn’t even normal, rutting with men and women alike. But you, my little love, my darling…”

If he ever finds out about Mrs Danvers and me, I thought, and it was a clear thought, thin and swift, he’ll break my neck.

He began to kiss me, hungry little kisses, nipping at my lips. I stood like a dummy in his arms. I felt his mouth on mine, his breath, his arms tight around my body like winding sheets, yet the sensations were curiously dulled.

He’s doing it to someone else, I thought. Then, I wished he was doing it to someone else.

He noticed my stiffness and thrust me away from him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s too late,” he said, “I’ve left it too late. You don’t care for me now.” He began to pace, muttering under his breath.

“Maxim,” I whispered.

He looked at me, and now he truly was a stranger. My feelings returned, the strongest of them fear. “Why did you not tell me sooner?” I whispered.

“Do you think it’s an easy thing to admit, that my wife slept around like a cheap slut? Do you not understand how ashamed I was, and still am?”

I forced myself to go to him. I put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.” I kissed him with a dry mouth, wishing that I felt nothing. He tasted of smoke, of hunger. He put his arms around me and fell to kissing me again. His hands roamed over my body, squeezing and grasping, all done roughly.

“God,” he moaned, “how I want you. I must have you, my girl.” He moved me to the windowsill.

“Maxim, no!” I gasped. “Not here, the servants…”

“Servants be damned!” he growled. “I must have you, I simply must.”

I felt so weak I could hardly stand. I stumbled, leaned heavily against him, my wet fingers clutching at his shirt. Those dark spots were back. I trembled. I could hardly keep my head up, it was so heavy. “I’m not well. Please, I’m not well,” I said, and started to cry.

He clasped my face with both hands and made me look at him. What he read in my face must have convinced him, for he helped me to the sofa. I curled up, feeling faint and weak and sick. I couldn’t stop shaking.

“This must have come as a shock to you. I understand,” he said. He rang for a servant, then poured himself a drink. He came to sit with me, the sofa dimpling under his weight. His hand was hot as he stroked my face. Not even a day ago I would have welcomed this sudden sign of intimacy, this little bit of affection, but I was not the girl of yesterday anymore. I was so much older now I might as well have lived another ten years. His hot, demanding hand revolted me now, yet I had to convince him somehow that this sudden illness was not his doing, or else he might suspect, he might know how I feared him.

“I’ve been feeling poorly for weeks now,” I murmured. “I just feel so nauseous all the time, and I can’t eat…” My teeth were chattering. I pressed my hand against my jaw to make them stop.

His hand stopped petting me. “Nauseous? For weeks?”

I nodded; I couldn’t speak.

The door opened with a soft snick. I could not see who it was, and I did not care; as long as there was someone with us, he would not harm me.

“Ah, there you are,” Maxim said. “Mrs de Winter is feeling unwell. Help her to her room, will you? She must rest. I’ll call the doctor.”

“Sir.”

Gooseflesh erupted over my body. It was Mrs Danvers.

“I’m not that ill,” I whispered.

He leaned over me, kissed me with his wet mouth tasting of drink. “I don’t think you are, my little darling. Far from it.” His face, so gaunt and hollow and cruel half an hour before, had come alive now. It seemed to burn with a desperate, triumphant happiness that I didn’t understand.

“What are you talking about?”

He rocked in his heels, rubbed his mouth again in that harsh way peculiar to men. “What an innocent you are.” He looked over his shoulder. “Bring her to her room. Take care she doesn’t stumble on the stairs; we must be very careful with her, now. Women in her condition are fragile.”

Mrs Danvers felt my forehead with her cool, sweet hand. “Can you stand?”

I nodded; I could not look at her. She might read the truth of Maxim’s crimes in my eyes, and then we would both be lost.

She helped me up, an arm around my waist. My head felt heavy again, as if it was a flower and my neck a ravaged stalk. The blood returned to my head. I felt it thump, heard the stutter of my heart. I clutched at her hand; like mine, it was cold.

Up the stairs we went, slowly, carefully. I sensed a humming energy to Mrs Danvers, a desire for movement, for speech, that she smothered down. She must’ve heard about Rebecca’s boat, I thought, panic and pity mingling.

How could I tell her what I knew?

How couldn’t I?

Once in my room, she helped me sit down on the edge of the bed, undid my shoes for me. How many people, I wondered, had seen the top of her head? I touched it now, her thick hair wound up and tucked away, held into place with pins.

“You mustn’t make a fuss over me. I’m truly not ill. What happened this morning was a moment of passing weakness. I don’t know why Maxim insists on a doctor seeing me. There’s no need.”

She took my hand and rubbed it against her cheek. “Oh, Madam,” she said, moving her face against my fingers, my knuckles and palm, cat-like. “Oh, Madam.”

When she looked up at me, her face was soft with emotion, her eyes liquid with it.

“What?” I asked, “What is it?”

“Madam, I think you might be with child.”

It began to rain.

#my fic #rebecca fanfic #rebecca #daphne du maurier #danvich

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fortune-fool02 · 4 years

Text

Their Happily Ever After

Imp Gyro Zeppeli x Princess female reader

Fairy Tale AU

This was inspired after watching Shrek 2 I need a Hero scene. This is kinda long. Please enjoy.

Hooves slammed against the ground rapidly, almost shaking the area around it as the horse galloped down the street; the steed’s rider encouraging the horse to gallop faster, his heart drumming against his chest, ready to burst from his rib cage.

But that meant little to Gyro, all that matter to him was getting to his wife, [Name], before she was stolen away from him forever. The mere thought of her with that bastard made his blood boil with rage. It was a trick right from the very beginning, since the second they got to this damn kingdom they were walking right into their trap and they were completely oblivious to it. By plucking at his heart strings, Fairy Godfather Valentine had been able to twist Gyro’s beliefs to how he wanted it.

And now Gyro was at risk of loosing the love of his life to that slippery bastard, Prince Diego Brando.

***

His emerald green eyes were wet with tears at the scene before him, his hands pounding against the window in a vain hope that [Name] would hear him and turn to see that the man next to her was not him but someone else entirely. But, even though he and Diego looked absolutely nothing alike, she was unaware of what Gyro had done. The affects of the potion he had taken had affect both himself and her, transforming them into the “perfect” fairy tale lovers but with her oblivious to it, she was just lost.

“[Name]!” Gyro shouted, hitting the window again but it was to no avail. She couldn’t hear him.

“[Name]!” Valentine also shouted, attempting to sound like he was trying but it was clear he knew they could not be heard. Just how he had planned. The blonde fairy turned to the heart-broken male, a sympathetic mask carved into his face like stone. “I don’t think she can hear us, lad.”

A blade struck through Gyro’s chest at those words, knowing them to be true. “Look, I know this must be painful for you but this is what’s for the best. For [Name].” Gyro tore his gaze away from the scene and looked at Valentine, the hope in his eyes dying before the man like a flame dying, reducing to nothing but glowing embers and crumbling away.

“But, look at me,” he motioned to himself. His appearance almost unrecognisable from the potion. Who was once an Italian creature of myth was now a human male, even he didn’t recognise himself when he first awoke as this. How could he expect [Name] to know? “Look at what I’ve done for her.”

Valentine gave a small head shake, that fake smile on his lips still, “It’s time you stopped living in a fairy tale, Gyro.” he said, “[Name]’s a princess and you’re an imp. That’s something no amount of magic will ever change.” Despite what Gyro wanted to believe, Valentine’s words were true. He turned back to the window, the gnawing feeling of defeat sinking into his muscles, weighing him down like a boulder had been dropped on him. Diego’s arms wrapped around [Name], pulling her into an embrace.

“But, I love her.” he muttered. Valentine’s hand fell upon his shoulder,

“If you truly do love her, you’ll let her go.”

And Gyro did. He left the castle without a word, storming past Johnny and making his way…. somewhere. Somewhere to forget the pain. As agonising as it was, everyone was right. Imps and princess don’t live happily ever after. Princesses got their prices and Imps… they were left to be Imps; thieving, mischievous creatures that often terrorised princesses. If this was what Gyro had to do in order for [Name] to be happy then he was willing to bare the pain.

Well, that would have been what happened if Gyro didn’t notice [Name]’s father ask for Valentine’s location in the back of the pub; where Diego was also waiting. Apparently, [Name] was suspicious about her “husband” and was almost trying to distant herself from Diego. This led to this little meeting. Gyro was willing to let [Name] be happy but when Valentine handed [Name]’s father a small vial, telling him that whoever drinks it will fall in love with the fist person they kissed, he knew he couldn’t stand by and let them do this to [Name].

Upon discovery of their unwanted eavesdroppers, Valentine had the guards go after them, shouting an raving about them being terrorists and traitors to the country.

And now, with time against them, Gyro and Johnny had to do everything they could to stop that kiss at the ball tonight. Or Gyro would lose [Name] for good.

***

[Name] watched from her window as her “husband” made his way down the red-carpet, smiling and posing for the cameras like some form of celebrity. Gyro never did that before. Gyro never did anything that this man was doing. Her [Eye colour] eyes fell down to the ring on her finger, remembering the day that Gyro had proposed to her, asking her to be his princess.

The imp who had asked her to marry him was not the man on that carpet. But… Fairy Godfather Valentine did say that the potion did change some things unintentionally but he had assured her that it was indeed Gyro.

[Name] knew her husband. She didn’t know that man.

A knock at the door caught her attention, her father peering in with a tray in his hands. “Ah, there you are. I thought you’d like a nice cup of tea before the dance.” he said, setting the tray down where two cups sat on. Sighing softly, she looked back outside.

“Father, I know my husband. I know he’s an Imp but I love him.” she said, motioning to “Gyro”, “And that’s not my husband.” Her father gave her a reassuring smile though it was somewhat forced, unsure of what to do.

“W-Well, maybe you’ll like this new Gyro?” [Name] gave a low sigh again, looking down at the ring on her finger with a lost look in her [Eye colour] eyes.

“But it was the old one that I fell in love with.” she spoke softly, a sense of longing in her voice as she wanted nothing more than to have her Gyro back. “I’d give anything to have him back.”

Though she didn’t see it, her father gave her an apologetic look. The guilt of his actions seeping into his bones. What has he done?

***

Valkyrie galloped through the castle gates, Slow Dancer by her side, as both riders carved their path through. Hot Pants and Mountain Tim also aiding them in their quest to rescue the princess from the jaws of the dinosaur. With the sudden crowd of guards appearing behind them, both Hot Pants and Mountain Tim stopped their horses and turned to face the crowd.

“H.P, Mountain Tim!” Gyro shouted upon noticing their friends’ stop. Hot Pants threw a glance over her shoulder.

“Go, your wife needs you!” They were going to hold of the guards and by Gyro time to get to [Name]? He smiled at them, nodding his head and continuing down the hall, hearing the battle begin. Don’t worry [Name], Gyro thought, I’m on my way.

***

Twirling her around and pulling her back into his chest, Diego smirked at the [Hair colour] woman in his arms. Everything was going to plan, by the end of tonight, [Name] was going to be his. He took her hand and spun her around, casting aside the rose in his lips and pulling her in close, inhaling her scent slightly. He could smell Gyro’s scent on her, that’s something he would have to fix later.

As the song began to reach its end, Diego dipped [Name] down, their lips hovering close together. Just one kiss and she was his. Slowly, his lips lowered down to hers. Just as their lips were about to connect, the doors slammed open followed by someone shouting. All eyes turned to the voice and Diego felt his eyes widen at the sight of Gyro and Johnny approaching him.

“Oi, jackass!” Gyro shouted, jumping off his horse and storming over to him. His eyes burning with a flame he has never seen in him before. “Get the Hell away from my wife!”

Confusion painted [Name]’s face at this, taking a step away from Diego and throwing glances between the two males. Before she could step too far away from Diego, Valentine suddenly called out.

“She’s taken the potion! Kiss her now!” Gyro’s eyes widened at that, his hand outstretched to throw his Steel Ball when Diego grabbed [Name]’s wrist and pulled her close, forcing his lips upon her.

“No!” He was too late. It was done. He had lost [Name].

Diego pulled away from her, his lips lifted into a soft smirk as she looked at him with such a sweet, adoring expression. The kind one would have when in love. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, throwing a glance at Gyro who had fallen to his knees at this. Diego had won.

Slowly, [Name]’s hands rose up to Diego’s face, gently cupping his cheeks before she suddenly shot her head forward, smacking him with enough force to knock him down for a few moments, throwing everyone off guard.

She turned and rushed over to Gyro, throwing her arms around him and holding him close. “Gyro, what’s happen-?” [Name] was cut off by Gyro pushing her aside just as Diego lunged at him, pinning him to the floor. Fangs bared and claws pushing through his gloves.

“You just couldn’t leave everything alone, could you?” the blonde snarled, digging his claws in deeper. Gyro narrowed his emerald green eyes at him,

“If you think I’d let you put your filthy lips against my wife’s then you’re a fuckin’ idiot!” He brought his foot up and slammed it in Diego’s stomach, forcing the man off of him and jumping to his feet.

His Steel Balls in his hands, ready for any attack as he looked over at Valentine who glared dagger at him. Anger radiated from the Fairy Godfather as he shot up into the air, charging at Gyro. Once he was close enough, he was shot down by Johnny, his form thrown off balance and colliding into the tables, his wand falling from his hand. At the clink of the wand, both Gyro and Diego looked at the magical weapon, locked eyes and charged for it.

