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rhysanoodle · 2 years

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Between Light and Shadow

(Banner by the lovely @sncinder 💕)

Elriel’s story after ACOSF

Word Count: 1819

AO3

Chapter 10

Elain cursed Elspeth under her breath. It was three days after their fateful meeting, and it didn’t seem like anything had changed.

Nothing about knowing the name of Koschei’s lake had provided her with a breakthrough, and she was beginning to wonder if the Sluagh had lied to her.

It was especially frustrating on days like these in which Lucien came to check in on them. She could tell that he was trying not to pressure her, but it was still difficult not to pick up on his subtle antsiness. Elain was the roadblock here, the only one with any hope of cracking the case, but even she was useless to do so.

The two males across the room from her were doing their best to stay silent and give her space to work, but every little shifting of their forms was like sandpaper in her ears. It wasn’t a good day.

She sighed, bringing a hand to her temple. “I don’t think I’m going to get anywhere today.”

“Are you feeling unwell?” Lucien had already risen from his seat and was tentatively approaching her.

“I’m fine, really.” She waved him off. “I just have a headache is all,” she lied. At least that would likely get them all to back off for the time being.

“I’ll fetch you some tea,” her mate offered, and not for the first time over the past few weeks, she found herself grateful for his presence. It was not in the same way everyone hoped she would feel towards him, but she could admit that he wasn’t the worst to be around. Certainly less brooding than the male she now found herself alone with.

“Why did you lie to him?” Azriel asked, and Elain’s eyes whipped up to lock with his. She had been doing so good at avoiding him, even when in the same room, since he gave her the best orgasm of her life.

“I didn’t lie,” she sputtered, but even she had to admit that it sounded feeble.

A visible whorl of shadow curled around Azriel’s neck. “Come on now. There’s no need to try to conceal it when you know my shadows can sense these things.

Interesting. She had not known this, but she was going to have to be more careful with what she shared with him in the future.

“I’m nervous,” Elain admitted.

“Because of the mate?”

“Because all the pressure is on me. Every time he shows up, I’m reminded of just how much this means to everyone, and I’m the only one who can make a difference here. And I’m failing. I’m a failure.”

“You’re not a failure, Elain. Nobody else has been able to lock onto Koschei’s location either. If nothing comes of this, we’ll find another way. We always do.” He was encroaching on her now, his warmth settling next to her on the couch, and Elain flushed, remembering the last time they had been this close.

Traitorous body. Even though it knew she couldn’t have him, her heart was still ratcheting in her chest at his proximity.

It would be so easy to just give in, to lean in and kiss him, but what would that accomplish? Azriel had been very clear that he was not in love with her, and that nothing could be more than physical. Was it worth it to let her feelings shine clear when she knew they wouldn’t be reciprocated?

So she held back, turning her face away from him and forcing herself to control her breathing. He was far too intuitive for his own good, and she wouldn’t give him any further ammunition to use against her.

Elain waited for him to move, to give up whatever premise he had for coming to sit so closely to her, but he stayed. The space between them sizzled and crackled, but he made no further moves. Not like he would’ve months ago. He clearly didn’t have any urge to reach for her hand or place his hand on her knee.

And she needed to stop expecting it of him.

“What if we don’t save Vassa in time though?” she finally murmured aloud. “How am I supposed to live with that?”

“Then we fight tooth and nail to get her back,” came a voice from the doorway, and Elain finally remembered that Lucien was there in that house with them. He had returned with her cup of tea.

Her mate set the mug down in front of her, and retreated back to his seat on the other side of the room, but not without giving Elain and Azriel a quick onceover, his metal eye whirring in its socket. “I am … also worried about what might happen if Vassa is taken. I am worried she would rather die than go back to her imprisonment, but that just means we fight harder.” Lucien had paled slightly.

“Exactly,” Azriel reaffirmed, and Elain could almost laugh at these two males actually agreeing with each other. It was something she never once expected to witness. Not with the silent understanding she and Azriel had that he would avoid her mate at all costs. To make things easier on her. And perhaps protect himself in the process.