Gyro had been able to knock it from Diego’s hands, throwing it somewhere away from them and hoping that someone caught it. Diego’s clawed hands grasped Gyro’s throat, pinning him down and wrapping his tail around the man, restraining him as Valentine approached. Wand in hand.

“This could have ended much easier, Gyro, if you just did as we told you.” the blonde man hissed, the wand twirling in his hand as he stood in front of the hatted man.

“Valentine!” All eyes turned to the voice and Valentine’s eyes widened. [Name] stood, hands shaking slightly, as she tightly grasped a wand. His wand. He looked at the one in his hand to see it was a dinner knife, an illusion. Discarding the useless item, he turned to the [Hair colour] woman.

“[Name], go! Get away from him!” Gyro shouted only to have Diego tighten his grip further, almost chocking the man. [Name] didn’t move. She stood there, eyes locked with Valentine’s.

“[Name], don’t do anything stupid.” he said, holding his hand out, “Give me the wand.” She shook her head, taking a step away from him. An annoyed sigh slipped his lips. “You know I am doing this for you. I’m trying to give you your happily ever after.”

There was a moment of silence as [Name] glared at him, her grip not faltering as she held the wand. “I already had my happily ever after, Valentine. You tried to take that from me.”

Before Valentine could react, a bolt of magic shot from the wand and struck him; the magic flowing through his body and destroying his cells, crumbling them away into nothing but ash. [Name] blinked, dropping the wand and falling to her knees, the weight of the situation crashing against her. Gyro felt Diego’s grip loosen, using that moment to escape the dinosaur’s grasp and run to his wife’s side, pulling her into an embrace.

“Gyro, please tell me that’s really you.” He smiled, lifting her head so she was looking at him,

“It’s me, baby. I promise.” That voice. That tone. That look in his eyes. That smile. It was all him. This was her husband. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, pulling him close in fear of losing him again. “I thought I lost you then.” he whispered, savouring the feeling of her in his arms.

“I love you, Gyro.” she said, burying her face into his chest.

“I love you too, [Name].”

#gyro #gyro zeppeli #jojo bizarre adventure #gyro x reader #gyro zeppeli x reader #jojo bizzare adventure x reader #jojo #jojo x reader #steel ball run x reader #steel ball run #gyro steel ball run #au #fairy tale au #female reader #reader insert

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cloudwriteblr · 4 years

Text

~ * ~ * ~ jess’ wip masterlist ~ * ~ * ~

This is just a masterpost for all my wips and it’ll be under the cut just not to annoy people/flood their dash. Also everything is subject to change because i’m impulsive and love making my life more difficult.

Let me know if you want tagged to anything

[Duology] [Writing] [Spy/Thriller/Action] [Worldwide, mainly European Countries] [MC: Andy]

World peace is precariously balanced on a knife’s edge. One wrong move could have disastrous consequences. An untold number of deaths would closely follow. Those who know about the delicate world state notice a highly distressing trend: a series of deaths and kidnappings of important people and those closest around them.

The group, The Collective, are carrying out these missions and they were highly trained and unrecognisable. These missions wouldn’t be linked together if it wasn’t for their signature, a black business card left in the bloodbath.

A team is quickly put together with one goal; find and eliminate The Collective, no matter the cost. By whatever means necessary. The only problem. The one chosen to lead. They were no better than them. A burnt spy, an ex-assassin and an ex member of The Collective, they alone were said to be responsible for a high number of violent killings.

But in order to keep the delicate peace, sometimes pardoning the enemy of thy enemy is a necessary evil…

Bloodshed, chaos and death await.

[Standalone] [Writing] [Mystery/New Adult] [Beckton Bay] [MC: Callie]

Calista ‘Callie’ Fletcher was forced to return home to the small sleepy town of Beckton Bay, she didn’t know what to expect. Reconnect with the few remaining friends from school, get her old job back at one of the only restaurant bars in the town, maybe have a string of not serious flings with the non-locals who passed through the Bay. That was the height of it. Her plans derailed the moment, he walked through the door. He wasn’t meant to be there. They both left Beckton Bay at the same time, together, they never meant to return. It was only fitting that they returned mere weeks after each other. But the same force that dragged Callie back, also dragged him back. It was up to them to figure out what mysterious force was at play here in Beckton Bay and why it was killing so many people from the class of 2013.

[Standalone] [Outlining] [Supernatural/Detective] [Belfast, Northern Ireland] [MC: Charlie]

Tragedy followed Charlotte MacGuire around, it had been her constant shadow and companion since the night of her parent’s murder when she was a young teenager. The only reason Charlie managed to survive was because she wasn’t there. The police, who eventually began her colleagues, told her the murder was a result of a home invasion gone wrong, but Charlie knew better, it wasn’t the truth. The MacGuire family was targeted for the simple reason of them being werewolves.

The perpetrator or perpetrators were never caught.

Fourteen years later, she was targeted for the same reason, she barely survived the attack and had been forced to take four months off the job. Her attack was the first in a series of attacks against the small supernatural community that called Belfast their home. It was up to Charlie to stop these attacks once and for all.

[Series] [Writing, slowly] [New Adult, Romance] [Sunrise Cove] [MC: Victoria]

When Victoria Walker was given the opportunity to help the up and coming legal aid centre that her law firm financially backed. She jumps at the chance as this opportunity shouldn’t happen to her, especially not after having a stress educed breakdown in front of one of the firm’s highest paying clients.

Most would have seen this as a punishment, watching over and help mentor a bunch of arrogant and rude recent law school grads who think they knew everything about law. But not Victoria, she saw it as anything but a punishment. She wanted to give back to the small town that helped raise her.

The Walkers sisters were only meant to move to this quiet seaside town for nine months – a year at most. But everything changes when Victoria meets Casey Markov, the closed off but kind hearted man who managed one of the local restaurants.

[Duology] [Outlining] [Supernatural/War] [London, England] [MC: Ripley]

Ripley Balfour was a survivor through and through. The night her family was murdered, she survived that. Ripley didn’t want the life she’d been forced to live.

She was one of the few witches who managed to live on the fringes of society. She managed to survive because avoided the rest of the supernatural community. She was lucky to live like this as she was never registered, despite the law. Her existence was illegal.

The constant whispers of a brewing supernatural revolt started to look like a possibility. They were looking for a leader and that was Ripley, all she had to do was survive once more.

[Standalone] [Outlining] [New Adult] [Dublin, Ireland] [MC: Bethany]

After a failed long term relationship, Bethany Morgan returned back to Dublin. It wasn’t a place she considered home anymore, she left the Irish capital six years ago for University in London. Her parent’s house didn’t feel like home anymore, all Bethany ever wanted was to feel at home again. Reuniting with childhood friends didn’t helped much. Starting new hobbies distracted her. But nothing helped.

Bethany Morgan was so lost.

[Standalone] [Re-Outlining] [Supernatural/War] [90′s, Northern Ireland] [MC: Mattie]

As the events of 90′s rage on in Northern Ireland, another underground war wages on between the covert supernatural population. The allegiances of mainstream Northern Ireland didn’t necessarily translate here. No trusts anyone, not even their neighbours. Everyone was more than willing to sell you out at a moments notice.

[Series] [Re-Outlining] [Supernatural/War] [MC: Alex]

Following the death of Maria Rundolfa just over six months ago, Scarlett, Maria’s youngest daughter, assumed that she’d take over what had remained of the former legendary Pack and try to restore them to their former glory. But when Alex, who vanished over ten years ago without so much as a goodbye, stumbles in through the door all bloodied and stinking of booze, while yelling intelligible notions about the prophecy. Scarlett is forced to step aside as the prophecy states that it’s the oldest living daughter who will be their saviour. Alex finally understands that for as long as she’s still breathing, she has to do anything in her power to save her secret.

A secret that she’d give up everything to protect, even her humanity.

[Standalone] [Vague idea with vague characters] [New Adult/Adventure] [London, England] [MC: Odie]

To call the Rowley family rich was a drastic understatement. They came from century’s old money, they would never have to worry about anything. Just an occasional investment was more than enough to keep them afloat for at least the next few decades.

Odette, better known as Odie to her fellow socialite friends, never had to work for anything. Whatever she wanted she was handed on a silver platter. That was the Rowley way. The latest trends? Odie set them. Expensive and all in exclusive holidays in the top hotels, she took them many times a year.

So when a series of death threats were made against Odie, everyone took them incredibly seriously. Arthur, the head of the Rowley family, even hired her a private bodyguard to watch and protect Odie at every turn. This wasn’t something Odie wanted at all, someone judging her for the life she didn’t ask to be born into. That was until Odie met her bodyguard and she took her breath away.

[Short Story] [Drafting] [Horror] [Third Person] [Co. Armagh, Northern Ireland]

If you enter these woods after dark, don’t expect to come back at all. Alive or dead. If you do find yourself trying to spend the night, for the love of God, just stay inside your tent. No matter what. Just ignore the sounds of the woods. Just stay inside. Ignore everything. The screams of your friends who thought they would be brave and venture off.

Despite the constant warnings that surrounded the woods, people, mainly teenagers who wished to prove how brave they were, still ventured into them. Trying to stay the night. But these warnings were there for a reason. Anything can happen, but what happened to the waves of campers was never known. The prevailing thought was that these woods were the hunting grounds of a local killer. Some thought it was the disgruntled ageing farmer. An uncommon theory was that the woods held some sort of supernatural power. Maybe even a portal to Hell. No one knew the truth.

After dark there were no survivors.

#writeblr #wip intro #wip masterlist #mine #[i don't want to admit how long this took to make]#[spoiler: too long]#[but now i can actually start using my blog now that it's set up correctly and properly]

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 5 years

Text

Kira (15)

CHAPTER 15: NFWMB

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: Will contain fluff, smut, bloodshed, violence, anxiety, tears and the cries of my wilted soul.

Chapter content: It’s the end. ....or is it?

Warnings: that’s it. That...is it.

Word count: There are very few times when once I have a story in mind I have found the perfect soundtrack to go with it. I didn’t think I could have ever found any lyrics close to what I wanted to protray in this chapter but damn! Hozier outdid himself!!

And I need to eat more vegetables somebody help me

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

Fenrir's chin rests on the edge of the bed on the footboard, still as a ghost in a silent moonless night. His eyes do not stir. His breaths are steady. His hind legs have settled with the decision of taking in the long shift while his front paws support the self-proclaimed weight on his shoulders of looking after your well-being as your comatose figure lies in your room over his favourite bed, surrounded by wires and pipes and beeping mechanic monsters this wolf does not understand, neither does he like them very much- because twice has his sharp ears caught your heart flutter and then both times heard those machine monsters beep at him like senseless maniacs till the strange men in white clothing have touched you (without your or his permission) to get the hysterical sounds to calm down but not stop.

It's better this way. He did not like having to worry about you from outside your room, looking in through the glass, trying to gnaw his way inside when he wasn't able to figure out if you are all right or not. He likes sitting by your feet, keeping an eye on your steady breaths, growling at unfamiliar footsteps- loud enough to make anyone from the help that isn't Ygritte stop and think if they should go against his wishes but not too loud to disturb you. He knows what he is doing. He has done it before. He will do it again if he has to.

He knows Loki sits right behind him on the teal coloured sofa, his face resting on his hands, his eyes frozen just like his wolf's, his body still like his son's. Both Heimdall and Ygritte cannot help but stare in invisible spectrums of wonderment at the father-son duo not leaving the side of the one thing they have attached themselves to in a matter of days, sitting there, watching every single breath you take, praying to- some entity that they believe would hear them- make you better, as soon as possible. Till then, they will do whatever is in their power to make you better. And often even our most seems nothing when someone we love more than ourselves suffers and we cannot take their pain even if we want to.

Ygritte brings in breakfast for Loki and Fenrir, requesting them both to have something. She smiles at them, kindly asking to have at least enough for their bodies to have the energy to sit there by your side. It's just some juice and milk that Loki and Fenrir agree to; that too only because they can feel their mental exhaustion depleting their will to sit there with eyes open. The liquid going inside them does the trick to bring that fleeting will back by its neck, satiating the worry in Ygritte' heart.

She herself carries bags under her eyes. Those sleep-deprived eyes have cried alone in the kitchen when she saw Heimdall bringing in your bloodied figure. The sight of you- the most prominent splash of innocence she has seen after a very long time- half-dead and unrecognisable under all that blood and open wounds, your arm dangling lifelessly whilst the Watcher carried you to your room (as doctors and nurses followed the procedures they were supposed to in such situations) almost made her heart break into two, violently. The image of your clothes ripped, your nails broken and your face bruised heavily just does not leave her mind till she finally breaks down in the one place she finds comfort.

She had made sure the sniffles were silent; that only hot tears flowed freely and lightened up her grieving heart. She had been really cautious and yet Loki found her- when he'd been forced out by the doctors in charge. She'd tried her best to compose herself but those forsaken tears just would not stop, making Loki slowly soothe her till he was hugging her to comfort her shaking form. "She'll be fine," he’d whispered, more for himself than for her, letting his words become an affirmation in the heavy air around them. "She'll be fine."

She'll be fine.

The silence surrounding your room is unlawfully eerie, like the shadowy emptiness that rises like heavy smoke during a funeral. And neither of the people present in the room want to feel anything close to a funeral.