“Why don’t I bring her back here tomorrow?” Lucien offered. “That way you can see for yourself that she’s still here and fighting. That the pull is not too great. It might do her good to get out of the estate for an evening anyways.”

“That sounds lovely. I’ll let Feyre know you’ll both be here. I’m sure she’s eager to catch up as well.” And Elain found herself surprised to realize that she meant it. Lucien had done nothing to push her, to invade her space. If anything, hearing him talk about Vassa, seeing the glint in his eye at the mention of the queen … Well, it made her wonder if they couldn’t find peace one day as friends.

No, he had never fought for her, but she had not wanted him to.

One day, she figured they would need to sit down and talk about it, but she didn’t think she could work up the courage to ask him for what she wanted. It was why she had avoided him for the past two years.

Elain wasn’t even sure that breaking a mating bond was possible, but if it was … Surely the two of them could break it without too many hard feelings. And everyone would support her decision.

It would certainly make her life a whole hell of a lot easier. She had thought Azriel didn’t care when he flirted with her, but that must not have been the case. Or he just decided something else about her wasn’t worth it. It irked her, and she wished she could ask him about it, but … Things were only starting to become less strained between them.

It was easier to throw everything under the rug. It always had been for her. When things weren’t wrapped up with a pretty little bow, she had to conceal them, even from herself, in order not to get overwhelmed.

Otherwise she would sit in her room sulking for days like she had when she had arrived in the Night Court. But she was needed now, whether or not Rhys was willing to treat her like a full-fledged member of the court with all the privileges the others enjoyed.

“Oh, I’m sure.” Lucien rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the soft uplifting of his lips. As much as she might be a pain in his ass, Elain was reminded that Feyre and Lucien’s friendship had been rekindled as of late, and he was actually looking forward to seeing her.

A soft spark of joy lit within her gut, and Elain let out a soft gasp, her eyes shooting up to lock with Lucien’s as he looked at her curiously. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“I … felt you, I think.”

“I wasn’t doing anything. What did you feel?”

“It felt soft and happy. You weren’t pulling on the bond?”

Lucien’s cheeks began to flush, and his non-metal eye darted away. “I never have. Not after that one time.” Back under that farce of a tea Feyre had organized for them. “But it means you are feeling the bond more strongly.” He shrugged. “Sometimes things just kind of slip through.”

“How often?” Elain was vaguely aware of Azriel fading into the shadows and disappearing.

“Every time I’m around you.”

Elain paled. If Lucien could feel her discomfort every time he was in the room. If he had managed to pick up any of her lingering feelings for Azriel …

“Relax, I’m not … I understand why you feel the way you do. I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t hurt, but that’s more forced by the bond than by … any offense I could be taking. I don’t want you to have to pretend with me.”

He was just having to be so damn nice about this. “It’s just not what I expected, what I wanted when I came here.” A bit of truth, to mask what she didn’t have the courage to voice aloud. That she never saw herself ending up with him. She respected him for the fact that he never forced anything, but knowing he was in pain whenever they were together just made her feel guilty—a feeling she didn’t need more of right now.

“Nothing needs to come of it,” he offered. “I’d rather live with this if you didn’t hate me than to have … Than to have anything else with you.” His teeth gritted as he bit out the last part, perhaps some side effect of the bond, wanting to stop him from offering to sacrifice any chance he had at a romantic relationship with her.

“I don’t hate you,” she said truthfully.

“But you can’t be comfortable when I’m in the room, and that … That is very apparent. Just think about it. If you could relax, maybe this could work.”

“No expectations?”

“I would never force myself on you, Elain. Surely, after all these years, you’ve realized that. I do my best to give you your space. Give me the benefit of the doubt, and we’ll both feel more comfortable, especially if you’re able to sense the bond like you did today.”

He stood and headed for the door. “Don’t worry. I’ll only be here when I need to. And I’ll bring Vassa next time. She always calms you down.”

Elain wasn’t strictly sure that was true—not with constantly being reminded that Vassa’s fate hinged on her ability to produce some sort of results, but she certainly lightened the tension in the room from being stuck with the two males.