The vibration of Loki's phone breaks the horrid silence, that grim expression on his face turning into a splash of surprise before he picks up the call and presses the device to his ear.

"Robert?"

The name brings around the attention of all the ears present in the room save for yourself. Heimdall, Ygritte and Zair- your assistant who had been taking care of everything for you at the office front- shift their weight on hearing Robert's name.

"Is she okay?"

Loki nearly feels his heart being squeezed by a concoction of emotions for this man, taking him back to the day when he first found him. Or rather, he found Loki. This son of a bitch is not going to die that soon.

"She's...out of danger. The doctor said she has two broken ribs, a broken arm, internal bleeding and concussion. No signs of...no signs of any sexual assault. Ahem..."

"Loki..."

Loki closes his eyes at that familiar tone. Robert knows. He knows. But he cannot think about it. Right now there is no place for rational thought inside him.

"The doctor here says I cannot move from the bed for about another day."

"...Robert."

"So, I won't be able to hold my promise to you right now."

"Remember that time when we had to take our men over to Vanaheim in the summer to prepare for Odin's arrival to bless the wedding of Thor's cousin?"

Heimdall looks over at Loki from where he sits. His eyes dart to some invisible void behind Loki for a few seconds till the strain in his brows is relieved. "During the time his grace was supposed to present the infamous sword to the couple as a wedding gift?"

Loki barely stops himself from rolling his eyes but the feeling isn't lost on Heimdall. "My error," the Watcher confesses, "your sword."

"Thank you," Loki stresses with just a hint of sarcasm.

"You swapped the sword for a stuffed adder, clearly giving the bride and groom something to reminisce about for the rest of their lives."

Loki presses his lips, trying to suppress the smile that is rising up at the crystal clear memory. "I never liked Fruth. But I never realised my plan would have exposed his ill intentions with a devastating flight response."

Heimdall chuckles lightly. "Yeah. Even though I was supposed to be standing by your father's side I was impressed by your out of the box strategies. And your will to smash his face when he spoke ill of your mother."

Loki smiles, his eyes turning to look at you, the bruise on the side of your face hurting his chest every time he sees it. "Would have been nice to know that when I needed to hear it," he mutters, bringing his eyes back to Heimdall before looking down at the ground.

Heimdall does not know how to respond to that. He wants to speak well for him but no words come out for his heart too knows where it lay all those times. All the times Loki's mischief had been a cause for trouble both inside and outside the home, Heimdall was by Thor's side, mute at the words that got harsher with time for his sibling. Even when his unusual ways had brought success in times of trouble against the crown, there had been no sentences of appreciation. Just a look of abrogation at any method Loki used.

"You made me give you my word at the end of that day."

Loki's words bring Heimdall out of the sour memories. "You made me promise to never use my strength against another person. Even though they spoke poison about the people I used to care about."

Heimdall's brows are trying to adjust to this old promise being taken out of the dusty chest of forgotten memories and placed in front of him to analyse. He can feel a foreign emotion emanating from Loki where he sits in that teal sofa, still as a rock.

"I remember vividly," Heimdall responds, waiting to see where Loki was taking him on this ride.

"I want you to take back your word, Heimdall."

There is a tilt in the gravity present in the room once the words have been spoken. Fenrir shifts where he sits, turning to look around at Loki. Heimdall too is watching him intently. Both of them can feel something really dark exuding from inside the man, burning and crackling inside those green eyes laden with a sinful weight. Something ominous brews inside him, fuelling a boundless rage, so intense that Fenrir feels a need to shuffle where he sits, not looking at his father in the eye. Heimdall too feels the need to question this darkness but is made to stop short when those green eyes land their dark gaze upon him.

"I need you to take them back."

A farm rests on the outskirts of the city with a mansion mostly made of glass sitting in the middle of the land that has recently been made barren after the clearing of harvest from the fields all around. The path leading from the road to the gigantic house is lined up with black SUVs in a perfect caterpillar-like way to have them in and out in one smooth trail. Armed men dressed in black camo stand guard at the entrance of the gate, down the path to the door and inside the hall. The hall that welcomes its visitors has a skylight to let uninterrupted October sun warm up the white walls and white furniture all around. By the end of the hall where a spotless glass wall stands between the house and the little rocky hill it stands upon, Billy stands to look at the horizon of the city that is fogged up by its own relentless will to make money at the cost of everything else. He feels proud at the fact that the all-white suit he wears reflects more sun than that tallest building- which belongs to Sun Corp- he can see.

"So much for an empire to watch it crumble within seconds."

The smile on his lips just doesn't feel like fading away any time soon.

"You lookin' at this?" He gestures the guard standing closest to him, "those tallest buildings over there? They belong to the business that runs this country. Soon I will be running that place. And then this country."

He cannot help but chuckle at the thought of it.

Sun Corp. Anvil Corp.

If only that son of a bitch who mocked me could see me now, he thinks to himself. Loki never had a chance. The ones with humans as their weakness never do.

A shuffle at the main door perks his ears, denting his jovial mood a bit. There seems to be some petty commotion outside that has had the audacity to reach him all the way.

"What is going on?" He asks the guard standing next to him.

"I don't know, sir."

Billy looks at him with the will to smack his face into this very glass in front of him.

"Then go out there and look you cunt!"

The guard scuttles away scared, leaving Billy to contemplate how many more idiots like him did he have in his company.

A few seconds pass by whilst Billy revels in the concrete beauty in front of him before he feels a sudden change in the air, raising the hairs on his back with a subtle chill.

He turns around to watch Loki standing ten feet apart near a sofa, watching Billy with an unreadable gaze.

Billy cannot bring to admit to himself that he feels tiny specks of jolts go down his spine on watching Loki standing here after all of this. But then again, for what he's done to the man, it is all the more reason for him to be here looking for answers perhaps.

"Loki," Billy announces, his hands in his pant pockets still, his figure stoic as ever, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

The smirk growing on Loki's face sends such dangerously mixed signals. What is going on in this man's mind? Billy is internally frustrated within seconds of not being able to read him.

"It should be me asking you that, Mr Russo," Loki answers, running the hand that doesn't rest in his pocket over the expensive white fabric of that sofa that reflects the sun from a particular angle. "To what do I owe the pleasure of having you in my city?"

"Your city!" Billy cocks a brow at him before taking a step down the one stair and coming to the nearest sofa. "How awfully cheeky of you! I'm here on business."

"Oh," Loki's raised brows show genuine surprise before coming and sitting down on the sofa he has been observing, "I thought that was concluded last night."

Billy licks his lips at the surprising turn of events, a broad smile erupting at the thought of never having anyone be this blatantly forward with him. "Oh no, that was just the...uh...what do you call it...the linchpin needed to start with the overtake. Wasn't easy, I must admit."

Loki lets the luxurious armrest and back give him some relief, much against Billy's wishes. "What wasn't easy? Finding out that not everyone is moved by your charms?"

"Wasn't easy to hold down Kira. She is one hell of a biter."

Billy cannot help himself. He wants to see where this goes. He is loving every single moment of this. "Gave me quite the bruises, that little whore."

Loki sits there, not giving away anything to Billy, which entices the latter to reach further. "You should've seen how quickly she got wet on my fingers, Loki. Before either of us could tell, she was crying ou-"

"Five minutes."

Billy tilts his head and narrows his eyes. "Sorry?"

"Five minutes," Loki repeats, "I'll give you five and no more to leave the city, get on your jet and outside this continent. That is what I am offering you to walk away from all of this right now. One time offer. You won't be getting it again."

Laughter breaks out of Billy to echo through the naked walls around him. "Right. And what happens if I don't? Do I get dragged to hell? Does someone shoot me from outside the window? Or do you take me by my collar and try to threaten the shit outta me?"

Not a single nerve in Loki budges- not even when he looks down at his wristwatch- and the laughter dies down just as it came.

Billy feels an itch on his neck. "Will you kill me, Loki?"

Loki's smaragdines rise to face his dark ones. "I will hurt you enough that you'd wish you were dead, William. I promise you that."

The softness in his voice carries a soothing touch that hides the threat as an aftertaste, leaving undesirable convulsions in Billy's stomach, forcing him to stand and tower over Loki.

"What makes you think you can touch me and walk away, Odinson? I run a fucking army for business."

"And where is that army now?"

Billy feels the confusion hit his head for a split second before he notices not a single soul around them. The silence both inside and around the house is deafening, to say the least.

"You may run an army, Billy," Loki mentions as soothingly as the threat he just gave, getting up and removing his suit jacket, "but you clearly do not know what the army longs for the most apart from a little bit of money."

Billy is still trying to figure out where everyone went.

"Home and dignity," Loki continues, smoothing out the creases on his jacket before planting it on the headrest of the sofa. "Speaking of which, I have to say your mother is a darling."

Something inside Billy cracks and he whips his head towards Loki, the rage that was initially hidden now a full-blown volcano in his eyes.

"I'd suggest you stop right there-"

"Oh shush, little William," Loki cuts him short, removing his watch and throwing it on the sofa, "your five minutes are over."

The tie is loosened next and thrown next to the watch.

"It's time for you to pay for making the mistake of thinking you'd get away with this. Even your mother is looking forward to this, I can assure you."

Billy hisses, his eyes throwing daggers at Loki before his fingers are curling into a fist to find that jaw and smash it into pieces. "You son of a-"

The fist stops midway right where Loki's hand wants it to, bringing a halt to that blind rage for enough moment to make Billy realise the strength he never thought Loki could possibly have.

"You had your chance," Loki whispers close to his face, "you missed it."

Heimdall knows Loki has had something to do with the silence in this location but he still cannot make out the how what and when of the situation; something that keeps bugging him even when his car stops in the driveway right at the footsteps of the doorway into the house.

Take care of him.

That's the last thing he has said and then let silence reign over him all the way to The Hidden Gram. His arms hurt but the turn is made without so much as a squeak as the car comes to a halt at the door in the driveway. This time, instead of Fenrir, Loki sees Robert with an arm in a sling and a worried smile standing by the doorway.

The crunch under his shoes brings Heimdall's attention to the fact that he has actually walked in through a broken window that has been shattered to such an extent that the glass pieces have gone all the way to the back. Every step he takes away from the entrance towards the house, some invisible and some glittering pieces crunch under his shoes making him curse out loud till he starts seeing them creating a trail on the white floor with smears of red.

Loki turns off the engine and gets out of a vehicle with a limp. Robert cannot help but raise his brows in light surprise at the blood and bruises that mark Loki's clothes and any exposed body part, while Loki cannot help but be amused to watch that man in a white shirt and khaki trousers, nothing like the man he is used to seeing.

"You were supposed to be in the hospital," Loki states with a hint of betrayal and disgust, trying to keep the pain as much hidden as possible.

"You were supposed to wait for me," Robert spews back.

"Wait for you to attack that scum with your sling?"

"Shut up. You look like a battered mess."

"I'm better than your puny ass," Loki nearly spits the words before rolling his eyes and deciding to walk inside only to smile when Robert cannot see him.

Robert does the same.

The blood trail goes all the way to the other hall next to this one, with it a scene of pure chaos on the way- sofas turned upside down, wall hanging lying broken on the floor, vases smashed, their remnants being puddles with flowers and scattered pieces, lamps thrown across the room, wooden and paper partitions smashed to the point of no return. The trail goes till the three steps at the end of this hall where Heimdall can a figure writhing in pain trying to crawl up the steps.

The pain in his leg comes back every time he puts pressure on it. But Loki ignores it, having more important things on his mind than one fractured bone. In the back of his mind, he knows there is more than one, but that can be dealt with later.

Ygritte watches Loki limp his way to his room, letting a little gasp escape her lips on seeing the drops of blood he leaves behind, running away to get medical supplies and call the doctor, all before she gets her mop out to bring the floors back to their original beauty.

Heimdall is careful when he starts walking towards the figure, who can clearly hear the footsteps behind him to stop the agonising efforts of crawling up the steps and turn around to face the Watcher.

It should not be a shock to Heimdall to see this sight after all that went down but he admits he never thought Frigga's raven-haired boy had it in him to sabotage the face of his enemy beyond recognition. He cannot even recognise the man lying in front of him, blood being the only distinct feature over that face. Heimdall nearly starts feeling guilty for having thought Loki might not make it out alive.

"Just kill me already."

A tired sigh leaves Heimdall and he comes down to sit beside Billy's figure, still seemingly towering over him. "I'm not here to kill you, Billy Russo. I'm here to take care of you."

The blood is washed thoroughly by the hot water and the strain in aching muscles is relieved. Loki is careful with the cut on his lips but that doesn't stop him from desensitising all the wounds before drying himself and taking out a white cotton shirt and white trousers lying in the back of his closet. After much hisses and groans, while putting the clothes on, he is satisfied with the outcome in the mirror in front of him. With a lungful of breath, he walks out.

"You have no idea what's coming for him. For all of you."

"For someone broken and near death you sure talk a lot."

"I'm gonna kill him for this."

Heimdall cannot help but rub his palms on his face.

"You have no idea, do you?"

Billy is far from being sane in this hell that Loki has left him in to know what Heimdall is referring to.

"The man who did this to you was not known for his physical prowess, Russo. He was more of a black sheep of the family. I don't know what happened in all those years he had disappeared but something clearly changed in him. I'm guessing you had the same thought too when you went after the one thing he had started to care about after a really long time. The only thing you didn't expect was him tearing you down while destroying your own empire at the same time."

Billy's eyes go wide, not knowing what to think through the humming ache. Heimdall bends down a little towards him, making him jolt a little.

"Anvil Corp is in pieces, William Russo. Your assets have been liquidated and your name no longer carries the dignity it once did. All because you wanted power. All of this...because you chose the worst path you could. You just opened a can of worms that none of us was ready for, Billy. And now the world knows that Loki is not someone to be messed with."

Billy can feel the rage poisoning his blood, increasing the pain tenfold.

Heimdall gets up and smoothens his jacket, looking down at the excuse of a man with no ounce of sympathy.

"And neither is Kira."

One hand resting on the door frame of the room, Loki has to take deep breaths before he can prepare himself to enter your room again. And still, the sight of you creates ripples in his chest that send the ache thumping wherever he feels hurt.

Fenrir watches Loki stand by the door, taking your visage in. That wolf has not budged from where Loki left him, neither has he touched any morsel left in his bowl.

The side of your bed on which you lay now has a recliner placed next to it, making Loki switch his gaze from the recliner to you and then back before limping his way to it, settling down in it while stifling his groans and crack of bones.

Once settled, he takes an easy breath and closes his eyes, letting his ears find the rhythm of your breaths under that respiratory mask. It takes him a while but he finds the cadence and soon enough is syncing himself to you.

A few moments more pass and Fenrir can see both you and Loki in a slumber-like trance. The wolf, which had been using your bed as his chin rest, suddenly raises his head when he sees Loki's hand move. The pale fingers- bruised red and green- travel over the bedsheet to find your hand, grazing those long fingers against yours before finding the strength in themselves to go around the wrist and find your palm to be embraced by his.

Fenrir smells the change in Loki's scent the moment he does this, like a dark stench giving way to something light and sweet.

He lays there for a few moments like this. His heart at peace. His mind at peace. He knows you are there next to him. He can feel you in his hand. That's it. That's all he wants right now. You. safe. That's all he wishes.

And he doesn't realise the gravity of the universe that is you when he feels your fingers curling back into his and pulling him closer to you till his eyes are getting blurry and washing away the fear of losing you.

...

End of Volume One

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thefieryeclipse · 5 years

Text

Prologue

Steam. Hissing loudly, billowing in clouds, consuming the vast, dim space.

Heat ravaged the place. It crept through the air, soaking up all oxygen. Rusted pipes lined every wall, every surface, casting an amber glow around the whistling, straining structure as it crumbled at the edges. A faint alarm wailed uselessly in the distance: a warning. A call to escape before it was too late. But it had been singing for a while now, and the chance to escape was long past.

Metal walkways and platforms criss-crossed through the chamber, climbing high up the vast height of the tower. The air only became thinner up here, so hot that it physically hurt to breathe, and machinery and pipes squealed in pain as they disintegrated and broke down around four figures shrouded in the midst of it all.

“I'm only going to say this once, Peter: move.”

“No.” The young man declared, defiantly holding his ground even as his voice threatened to waver. He glared down the barrel of the gun and straight through those horn-rimmed glasses, sustaining eye contact with the middle-aged man behind them. “No.”

Noah Bennet's face rippled with anger before he once again recalled his standard, expressionless mask. He spoke steadily, almost calmly, but his tone was somehow loud enough to compete with the ringing apparatus straining on all sides. “He's a killer, Peter. A walking disaster. Just look around you: all this? This is his doing.”

“No!” Peter recited for a third time. “It wasn't him! I'm not gonna let you take him!” He tried his best to mirror the calm authority of the man opposite, but his heart was hammering against his ribcage and he was physically shivering under the unbearable heat of this place, roiling through his body and dewing sweat along his skin.

“P-Peter... don't! You can't heal...” A pained groan sounded behind Peter's back, and he held out a hand to shush his companion.

The Company man's glasses glinted dangerously in the rusty light. “He's going to kill people, Peter -”

“No he's not! He just -”

“He's a monster. All he knows how to do is kill. Or have you already forgotten about Nathan?”

The words ricocheted briefly before being swallowed up in the depths of the cavern. Behind him, Peter could hear more little grunts of pain and difficult, shuffling movements. He felt his hackles rise in defense of his lost brother and his wounded friend, and took the tiniest of steps towards the older man, putting himself further in the path of the bullet that was meant for another.

“Noah, listen to me, you don't understand -”

Then a mutilated hiss shot through the steam, a fourth voice. “No, you don't understand, Peter!” The sound stabbed right through the empath's gut, and he glanced again at the almost unrecognisable form of his niece. His heart broke a little more when he saw the rage twisting her features, the disdain being thrown his way, and the gun in her hand pointing directly at his chest. “How could you ever trust him? After what he did to me?!” One furious tear of betrayal glistened in her eye before rolling down her cheek. It evaporated almost instantly.

Peter lost his breath all over again. “He's changed, Claire.” He insisted for the millionth time, although he knew she wouldn't believe him. Caught between staring down both the teenager and her adoptive father at once, Peter raised both hands, a sign of sincerity. “He's not the same person who did all those things, alright? I'm telling you – he only wants to help.”

“Really? And why would he ever want to do that? What's in it for him?” Noah retorted smoothly, adjusting his grip on the handle of his weapon, his aim never faltering.

“I'm different now – I've repented -”

“Sylar.” Peter stopped his friend again, his mortal heart stuttering and currently vulnerable body tingling with nerves as Noah's finger stroked the trigger in promise.

“In all of a few months? That's more than a little hard to believe, Peter...”

“Well it's the truth.” Peter said slowly, clearly, with everything he had. “Okay, I swear. You have to trust me –”

“I did trust you!” Claire spat, slicing Peter apart with her glare. The weapon in her clutches shook uncontrollably, now. “But you chose him?! I thought you were my friend! My family!”

Unable to bite back his frustration this time, Peter rounded on his niece. “I am!” A loud metallic squeal pierced the air as yet another pipe burst nearby. Peter winced, but kept his gaze firmly on Claire. “But he's my friend too. Why do I even have to choose – we're on the same side here!”

The place was so unbearably hot, so loud, tumbling down around them like a house of cards and it was all beginning to choke Peter with mottled, claustrophobic fingers. In the midst of it all, he didn't mean to let his guard down.

He didn't mean to lose sight of his other assailant, even for just one second.

Without warning this time, Mr Bennet dodged around him and set off a series of ear-splitting, echoing shots.

“Noah!” All at once Peter leapt at him, Claire flinched and Sylar yelled, and then the air was knocked out of the empath's body. He felt himself crash to the ground, scattering broken pipes and scraps of machinery as a searing gash of pain erupted through his torso.

He cried out, an echo thrown back at him over again, and clutched at his side, forcing his vision to clear when he heard Sylar's gasp accompany three more gunshots. Peter watched in horrified silence, unable to make a coherent sound, as the man he had just failed to protect tumbled backwards over the railing and fell out of sight.

The silence rang out like ripples in the steam. Then Peter felt a body hitting the level far below, the impact reverberating through the grate beneath his fingers.

“Dad?! You – you just...! And Peter!”

“I did what I had to, Claire Bear. Both of these men are extremely dangerous and this place is about to blow! We don't have much time...” Peter heard the heated exchange between father and daughter. Then the pounding of two pairs of feet – one determined, one being ushered along behind – as they hurried down the stairs to reach his fallen comrade.

And then he was left crumpled on the ground. Wounded. Hurting. Alone.

White-hot pain continued to rip at him with every ragged breath, his vision beginning to blur around the edges, and he knew he was vulnerable and open and unable to protect himself in this state. But he also knew that he wasn't the endangered target. Clutching at the mesh grate below him with sticky hands, gasping for air that burned down his throat, Peter Petrelli heaved himself over to the edge of the platform with all the waning strength he possessed. He grit his teeth to hold back any betraying cries, and didn’t even hesitate before sliding his broken body through the gap at the bottom of the railing, free-falling the long distance below.

Hot clouds of gas and steam whirled past as he fell, the ground came racing up to meet him, and Peter only just managed to catch himself with flight at the very last second, hovering so close above burning metal that the heat caressed his face. He clumsily eased his landing beside Sylar, scrambling to check the status of his friend. Blood flowed from multiple bullet holes on the man's chest, thick and dark, his eyes closed as if in sleep and his limbs sprawled out loosely around him - an ungraceful display that Sylar would despise to be caught in if he knew. Fingers bloodied and trembling, Peter reached for the other man’s neck, rewarded by the faint pulse of life stirring just below the skin. Unconscious, but still breathing. Barely.

Familiar footsteps rang out again nearby. Then two rippling shadows bled through the fog, weapons drawn. “Peter! Don't do it! I'm warning you – I will kill you!”

Desperate, suffocating and fighting for much more than just his own life, Peter pressed a hand to Sylar's leaking chest, tugged on the first power that rushed up to meet him, and used it without thinking.

Fire.

___________________________________________________

Here’s the prologue for my post-series Heroes WIP “Tongues of Fire” which I’m posting here on tumblr for @alexprompts WIPWeekly event.

Feel free to go check out the story on Ao3, or to get in touch about anything regarding the fic or the writing process, I’m always happy to chat ^.^

(Heroes, the characters and storyworld don’t belong to me (thanks Tim Kring and NBC) but the writing is all mine.)

#alexprompts #alexpromptsWIPweekly #fanfiction #writeblr #primatech #nbcheroes #petlar #peter petrelli #sylar #claire bennet #noah bennet #tongues of fire #excerpt #prologue #whump #angst #danger

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rukafais · 5 years

Text

Antumbra

There was time, distance, darkness - and, always, without fail, you.

[ao3 mirror]

At first, they think they are dead.

It’s hard not to; in the bottom of the only world they’ve ever known, lost and alone, they stumble through the broken shells of their siblings. The shades hum endlessly, a buzzing chorus of voices felt more than heard, going all the way down to their core. Terrified, mourning, fearful, furious, the cries fill their skull with noise until it aches and overflows, like water into a bowl far too small for it. Their vision trembles and smears with the force of it.

(They wonder if this is how some of them died, the fate that met those blank, broken masks clack-clack-clack rolling harsh and unrelenting beneath their feet. The clamour of the dead so loud, so painful, that they tore themselves apart to escape it, or were torn apart without being given a choice, crack-crack-kssh.)

Far above, unseen creatures scratch patiently. They clamber slowly across ledges, their movement click-click-click-scratch-click-scratch-click becoming just another sound that echoes in the dark.

They stumble on, until ancient stone impedes their progress at last. A rough edge, a curving wall. From somewhere far above they hear the sound of the wind as it whistles and breathes through old passageways, high and breathless (sad and lonely).

They don’t know where to go from here. They don’t know how long they stand there before they see something that sheds light in the dark; not the light of their creator who abandoned them, or the light that shrieks and screams and hates them, but something else.

Their vision is blurry and their head swims, but they can make out the distinctive shape of pointed horns, a grey cloak. A silhouette that glows in darkness, but only around the edges.

(Sibling. They looked back, before they fell, before the door was shut. Did they come back?)

It beckons to them, or they think it does.

This way.

They trip and fall in their haste, too many times to count. The horns scrape and scratch against their shell as they stumble desperately over a graveyard of masks, trying to reach something - someone - they’re not even sure is real.

Their vision blurs, and the light is gone. They find a crack in the wall big enough for them, where it was.

(Maybe it was never there at all.)

They cast a last look around, desperate, but there is nothing.

Faced with only one choice for survival, they climb.

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

The place they emerge into is just as dark, but far more cramped. They no longer hear the wind, the empty air, or the voices of their dead siblings; their head hurts, instead, with the thunder of far larger things trampling down tunnels, digging, digging, digging. Pushing aside rubble and soil like it’s nothing.

Chittering, squeaking, crying, clicking. Their head buzzes with new, strange sounds. They don’t know whether to run from them, or to face them with little more than whatever they can find, dug from the tunnels’ debris.

‘Whatever they can find’ is handfuls of rocks and dirt. Good for distractions, and not much else.

A flutter of a cloak, the glimpse of a white mask in the darkness, distracts them. They follow.

Through winding tunnels, step by step, frantically trying to keep up, they follow desperately. They slide and struggle, their footing unsteady, their pace slow.

The ground cracks, gives way under them, and they fall before they can leap to safety. Again, their vision blurs, their head rings with the impact of tumbling down.

The silhouette drifts into their view, hard to focus on with their unsteady vision. Unlike the one they were following, all quick glimpses of cloak and mask, never staying still for long, it waits for them.

They crawl towards it, hand outstretched. Their head hurts.

They feel tiny fingers, the same size as theirs, grip their hand and pull them up (they clutch the tunnel’s walls and climb, half-blind, still reeling)

This way.

They reach the top of the ledge and have to stop. They collapse onto solid ground.

It hurts, they say, or want to say, or think they say. Wait for me.

They raise their head, vision clear once more, and find nothing. They reach into the darkness anyway, looking for something, anything

Take it.

and touch and wrap their fingers around something cold. Heavier than they’re used to.

They struggle with it, still weak, but unwilling to relinquish their prize. It’s more important than anything else they’ve found so far. Something precious.

If they prove themselves strong enough - if they pull it free - it’s theirs. The first thing they’ve ever had in their life that could be called theirs.

They yank and kick and claw, fingers tightening, until they tumble back with the cold, heavy thing in hand.

It’s cracked, and chilly, and battered. It’s still stained from whatever it was residing in before they pulled it free.

But it’s theirs now. It fits in their hand like it was meant for them

(they were never made for anything but combat)

and they think that maybe it’s a sign.

With their cloak bunched up in their free hand, they rub the weapon clean, scrubbing clumsily. It’s theirs. They need to take care of it.

Preoccupied with their new prize, they begin to climb upward again, forgetting what it was they were chasing.

(A dissatisfied hiss comes from somewhere in the darkness.)

-----------

They lose themselves. Again and again, in winding paths, in wastes and water. But the darkness in light, always casting a shadow, is there; they trip and fall, or hide to tend to their wounds (they are a natural with the blade they wield, but they make mistakes; they are clumsy and still shaken from their escape).

When everything is uncertain, when they do not understand where to go, it watches over them. Maybe it’s because they are hurt, or disoriented, that they see it. They think, often, that it’s a product of their own thoughts, their own mind.

But it’s right. It leads them the right way, towards safety or progress, a clearer path. It always does.

Sibling?

There is no answer.

-----------

The wind howls, scraping the edges of the kingdom clean. It feels like it’s scraping them clean, too; the darkness of the place they were born, the fear of what they’ve seen, their hurried flight from danger to danger, is beginning to fade.

They stare out into the wild; for the first time, they want something other than survival. They could stay in this little world, this kingdom, but it seems too small, too cramped. A cage that doesn’t want them, that wanted to kill them; they aren’t welcome here.

They’ve always been curious, so they look back

Are you watching me?

Are you there? Are you real?

and with their vision clear, the wind rising, the silhouette they’d come to look for is there in the shadow they cast behind.

It’s a slight, subtle difference; if it wasn’t for the shape of the horns, they would be identical. It’s easy to miss.

But they are sharper now than they were, and they don’t miss it.

They face forward. They step beyond the kingdom’s bounds, and don’t look back. The wind scours all trace of their passing; no stone or sand records their footsteps.

(For a brief moment, their shadow is tall, unrecognisable. The horns are strikingly different; their shoulders are heavy--)

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

The Hollow Knight stands at the window, watching water pouring endlessly down the glass. For a moment, they look out into a world they will never see with their own eyes; a hazy, dusty wilderness and a tiny figure disappearing into the unknown.

There’s a hint of yearning, a pull in their chest; they want to follow, to protect. Sibling.

Someone calls for them.

They turn away, obedient.

The vision (the feeling) is buried deep.

#hollow knight #togetherslapping words #the knight (hollow knight)#thk

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kkang-zi · 5 years

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sire and fledging | louie & kang

Louie’s life as a fledgling vampire without a sire had been somewhat of a blur for a large portion of his life. For a long time he had lost everything that had made him human. Bloodlust had warped every aspect of his personality and he had been unrecognisable to the kind and fair King he had once been. This was something he did not want to befall the man that had once been bonded to him, who had managed to capture Louie’s heart in a way that no one had in hundreds of years.

When the bargaining with Kang’s life had come to an end, the Strigoi had moved the unconscious body of his bonded away from Gotrik, and cradled his lifeless body into his chest. Louie took him to a place where he knew that he would be safe, far away from the castle and to the outskirts of France. Louie’s home was situated just apart from the small principality of Monaco, an area of land only accessible by boat, that would lead you to expanses of greenery and a white mansion hidden amongst a thick forest of trees that encircled the property. Dirt tracks led the way from the small boat, a horse track leading the rest of the way through the forest to his home. The small amount of staff that Louie had (mostly to keep his home safe and clean while he was away) had been given some paid time away to visit their families. Louie knew from personal experience it was better not to allow any species at all around a new, bloodthirsty vampire.

He lay Kang onto the large bed in the master bedroom and cleaned around his mouth where blood had bubbled over and expelled during the change. Throughout the entire trip Louie had not allowed himself to think too greatly. But as he made his way out into the grounds of his home, he couldn’t help but to do just that. He had transformed Kang into a race of species that he knew the man despised to his core. A species that had enslaved and tortured him for so long. If that were not enough to cause a feeling of great hatred towards Louie, then the Strigoi was sure that the break in their blood-bond would spur it onwards. It was almost devastating to have it gone. There were no memories flooding through Louie’s mind, no flickers of emotions as Kang went through his day, no sense of desperate need to be close or to feed. Louie was unsure how either of them would feel when Kang awoke, all he knew was that right now he felt and overwhelming need to protect and a closeness that not even their bond had been able to create.

He stood at the borders of the land that encircled his home and raised his hands. Whispering words beneath his breath as a silvery film began to coat the entire space like a dome, shimmering in the light as the protective enchantments were set before disappearing entirely. It would prevent anyone from entering or leaving the property for at least the next few days. After that Louie returned to Kang’s bedside, feeling something churn in the pit of his stomach as he sat in the chair at his lovers bedside. It was unsettling, to know that Kang might wake up not loving him at all, he could despise him, or be a completely different person to the one Louie had known for the past two hundred years and come to love. The vampire exhaled a breath, lifting Kang’s limp hand and pressing his lips against his fingers as he just... waited.

Kang thought he had known what true pain was like when his body had been wracked by the magic in the parcel he received in Gotrik's suite. What he had not known was that there would be something far worse, and that was when he was brought so close to death, only to be brought back by Louie's blood flowing through his veins. The pain of the vampire blood fighting the black magic inside his body was something he had never felt before. It was like every cell in his body had been fighting to survive, only to be taken over by something else entirely. He screamed until his voice was hoarse, wanting to reach out to Louie through the bond to tell him to stop, but the strigoi's comforting presence was not there anymore. In its place there was fear and rage as the vampire blood took over. It was not until the pain became too much to bear that the kirin collapsed, unconscious, in Louie’s arms.

It felt like an age before he woke again and he blinked his eyes open to an unfamiliar feeling that did not look like any room in Krovs Castle. When Kang properly came to, he felt thirsty, like he was parched and he not had any water for days. Everything around him felt new as well. His eyes were seeing things differently, his ears were hearing things he would not usually have paid attention to — like the skittering of a mouse’s paws across the floor. His senses felt different and he felt colder than normal, but not uncomfortably so.

His fingers flexed in someone’s hold and he turned his head, only to see Louie sitting next to him and he smiled, reaching out automatically through their bond to say ��hello’. But there was nothing there.

“L-Louie?” he called out instead, his voice was raspy as he pushed himself to sit up and images of what happened a few days ago flickered through his mind. The parcel he intercepted, Louie and Gotrik fighting above him, a lot of pain and red. Lots of it. His body felt strange. Like it was his own, but stronger, and he lifted his other hand to his neck to find that Gotrik’s collar was no longer there. “Where are we? Can I have some water?” he asked, turning his face to look at the strigoi as he wondered why Louie looked so distressed.

Louie lifted his head when he felt Kang’s fingers move beneath his lips. He was smiling and that alone caused a sharp twist of pain inside of the Strigoi’s chest as he watched him try to process everything around him, It was going to suddenly all becoming so real, everything that he had done over the past 24 hours was going to manifest itself and Louie swallowed around the dry, hard lump in his throat. There was nothing inside of his mind now. He couldn’t hear Kang’s voice or register what he was feeling and even for Louie, he felt alone. What had replaced it, however, was something far more powerful lingering beneath the surface.

“I’m here.” He helped to guide Kang into a sitting position, moving from the chair to his bedside. Louie didn’t know what to say. How was he going to tell him? “Kang,” Louie’s voice was tight with emotion and his hands came up to touch his cheeks, looking into the dark orbs. He knew this would likely be the last time Kang allowed him to touch him for a while. “You can’t have any water, I’m sorry.” Louie told him, his thumbs brushing his cheekbones before they fell to hold his shoulders instead. If Louie looked as distraught as he felt, Kang would likely be very confused. “We’re in Monaco. I had to bring you somewhere I knew you would be safe...” Louie paused. He knew in that moment that if his feelings for Kang had been influenced purely by their bond and their bond alone, he wouldn’t have been feeling so much pain now. He wouldn’t have felt anything for him if it had all be influenced. “Do you remember anything?” He asked him and his hand found Kang’s again, the one that had once been entirely black in colour. “Do you remember this?”

Kang still could not fathom why Louie was looking at him the way he was, like the strigoi had done something terrible. It was strange not being able to feel Louie's emotions when they were so blatantly revealed before his eyes and Kang frowned. "Why can't I have water?" he asked, his own hands coming to press against Louie's arms to make sure that the man was real and that this was not a dream. When his skin touched Louie's, the usual coolness he expected was no longer there. Louie's skin felt strangely warm instead.

"Safe? Why?" Looking around the room, he took in the decoration. It was similar to what he had seen in Louie's memories. Turning his eyes back to Louie's, he suddenly felt a stabbing sensation in his stomach and he tensed, trying to ignore it so that he could keep talking to his bonded. "I remember the parcel. I remember feeling pain and I remember seeing you in Gotrik's room..." he recalled, looking down at the hand that had touched the object. It looked like it had turned back to normal. "Did you heal me? Thank you..." he said just as another pang hit his stomach and he doubled over. This time, it seemed all-consuming, and all Kang could feel was the hunger. His vision flashed red, just as his eyes did, and he felt his canines elongating into fangs.

"Louie... What..." he gasped, the word ending off in a growl as he tried to fathom what happened and started to remember some of the words he heard Louie exchanging with Gotrik that day. "What's happening to me?" What did you do?

Louie ignored Kang’s questions, asking why he couldn’t have water, why Louie had to keep him safe and take him away from the castle, when all he wanted to do was give him everything he wanted. Louie closed his eyes when Kang thanked him. He had no idea what he was thanking him for and Louie felt inconsolable guilt. Louie only opened them again when Kang doubled over in pain and those beautiful eyes began to cloud with red. It was happening already. The fangs were piercing his gums and he was longing for blood before Louie had even had chance to explain.

“You were dying...” Louie’s voice was racked with pain and he moved so that he could crouch down in front of Kang’s doubled over body. His hands came up to his cheeks, holding them. “I’m so sorry.” Was all Louie could breath. He knew what it was like to have this happen to you, to have it happen to you when you had said no, over and over. “You’re a vampire now.” There was a deep ache in Louie’s chest then, but he had to say it. He pulled a bucket out from beside the chair, filled to the brim with bags of blood that looked like they had been sourced from a hospital. He wouldn’t want it, but the knew vampiric side of him would tell him that was all he cared about. He couldn’t take him outside yet. “You’re still part Kirin, as far as I can tell.” He didn’t know to what extent, but the small amount of research he had been able to do said that it was still possible. “I’m... I’m so sorry, Kang... I’m so sorry.” He pleaded, tearing at one corners of one of the bags, “You have to drink now.” He told him, “all of it.”

Turned. He had been turned and Louie was the one who had done it. Kang was still trying to fight the hunger he could feel that was growing inside him, but it only served to cause his stomach to hurt even more. He was a vampire! He could still hear every word Louie was saying, could still understand what he was saying, but Kang could not speak, not when the scraping of the bucket against the floor grated on his ears and the void in his stomach was begging to be filled. His eyes flicked over to the bags of red liquid inside that bucket and his vision turned red once more.

Drink. He needed to drink. He was so thirsty. When he watched Louie tear the bag open and the sweet smell o blood filled his senses, Kang growled and lunged forward, his hands outstretched as he lunged towards the strigoi, his hands attempting to tear the bag from Louie's hands. Leaning in further, the kirin's mouth closed over the bag and he sucked, the first taste of that delicious blood hitting his tongue and he groaned. It was like he had gone feral with the way he was unable to stop himself from gulping it down. He did as he was told and finished entire bag, sucking at the blood greedily until it was empty.

"More," he growled, snatching the empty bag out of Louie's hands and tossing it aside and reached for another one. This was exactly what he needed to quench his thirst, to quell that void he felt in the pit of his stomach.

Louie remembered how he had felt the moment he had awoken. How hungry he had been. It had been so all encompassing that he had barely even grieved his old life and what he had lost, what had happened to him, or the body of his lifeless wife discarded on the floor. So he understood in that moment why Kang wasn’t responding to his words. He couldn’t think of anything but the blood presented to him and destroying anything in his path that prevented him from getting it. A creature that had once been vegetarian and so opposed to anything like this. Louie let Kang snatch the bag from his hands and drain it dry. It was even more painful than he had expected, to watch the man he had once been bonded with gulp down the blood so hungrily. It would change him even further, but he would need it to complete everything Louie had done to him.

Louie handed him another and then another from the bucket, the excess blood falling messily onto the floor, Kang, his clothes and the bed sheets. When the bucket was near empty Louie braced a hand on Kang’s shoulder, “That’s enough.” He told him, “Listen to me,” Louie took Kang’s chin firmly between his fingers and looked into the hazy red orbs, “That’s enough.” He repeated, he would give him more later, but for now it would be enough to soothe the pain and complete the transformation. Feeding from something living would come much later.

Kang gulped down bag after bag of blood, the thought the he was vegetarian, that he wanted to do no harm to living creatures was far from his mind as he threw aside each empty bag and reached for another. It felt like he could not stop drinking. Each drag of blood into his body made him feel much better and he snarled at Louie when the man dared to stop him. When those familiar fingers moved to his chin and his face was dragged up so that they could look at the other man, Kang's chest was heaving. He did not want to stop drinking.

"It's not enough," he growled, anger flashing in his eyes as he glared at the other man in a way he had never done before. "I'm hungry." He wanted to struggle against Louie's hold, but there was also something holding him back, something that was telling him that he had to listen the strigoi --- the one who had given him this new life. He blinked, his lips still curled into a snarl as he shook his head in an attempt to clear it. The haze lifted for a moment, his eyes flickering back to its usual dark colour before flashing red once more.

Louie knew that Kang would likely never forgive him. Not when he had finally struggled through all of this violent desperation and hunger to be able to look back at it with some sense of clarity.

Kang had never directed so much anger at him before, even when they had first met and he had punished him, he hadn’t retaliated against him with such ferocity. “You will feel hungry almost Indefinitely. But you will learn to control it, I will teach you. Feeding little and often will keep the hunger and the pain away. We will start with the blood bags, after that we will see where we are,” He told him. He missed those beautiful dark eyes as they only came back to him for a few mere seconds, before disappearing into red once more. “You will feed again later, when I say and only when I say.” He responded firmly, his fingers uncurling slowly from Kang’s shoulder and chin, when all he wanted to do was to hold him and speak with him how they used to, “We need to get you cleaned up. You’ve had a long few days.” Louie’s voice lowered and he exhaled as he stood, holding out his hand, “Stand up.” He said, more gentleness in his tone now, but he knew Kang would feel compelled to do exactly as Louie told him. “You will need to get used to all of your new senses, too.” Louie sounded almost sad.

He heard Louie's words, could understand what they meant, but Kang did not know why Louie wanted him to wait. He was hungry and he needed more of that delicious blood now. Licking his lips, he could still taste it around his mouth, could feel himself drenched in it, could smell it all around him. Wouldn't Louie have wanted some too? The kirin wanted to disobey, but Louie's command compelled him to stop, his chest was heaving as he glared up at his sire before he slipped his hand into the strigoi's with great reluctance. His vision was still red as he stood up from the bed, his eyes were still trained on the bags of blood, on the food that would make him feel so much better.

"Can't I have one more?" he asked in an attempt to try his luck now that Louie's voice sounded less commanding. "Just one more?" It was as if Kang's mind was focused solely on one thing at the moment. "And then we can get clean..." He turned his red eyes back to Louie, giving his sire a pleading look.

Louie pulled Kang to standing once he took his hand, though he could feel the frustration and anger as it continued to radiate from his now fledglings body and onto him. He had never known what it was like to have this bond himself. He had awoken alone and had never once In his two thousand years set eyes on the man who had created him. Kalani had been so different, he had volunteered himself into this life and while it sounded cruel, Louie hadn’t had much of connection to him before the change. With Kang, he felt so many feelings of guilt and loss all at once.

“No.” The Strigoi forced himself to respond. He wouldn’t have Kang following the same path Louie himself had taken, he wouldn’t let him become so out of control and then so overwhelmed with guilt when he found himself again. “No more.” Louie wanted to touch him and to press his forehead against the other mans, but instead he just took Kang’s hand and led him through a door to the side of his bedroom that took them through to the bathroom.

Louie set the shower water running, making sure it wasn’t too hot and that it wouldn’t hurt him with the new icy temperatures of his skin. He turned back to Kang then, unable to stop himself from holding his waist and drawing him in. “Look at me,” He said softly but firmly at the same time, “You’re going to be alright.” Louie looked down into the red orbs, “I will look after you.”

Kang was led out of the room after Louie's firm rejection of more feeding and he frowned, going silent instead as his eyes stayed on the rest of the blood before he was pulled out of the room and the bucket was out of sight. It was like he was a different person in this red-hazed state, so different to the way he usually was and almost as if Kang had allowed himself to feel more anger and act on it. Still, his sire's voice could not be ignored and he moved to stand in the middle of the unfamiliar bathroom.

He was still standing there trying to gather himself when the kirin felt Louie draw him in against him. This was familiar, this feeling of the strigoi pressed against him and Kang blinked a few more times, his red eyes flashing between red to black for longer as he looked up at Louie. "But I feel fine. I feel great," he said confidently and with a knowing smile in those red eyes, wondering why Louie was being like this. Could he not tell that this was the first time in such a long time that Kang had felt like this?

The kirin shook his head again, as if he were trying to fight something off, and when he opened his eyes, the usual black had returned. "Louie?" The change was instantaneous, like a switch had been flipped inside him and some form of the old Kang returned. "Louie..." he breathed out again. The kirin could taste blood in his mouth, could smell the iron in the air and on his own body where he was pressed against his bonded. He knew what he had just done, could remember tearing into bags of blood to quench his thirst. He wanted to throw up.

Pushing himself away from Louie, he backed into the sink and brought a hand to his mouth to feel his teeth. The fangs were still there. Turning, he looked at himself in the mirror, only to see the person staring back at him was a pale, grotesque and blood-drenched version of himself. His hand came up and his fist connected with the glass, his image shattering on impact as he slid to the floor, his body shaking uncontrollably. "Why..." was the only thing he managed to say.

Louie felt a pang of anguish as Kang told him that he felt great. He remembered that feeling of invincibility so well. The feeling of power coursing through to the tips of your fingers, the energy and the adrenaline you felt when you sucked the last drop of blood from someone. But Louie also remembered how he had felt when it had all finally come to pass, how crushing it had been to have so much blood on his hands.

Hearing him speak his name suddenly as the man he knew had Louie holding him tighter, scared to let him go should he lose him, as his own wide brown orbs desperately searched his face, “Kang...” he responded with urgency, Kang, listen to me,” He said again, but the Kirin was already pulling away from him with revolution. It all happened so quickly and with Kang’s new strength the mirror easily shattered into thousands of pieces around them. He wanted to catch him, but he had already fallen to the floor before Louie could respond and so the Strigoi knelt down into the glass, trying to get a grasp on Kang’s hands as his whole body shook so violently, “I... I’m so sorry, I am so sorry...” Louie tried to hold the hand that now had pieces of glass jutting from it, “You were dying, Kang, I wanted you to have a chance... I wanted you to be able to live, properly, without having to be on the edge, worrying about being captured and tortured and raped like you have endured, so bravely—“ Louie’s brows knitted together with guilt, “Please,” He begged, “I did not want you to die in that castle...” Louie knew he had been selfish. All of what he had said was true, but he also hadn’t wanted to lose him. He had lost him time and time again and losing him finally, once and for all, was too painful. “I didn’t want to lose you again.”

Kang's hands were shaking as Louie held them in his. He could barely feel the sting of the glass cutting into his knuckles, too gone was his mind in trying to come to terms with what had just happened. Louie was apologising to him, telling him that he could not let him die, and usually Kang would have been able to feel the strigoi's feelings of love when he said those words. Kang had been expecting to feel them, but this time, there was nothing. He had been cut off from Louie and then tied to him once more in an entirely different way.

The kirin wanted to gag. Louie knew well enough how much he despised vampires, had spent years fighting them during the Second War and many more after that trying to save others from them. He wanted to shout at Louie, to yell at him for being so selfish and that he should have just let him die, but the words died on his lips. Would he have done the same had it happened to Louie? Kang did not know. Instead, he whimpered as tears started to fall from his eyes and splashed onto their joined hands. He could not even look at the other man.

Watching the tears fall had Kang moving to tug his hands from Louie's hold. "I need to take these off." His voice was shaky as tugged at the bloody shirt that smelled so sweet. "I need to take these off..." he said desperately and he yanked the shirt off and threw it aside. "I still smell like blood," Kang's voice broke then when he finally lifted dark eyes back to Louie pleadingly. He wanted to feel what he used to have with Louie again, but he did not know how.

Louie’s jaw tensed as tears welled up in Kang’s eyes before finally falling down his face, the whimper cutting deeply into his chest. The despair was so evident on Kang’s face, the disgust, the betrayal. Louie wondered in that moment if anything he had done had been for Kang’s benefit. He should have just let him go, as he had wished Colletta had let him go when he had been dying and she had persisted... but Louie had been inside of his home, his kingdom. He had been surrounded by his family, his most loyal confidants, his mourning country. His life hadn’t been without pain, but he had lived. He had been trapped only by his own sexuality, but he had been happy, he had loved and been loved in return, to be changed would have brought him nothing better than he already had.

“Let me do it.” Louie pleaded, helping Kang remove his shirt and his pants and underwear, not able to bare seeing him drive the glass further into his hands. Once they were gone, Louie looked down, but as he prepared to use magic the glass was already been expelled from Kang’s skin, the skin knitting together and healing the cuts now on their own. “Don’t shut me out, please,” Louie begged as Kang refused to meet his eyes, Louie’s own arms sweeping under Kang’s and lifting them both out of the shards of glass. It was so unbelievably hard to not feel anything from him anymore through their bond. Louie didn’t know what Kang was feeling, if anything for him anymore, or was it all just hatred? “Please look at me.”

The shards of glass digging into his flesh was still nothing compared to what he was feeling inside. Kang was confused, scared, frustrated and so many other emotions that had roiled into a mix that he had not had the time to digest yet. His clothes were pulled off and he allowed Louie to help him, even when he did not know if he wanted the strigoi touching him.

When those arms moved around him to lift him up, it almost felt like how he always felt safe within them, but there was a different emotion now as he moved his own arms around the strigoi's neck. One that Kang could not describe. His heart, or the space where his beating heart used to be, felt so heavy. When the man's voice pleaded with him, his instinctual reaction was to give in and he lifted his head to meet Louie's beautiful sad eyes with his own. Louie was always so beautiful and the kirin wanted to cry even more. This was the face of the man who had loved him and doomed him all the same. "Louie..." was all he could say before those tears fell again and he had to bury his face in the other man's neck.

Louie didn’t know what to think, his arms just encircled Kang’s body as the others came around his own neck, and held him tightly against him. He didn’t feel warm like he usually did and he couldn’t feel his heart thundering beneath the surface, or the smell of his blood as it rushed to his cheeks. He rest his head against the side of Kang’s as his face came to nestle in his neck, his fingers threading through the strands of dark hair. He felt like he had lost him and everything they had once had, with the way that Kang had looked at him. Louie’s throat felt tight as the fingers of his free hand moved up and down Kang’s back. “I thought that maybe I wasn’t supposed to lose you this time...” The Strigoi admitted, his voice thick with sadness and a thin veil of moisture over the deep brown orbs. “It was selfish to want to keep you with me.” He whispered, pulling his head back slightly, “I wanted you to see you live.”

Strangely enough, Kang understood Louie's intentions and could not begrudge the man his reasons for doing what he did, even if it had been against his will. The kirin sniffed into the man's neck. How was he to stay angry at someone who only wanted him to live? Louie had always promised that he would bring him away from the castle and set him free, he had never told him how. The fact that he was now in Monaco and far away from everything that was Krovs meant that the strigoi had kept his word. Kang's head was still spinning from everything that had happened since he woke, but even now, he could not stay mad at Louie for long. He could not bare it, not when Louie was the only one he had.

He nodded against Louie's neck, acknowledging the man's words, words that he needed to think on at another time. Right now, he was terrified. "W-What about Gotrik?" he managed to say at last, after spending a long moment to compose himself enough to speak again. "What about Krovs? I'm still a slave..."

Louie continued threading his fingers through Kang’s hair as the other struggled to compose himself. He had expected more anger, but Louie knew that often a lot of Kang’s emotions ran beneath the surface until he was ready to vocalise or act on them.

“You aren’t a slave.” Louie told him, pulling his head back just enough so that he could see Kang’s face, the pads of his thumbs collecting the moisture on his cheekbones. “I made a deal with Gotrik that would allow me to be the one to turn you.” Louie swallowed, feeling a swell of guilt upon realising how awful it sounded to have bargained with Kang’s life in such a way, “With you as a vampire you are no longer the castles property and never will be again, nor will you ever be a slave of Gotrik’s or anyone else’s. You are free to do as you wish.” Louie paused, “It... it may not be the life that you wished for. But you now you can do with it as you please, with or without me.” Of course Louie would not let Kang walk away from him, moneyless and wild with a thirst for blood, but he had to face the idea that now their bond was gone and Louie had betrayed his trust in such a way... Kang might decide to leave him entirely.

"What was the deal?" Of course Louie had to strike a deal. Kang suddenly remembered Gotrik's cold eyes looking down at him when he was writhing in pain in Louie's arms and knowing his old master, Louie would have had to make a big sacrifice and the kirin was suddenly unsure if he was worth it. The idea of being free from the castle suddenly became a reality and that familiar feeling of nausea was accompanied by a small sense of elation. He was free, but had turned into something he despised to get there. The irony of it would have been funny had Kang not been so affected by it.

When Louie spoke of him going on without him, Kang expected to feel that bond tug between them again, but there was nothing. Instead, it was his own emotions reacting to those words and he felt like he could not breathe. The idea of being out there all alone as a vampire was a terrifying prospect, but the idea of leaving Louie like he almost had during the Fae Battle made him feel even worse. "I don't want to leave you..."

“It doesn’t matter what the deal was.” Louie told him. It had been the biggest sacrifice for Louie. He had committed himself and his vote to Gotrik when it came to all Council matters. Everything Gotrik proposed, Louie would need to agree with and push action on the matter, even if it was something he was deeply against. It would affect his country, the castle, the slaves and staff inside of it, and his reputation, “It kept you alive,” Louie nodded, unable to meet Kang’s gaze for a long moment before they finally met again. “That is all that matters.”

Louie hadn’t expected Kang’s words in the least part. “Why?” The Strigoi asked after a long moment of pause, he was confused, especially considering the way Kang had recoiled from him only moments before, but the admission made him bend to press his forehead against Kang’s. “I will understand if all you feel for me is hatred,” He breathed, “I do not have the right to your forgiveness.”

Kang knew that it had to be something big when Louie refused to meet his eyes and he swallowed. It was clear that Louie did not want him to press on that matter, but it was something the kirin needed to know. It was because of him that Louie had made this huge sacrifice and he did not want Louie to be the only one to bear it. But if Louie was not going to tell him, he was going to have to find another way to get the information. Instead, he squeezed his hand around Louie's, unsure of whether he should be thanking the man since he was still in two minds about, well, everything.

The kirin drew in a breath. Without the bond between them, it felt strangely empty when they spoke like this and when Louie pressed their foreheads together the way he always did. "I don't hate you..." he said at last and he swallowed, knowing that the next words would most likely not be what Louie wanted to hear. "I don't know what to feel..." Kang was strangely calm given what he had just experienced. Perhaps this was all because of Louie. He looked down then at his bloodstained hands and froze, suddenly feeling that red haze wanting to descend over him again. "Apart from being terrified..." And the only person he had never felt scared around was Louie.

“That’s okay...” Louie nodded, the uncertainty was not something that filled the Strigoi with happiness, but at least he had not earned the Kirin’s hatred— for now. Louie pulled back slightly from Kang’s forehead and followed the other mans gaze down to his bloodstained hands. “You don’t have to feel terrified, Louie told him gently, raising Kang’s chin again to avert his eyes away from the blood, “I understand why and it’s natural for you to feel this way... but I won’t let you lose control... I won’t let you hurt anyone. There are ways around this.” He told him, knowing that being a vampire meant being something so opposite in nature to what Kang had once been, a gentle creature who never wanted to bring harm to others, now he would want to kill every human that crossed his path. “I can teach you, if you will let me.” Louie took his hands then and guided him towards the running shower. He didn’t want to assume Kang would want him close in such an intimate way and so Louie kept his distance and allowed Kang to get in on his own.

"Teach me..." Kang let out a bitter laugh as he looked into Louie's eyes. Even as the strigoi spoke, the only thought in Kang's mind was that it was going to be a given that he was going to lose control. The kirin knew enough about vampires, had bore witness and even had to subdue newborn ones himself, and it never looked like they had any control. He had so much he needed to learn about this new life, but he was not sure if he wanted to. Not when he could viscerally remember the way he tore into those blood bags in a frenzy and gulped down all that blood, the life force of other beings. The calm he had felt earlier seemed to leave him with every step he took towards the running shower. He wanted to believe everything Louie was saying, and he usually would have with their bond in place, but...

The kirin pulled his hands out from Louie's as they neared the stall and he stepped inside, averting his eyes from the other man as the spray of water started to hit him. Everything felt so different. The kirin used to enjoy very hot showers before, but the water now, even just slightly warm was not the same against his cold, dead skin. He drew in a shaky breath and started scrubbing, wanting to get rid of all that blood as he watched the red start to flow down his body. "I don't know if I can do this, Louie..." he said softly and the tears in his eyes flowed down his cheeks with the cascading water.

“I know that it seems impossible right now,” Louie paused as he tried to process the bitterness in the other mans laugh, it wasn’t something he couldn’t blame him for, though it hurt all the same. “It... it is practise. That is all.” Louie knew how hard it was, even with people around you constantly reminding you what was right and wrong, it was difficult to control. But he hoped maybe if Kang had someone strict around him from the second he woke... it would be different for him.

Louie let Kang step into the shower on his own, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to tear his eyes away. He was waiting for Kang to collapse again, or to lash out, and when the tears started falling again Louie couldn’t keep himself away. He stepped into the shower fully clothed. It broke his heart to hear him speak knowing that he wished his life had been ended and Louie had had the selfishness to deny him that. “You can...” Louie breathed, turning him around gently, “You have suffered through so much, you have been so strong.” He held Kang’s face in his hands, “You are a General, remember? That’s who you are.” Louie looked down into his face, “You can have whatever you want in this life. You can go home.”

Kang tensed when he felt Louie stepping into the shower with him. He wanted to seek that familiar comfort from Louie's arms around him, but that heavy sense of despair that lay in his heart caused his chest to heave and he could not find the strength to turn around until the strigoi guided him to do so. When Louie's words washed over him, he sobbed even harder, turning tear-filled eyes up at his bonded. "I can't hurt people..." he swallowed heavily. "I can't take anymore blood..." The idea of going home made the kirin want to blanch as well. He had not returned to China for many years and he was not sure if he wanted to return like this. He needed to compose himself because he was sure he was a mess.

The kirin hiccuped, trying to calm down from his sudden outburst. Louie was right. He was strong. What must Louie think of him now? His hands were clenching in the wet sleeves of the strigoi's shirt as he wondered again where Louie's presence was in his mind. Yet another thing they had not addressed yet. "Why can't I feel you anymore?" he asked, his voice a whisper. He missed their bond.

“You don’t have to hurt anyone.” Louie’s voice was pleading as he held Kang’s face, using his thumbs to wipe away the tears as the Kirin continued to sob. It tore away at Louie’s heart strings to see the man he had grown to love so distraught, distraught with him. “You don’t have to hurt anyone. The blood can be sourced, no one was harmed to obtain the blood you just fed from. When you’re not feeding that way I can teach you how to control it, so that you don’t take too much. So that you don’t hurt anyone.” Louie told him gently. “It won’t be easy at first, but you can do it. If anyone can adjust it is you.” Louie had seen Kang go through so much and yet still hold a certain grace about himself that Louie had always admired.

Louie let Kang cling onto him, his hands coming down now to hold his shoulders. “It’s alright,” he murmured, trying his best to soothe him as he hiccuped through his tears. When he spoke of their bond Louie swallowed. “There cannot be a blood bond between two vampires... when the change happened, it severed the bond between us... I’m sorry.” Louie paused, his eyes deep with sadness, “But perhaps I should not be sorry... at least not for that.” There was another pause, Louie knew what was likely to happen, that there was a likelihood everything Kang had felt for him had been influenced. “Now you will know how you truly feel... there will be nothing controlling you, your thoughts and feelings are yours alone to do as you wish with, as they should be.” Louie murmured.

Kang nodded in his attempt to accept Louie's words, wanting to believe himself that he would be able to do as Louie said. He was still terrified of his new life he was going to have to lead and a vague thought of ending it crossed his mind. The kirin had to shake himself of the thought. He was still so confused about everything that had happened, but he did not want the strigoi to get even more distressed. Kang had never seen the man look like this before and he was trying his best to calm down.

That was right. He suddenly remembered with Louie's words that blood bonds could only be broken two ways --- if one party died or if one got turned into a vampire. The jumble of emotions within him swirled into a frenzy again when Kang found that he was actually sad that the bond was gone. He missed feeling Louie with him all the time and being able to read the strigoi's emotions and share memories with him so easily. It had helped him through such tough times anad had been with him for so many years that it felt like a part of himself had been cut off. "I miss it..." he said, sure that he sounded pathetic and he had to lean into press himself against Louie to stop himself from shaking even more. "I miss you."

#louie #louie: sire and fledgling #((we RPed this on discord so we could properly decide when this would happen. Posting it here now so we can continue on Tumblr~~))

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andwhatdostarsdobest · 5 years

Text

raspberry i love you’s [t.h]

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: talking about the tensions within relationships

Summary: Is love always enough? The beginning of relationships are so exciting but how do you make them last?

Word Count: 4.2k

Prompt: ‘Remember when we were kids and every I love you was true.’

This is my submission for @tom-holland-and-textposts writing challenge. Flashbacks are in italics. Thanks @uglypastels for reading through it and giving me the confidence to post

happy reading, lovelies

masterlist

Time doesn’t hold back anymore.

You tilt your head to the right where your husband is crouching down, trying to pull the zipper up on your daughter’s coat. In your haste this morning you grabbed the one with the zipper that sticks. His cheeks grow hot with the effort, the red flush mingling with the lines that are now burrowed deep in his forehead and around his eyes. The once smooth face of a young man was irrevocably changing. The face that you fell in love with. You knew it was happening to you too. That’s what time does. It changes you into unrecognisable people, for better or worse.

That’s what most mornings are like, impatient. Rushed through to make sure everything was done in time for the start of the day. No time for stolen moments, secret kisses, shy glances or whispered I Love You’s. Just life and its fast-paced ways. Not that you were unhappy with it, but something had recently been playing on your mind. The question, is love always enough? It dances around your mind. At first you didn’t pay it no mind but then you started noticing things. Only small but still significant you thought.

Like the way his eyes no longer linger on you for a few extra seconds when you are getting changed. Like how he has stopped saying ‘finally I’m back home with my beautiful, Y/N’ and now just says ‘hey’ when he walks through the door. Like how seconds turn into minutes turn into hours when responding to a text.

Like how his I love you’s become less frequent.

All relationships have ebb and flow, whatever type they are. You can get complacent with someone but that just means you have to work harder to keep them. People always talk about the spark dying out as their reason for ending things, really that’s their excuse for not trying hard enough or not wanting to. No relationship is completely plain sailing, more of them would work out if they were. So then, how do you know when your own relationship is going through one of these moments of blandness or if something bigger is on the horizon? Is love always enough?

Contemplating this question, you can’t help but miss those early days. When love was all you needed and that bond felt invincible. When you first meet someone it's like a seed just beginning to sprout or a fire that's caught its first flame. Limitless potential. The mystery is part of the excitement. Everything is new and as such you pay extra close attention to it, memorising every little detail. Watching the way his body dances before you, the gentle roll and flex of the muscles along his back. How you could hear his breath catch in his throat when you locked onto his eyes and teased him mercilessly. Your skin burning at every graze of a fingertip as you could feel the energy transferring between the two of you.

Senses heightened and both on your best behaviours.

He was still beautiful to you but sometimes you both got lost and distracted with other things. You skip over those little details, time no longer allowing you to breathe them in.

Tom was still struggling with the zip, exasperated grunts filling the porch.

“Daddy, hurry, we’re going to be late,” your daughter whines.

“I’m trying,” Tom huffs.

With one final, triumphant tug the zip glides up the jacket, but the force takes Tom by surprise and he falls backwards, landing on his bum.

“Oww," he grumbles. He sits for a second rubbing his tailbone, his features screwed up as he waits for the pain to subside.

That kind of thing used to make you smile, his awkwardness, the clumsiness that comes with being such a goofball. But right now, you feel yourself checking your watch, impatient for them to get going.

People had always said that when you have kids every other part of your relationships takes a hit, you can’t spend as much time together, you start to dislike each other more and more, the love you have for each other is now channelled into your baby. You never believed them, there was no way you could ever stop loving your wonderful husband, Tom. And you didn’t. You knew that. But why did everything feel flatter these days, not bad, more like the sentimentality had been sucked from it.

You guess everyone experiences these times, where things feel uninspiring.

Relationships are multifaceted, they are like a story, with a beginning, middle and end and no one knows how to write the middle.

“What’s the matter, mummy?” Annie is staring up at you with the same brown eyes as Tom, the perfect shade.

You smile at her, softening your eyes and running a hand over her hair, “nothing, darling.”

“Good.” She pushes past you.

“Because we need to go, daddy. I don’t want to be late.” Annie pushes Tom trying to get him back to his feet, her minimal force having no real effect, but Tom playing up as if she the strongest person he’s ever met.

“Okay, okay,” he clambers to his feet, over dramatically rubbing his lower back, “even though I’m so injured and barely able to move.”

“No, daddy.” Annie places her hands on her hips, pouting.

You should be enjoying this sweet moment, but time was really playing on your mind.

Tom lunges forward and grabs your daughter round the waist and starts mercilessly tickling her.

“Stop,” she squeals.

He pauses and looks into her eyes, grinning, “alright, but only because we need to go.” He boops the end of her nose and she giggles.

“Come on then,” he reaches out his hand, which she takes, a great big grin spreading across her face.

Then he turns to you, puzzled at the expression that meets him.

Tears start to cloud your eyes and you try to blink them away discreetly.

“Love?” His voice is quieter. Annie looks between the two of you, still gripping Tom’s hand.

“Remember when we were kids and every I love you was true,” you blurt out.

You don’t mean to say it, but you do.

It had reached that part in the evening where booze was being absorbed into people's bloodstreams and their inhibitions were lowing. A medley of 80's hits blared from the speakers and drink sloshed up the sides of cups as people begun to cut loose. No more so than Daniel, a particular brash co-worker of yours who was currently standing in the middle of the room, arms flailing with a recklessness that was kind of concerning and very telling of his desperate need for all attention on himself.

No matter how bad these parties got, and they got bad, you never felt exasperated at the thought of them. That was all thanks to Tom. He was your best friend. You could tell him anything. And he was your chance at respite in moments like these. Any moment he would find your eyes in the group of intoxicated workers and pull this face. A face you knew so well. A face that meant, ‘well this is crazy, but kind of funny too right?’

As if he could read your thoughts, he locked on to you with his beautiful brown eyes. His smile lines drawn down and eyebrows pulling together, the face. You returned his look with a little chuckle. Taking this as his queue, he started ducking and diving through all the people who stood between the two of you. Everyone was still contently watching Ethan make a tit of himself, sipping on their own drinks, leaning into their buzzed hum.

You watched Tom as he came towards you, watched as he intently tried to avoid everyone, considerate even when they weren’t. He glanced at you for one second sending sparks filtering through your body. Unfortunately, it was the wrong second because your most grumpy co-worker stepped back and Tom walked straight into him. You saw his face drop, his hands come up to his chest, half-formed stutters fell from his lips as he attempted to calm the storm cloud- that’s what everyone in the office called Hudson, he could ruin even the sunniest of days with his rumbling temper. For some reason, you thought may have to do with his constant pranks and joking around, Paul thoroughly disliked Tom. He found any excuse he could to erupt at him. That poor boy. But you had to admit it was rather funny to watch Tom squirm to the side, lost for words for once. He didn’t find it so funny, for obvious reasons.

After a string of apologies Tom managed to escape and practically ran towards you, blush still coating his cheeks, a slight layer of perspiration clasping at his baby hairs. He really didn’t like confrontation. He reached out his hand, fingers sliding across your bare arm, to reach safety sooner.

As he drew up in front of you, you noticed how the light reflected off his eyes, highlighting flecks of tawny swimming in hickory pools. And the artificial hum of the office lighting coated his skin making him look warm and inviting. Your gaze dropped to the hand resting on your arm, noting the vibrant purpling of the knuckles, fresh bruises from his boxing training the night before.

You both stood in comfortable silence for a few moments, not needing to speak, just connecting silently.

“You want to go someone else, hopefully quieter?” Tom asked.

You titled your head, unable to hear him over the deafening music and merriment around you, “huh?”

Tom leaned in closer, the faint smell of mint on his breath, “somewhere quieter?” he tried again.

That time you heard him, “oh yes, definitely.”

You had something you had been meaning to tell him all day. He’s the first person you thought of when it happened. He was always the first person you thought of.

“Great, go to the roof and I’ll meet you there in five minutes.”

One eyebrow raised, you asked, “why, what are you doing?”

Tom took a quick glance around the room before returning his gaze to you, “there is just something I have to do.”

Biting down on your lip, you cross your arms, “why are you being so secretive, Holland.”

“Nothing,” he breaks out into a smile, which you mirrored, “now just go.”

He started gently pushing you towards the door, but you dug your heels into the ground making it as hard as possible for him. Giggles now escaping from both of you.

“Come on.” His hands slid down to your waist and despite the laughter, you felt them there, pressed into you, a cold force covering your flesh. You didn’t want to notice them, but you did. His hands glided to the small of your back, applying more pressure, edging you closer to the door.

“I’m not going until you tell me what mysterious things you’re planning.”

The crinkles under his eyes grew deeper as he only responded with a curious smile.

You swivelled around, his hands still on your back, that force still at the forefront of your brain.

“Please, Tom, please,” you mock beg, “best friends share everything.”

He sighed.

“I’ll tell you when I get to the roof, how about that?”

“Perfect,” you beamed.

“Well go on then.” He removed one hand from your back and gestured behind you, nodding in the same direction with his head.

Putting your hands up in surrender you walked the last few steps to the door backwards, winking at him before turning on your heel and heading for the roof. Curious about what he was up to but more than anything just excited about getting to spend time with him and only him.

As you opened the door to the roof the icy breeze pushed against you and caused the breath to get caught in your throat. You wished you had brought your jacket. It’s not like you to forget something like that, you were just too excited. From up here you could see across the whole city, the fluorescent glare from the buildings, red and green flashes mixed in. But if you left the buildings behind, above were a canopy of luminous stars that materialised among the vast ocean of blackness. The moon, a complete orb resting in the sky, so large tonight you were sure you must be looking at it through a magnifying glass.

Some people would say this was a romantic view.

And there’s only one thing that came to mind when you stared at it.

Bang!

You spun around to see Tom bent over, holding onto his shoe.

“Ow, my toe,” he sniffled.

His brown curls that had been so neatly piled atop his head where now flopping down in front of his eyes.

“Hey, you okay?” You offered an outstretched hand, which Tom took, and you feel it again. The force.

This wasn’t the first time you had felt the ‘force’, you had just always tried to push it down. Tom was your friend and that was all he was ever going to be so there wasn’t any point in worrying about it, right? Recently it had been harder to remember that as everything he did caught your attention and held it.

Swallowing down the thought, you helped him to his feet.

“Thanks,” he mumbled as he dusted off his jacket.

“So, what was this surprise then?”

Tom bit his lip as he stood up straighter.

Did he seem nervous to you? Maybe just fizzing with a nervous energy.

Tom reached behind him and pulled out a cardboard box.

“Wait here,” he instructed.

“What do you mean?” Your palms started to sweat.

“Just wait here,” he titled his head, “please.”

You reluctantly nodded, and Tom made his way to the middle of the roof. He had his back to you, so you couldn’t see what he was doing, despite your attempts to peak around him.

“Okay, you can come over now.”

Tom stepped to the side revealing what he had been setting up. A blanket was spread out on the ground and in the middle was a pizza, the lid of the box pulled back. Standing next to it were two drinks, a pile of napkins, and a further pink box, this one much smaller than the pizza with the lid propped open too.

“This was your secret?” you questioned, “you were getting us a picnic?”

Tom scratched the back of his head, eyes drifting to the ground.

“Yeah,” he hesitated, “are you hungry?”

You broke out into a wide smile, “starving.”

You clamber onto the blanket, settling in and grabbing one of the pastries from inside the pink box.

“What are you doing? You can’t start with dessert,” Tom cried, reaching an arm out to stop you.

“You know,” you waved the pastry at him, small flakes breaking off and drifting onto the blanket, “you could do with rebelling a bit more.”

Tom’s nostrils flared as he rolled his eyes, “as you wish.” A slight flicker at the corner of his mouth.

He flopped down onto the blanket, plunging his hand into the pink box and picking up the other raspberry crown.

“Cheers.” You both brought your pastries together pretending to clink them before taking a bite. The pastry was so buttery and soft, the jam sweet but with an edge of tang to it. It was the best jam you had ever tasted. You couldn’t help it, you didn’t even think about it.

“This is so great,” you mumbled through a full mouth, “I love you.”

And that was it.

That was the first time you told him you loved him.

Back then neither of you fully understood the type of love but you meant it all the same.

"Hey, mine still do," Tom said, his tone low, slow like he was holding back.

You take a deep breath.

“I know, but I think sometimes we don’t put the same meanings into those words anymore. Maybe if you say it enough it starts to lose meaning.”

Tom simply blinks at you, clearly not expecting this conversation. Perhaps that was a good thing, it meant he wasn’t thinking about it right.

“It doesn’t have to lose meaning.” He swallows. “Has it lost meaning for you?”

“No, no,” you quickly respond. “No,” you say almost to yourself this time.

You know you still love him, you’re just wondering where all the secret kisses went. Or more, the meaning behind them.

So, you say, unable to keep it all to yourself anymore, “you used to pull me into a room for a stolen five minutes even though we worked in the same office.”

“You think I don’t love you because we don’t have time for secret little rendezvous?” Tom asks.

“I never said I thought you didn’t love me.”

You knew all your words were coming out wrong. You want to make Tom understand.

“Mummy, daddy,” a little voice trickles into your conversation, “do you not love each other anymore? Are you going to break up?”

Annie was sucking her thumb, something she hadn’t done for a year. This was bad. God this was a terrible time to talk about this. Why were you so selfish.

“No, no, darling, of course not,” you and Tom both said.

“We do have to go though,” he directs towards Annie.

He pulls her towards the door, picking his keys up from the windowsill before undoing the latch. They both step outside before Tom turns his head.

“We’ll talk when we get back, yeah?”

You nod meekly, unsure of whether this was the right thing to do at all.

“How long have we been talking?”

Muffled sounds from the other side of the phone filled the room, everything else around you so still. The sun long since dipped in the sky.

“Six hours.” Both your voices were heavy with drowsiness.

“Really, has it been that long.” You tried to stifle a yawn.

After telling Tom how you truly felt about him, you felt freer. Able to let him into every part of you and you knew he was more comfortable too. You could feel it in when he put his arm around you, when he laughed with you, when he stayed on the phone with you for six hours without once suggesting that you should both go to bed. The effortlessness of the conversation made sense to you. It was how you felt when you first met him. Like he was the one who could keep you at ease.

“Mmm, I guess it has,” he said, now trying to stifle a yawn himself. “Are you tired yet?”

“No,” you lied.

You had made the mistake of lying down on your bed about an hour again. The soft silk of your pillow and the warmth of your duvet had instantly made you drowsy. You wanted to stay up all night to talk to Tom, but your body had other ideas. You knew you should go to sleep, after all, you had work in the morning, but everyone knows that people start to spill all their secrets at two am and you were only half an hour off.

There was one secret you were hoping Tom was keeping close to his chest but that was just wishful thinking. Just because you felt something doesn’t mean he did too.

“Y/N,” Tom’s groggy voice came through the phone.

“Mhm," you replied, your eyelids weighing more than you ever remembered.

“Just checking you are still awake.”

“Course, stay awake-” For a moment your head lolled onto your pillow, sleep circling in your brain.

You jolted up, rubbing your eye lightly, “mmm, stay awake all night.”

A crackled chuckle came from Tom.

“Whatever you say, love.”

As much as you fought it, you could barely keep one eye open now.

And as sleep pulled you into the world of impossible dreams you thought you heard three little words echo from the phone. A soft voice whispering, ‘I love you’.

You slump down onto the stairs, letting your head fall into your hands, wishing immediately that Tom was back here in your arms. You want to run your fingers through his hair, tell him all about your day even though it’s only just beginning.

The love wasn’t lost between the two of you, you just have to make sure the other person knows that. To tell them every once in a while.

***

Did you ever have those moments where you are drawn out of where you are? Not to say you aren’t still present but more that you can see the picture like you are looking in from the outside. A moment of pure bliss, where you are hit with all your emotions at once. The moment when you just look at someone’s face and your heart floods with warmth because you know you love them. Everything feels good in that moment, everything feels light, feels calm.

Well as you threw back your head, laughter erupting from you, you had one of those moments. Snapping a mental polaroid that you would later scribble the three big words on, in a black felt tip marker.

Tom sat opposite you, his tongue caught in between his teeth as he choked back his own laughter. His hoodie was pulled down over his palms, so he could dab at the small tears that were starting to trickle down his face.

As you watched him you were overcome with a simple love, an untarnished love, a wholesome love. No complications. It fizzed throughout your entire body and you felt content, more content than you could ever wish to feel.

Tom’s hand on top of yours brought you back into the present. He had inched closer to you as he was laughing. You weren’t sure if he had done it on purpose or not. Should you follow suit and close the gap further? Pretending to shift in your seat, you scooted a little closer to him.

“I can’t believe you actually said that to him.” Tom’s eyes were wide with amusement.

“I just wasn’t thinking,” you said, biting down on your lip, mildly embarrassed.

Tom didn’t seem to notice, he just inched closer. His nose practically level with your own.

“Oh, you weren’t thinking, were you?” he teased, eyes flickering down to your mouth, then back up to meet your eyes.

You smirked, not because of the story but because you knew what was coming.

His lips brushed against yours, so faint you were almost not sure if they were really there. Then a hand rested on the back of your head, a light pressure tempting you forwards. Your lips met again, this time a little harder and you fell into the kiss, small giggles exchanged between you.

Your fingers danced around the drawstrings of his hoodie, trying to find their own place in this moment.

Sighing deeply into his lips, “I love you” slipped from your own.

You hadn’t meant to say it. But it felt right. It felt exciting. You really did mean it. You really loved him.

You weren’t sure if you should even cry, you didn’t know what any of this meant. You just want to see Tom. As if he could read your mind the door unlocks.

“Y/N, where are you?” He sounds spirited.

“Here,” you call out, unsure of what to make of it. Now unsure of how to act around your own husband, feeling awkward at the thought of talking to him. Now that you had said it aloud it all seems so silly.

Tom follows your voice into the kitchen where you are sitting at the breakfast table, your hands wrapped around a mug of lukewarm tea.

Tom looks positively gleeful when you say, “hi.”

“I got you something,” he said.

You hadn’t noticed how one of his arms was held behind his back until he brought it forward, a pink box in it.

You look quizzically at it, not understanding straight away.

Gently, he places it on the table and flips open the lid. Inside lie two freshly baked raspberry crowns, the pastry golden and the filling shiny with glazing.

“I was thinking about what you said throughout the whole drive and I miss putting in maximum effort too.”

You knew this feeling was only a temporary one because as you stare at Tom in front of you, you couldn’t imagine your life being any different and you didn’t want it to be.

“Do you remember the rooftop picnic, the first time we had these?” Tom pulls out a chair next to you, his hand finding your knee and cupping it firmly. Your hand automatically goes to his.

“I do,” you say.

“That was the first time you told me you loved me.”

“And I meant it.”

Tom’s hand drifts slightly further up your leg. The force.

“And I still do.”

Tagging a few peeps: @thelazypangolin @mysteryavengers @tomhollandthirst @anxieteaandbiscuits @rachramblesstuff @h-osterfield @hazsterfield @whyistomholland

#alices300wc #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x read #tom holland scenario #tom holland scenarios #tom holland imagine #tom holland imagines #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland au #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland oneshot #tom holland headcannon #marvel cast imagines

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