She nodded, and he shut the door quietly behind him.

Nobody rejoined her for the rest of the afternoon.

***************

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storytellerofuntoldlegends · 3 years

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an icarus and his sun: chapter 10

A/N: y’all ever think about that one empires episode of pearl’s where she helps sausage fight off a raid and that turns into a pvp battle between them, and she absolutely destroys him? yeah me too. also check out this awesome art by @amostfoolishgold! anyway back to jimmy pov!

Warnings: injury, unconsciousness, fevers, talk of death, violence, corruption/infection, self-blame

AO3 Link - Tumblr Masterpost

The sun was nearing the horizon, casting the Overgrown in a golden glow. The castle was beginning to take shape, but they had unfortunately run low on materials, and Joel and Lizzie weren’t back from their gathering trip yet. So for the moment, they all just sat in the half-constructed shell of a castle, having light conversation as they waited for Joel and Lizzie to arrive. But soon enough, the conversation dwindled into an awkward silence. That is, until Gem stood up with a determined look in her eyes and a gentle smile.

“Why don’t we head to my empire for dinner? We’ve been working hard all day and could use a break!” she said brightly. Jimmy wasn’t sure how he felt about Gem quite yet, after everything that had happened- but she and Pearl had been a huge help. Meanwhile Shelby looked intrigued by the offer, and while Katherine first nervously glanced to the horizon, she looked back to Gem with a smile.

“That is very kind of you, Gem. I’d love to- we should probably just leave a note for Joel and Lizzie to let them know where we’ve gone,” Katherine said, standing up as well. Gem looked to Jimmy semi-nervously- and well, Jimmy was always a bit of a softie, wasn’t he? He smiled at Gem and stood up too.

“That does sound nice, thank you for inviting us,” Jimmy said. Gem beamed, and Pearl looked relieved as she stood up next to Gem.

“Well, you definitely won’t see me complaining about free food!” Shelby chimed in, hopping up to her feet. That caused the group to break into laughter, and the air between them felt comfortable again.

Once Katherine had written the note and put it where Lizzie and Joel could easily find it, the five of them (minus Pearl, who had wings) equipped their elytra and flew off to the Crystal Cliffs. When they first arrived there, everything seemed normal. The grand cliffs themselves, the buildings nestled in and around them, the towers- it was a beautiful and mystical place. But there was something blue, white, and gold that stood out in a heap on the ground near one of the buildings- a very familiar something blue, white and gold.

“Oh my god-” Gem started, landing on the ground beside the figure.

“Is that-” Pearl said, unable to finish the thought as she landed just behind Gem.

“Scott?” Jimmy finished, voice shaking as he came in for a bit of an unsteady landing a few feet away from where Scott laid on the ground, breathing shallow and upon a closer look, something red pulsing and spreading beneath his skin like some sort of vine. Jimmy barely registered Katherine and Shelby landing on either side of him, too focused on what was before him.

“This- this red stuff reminds me of the redstone spikes in Fwhip’s empire- or maybe something from the nether?” Gem pondered as she knelt beside Scott, a purple glow coming over her hand as she reached out towards the infection in his arm.

“I’ve seen that before,” Shelby said, voice sounding distant and laced with horror. Everyone turned to look at her, surprised to hear such a terrified tone of voice from the usually enthusiastic gnome.

“The infection?” Pearl asked.

“The corruption. I’ve seen it happen to my people back home, until it consumed them until there was nothing left- it’s why I came here, to try and find a cure or some way to stop it. But nothing worked,” Shelby explained shakily, sounding like she was on the verge of tears. Jimmy felt like he was going to cry too- and some awful part of himself thought that he should be glad that this happened to Scott, that it served him right after betraying Jimmy and breaking his heart- but he couldn’t. Despite everything Scott had done, despite never wanting to see Scott again- none of that meant that Jimmy didn’t want a world where the winged elf wasn’t in it. And what about what Pearl had said? Scott didn’t seem happy with Fwhip either, but now Jimmy would never know the truth. Not if it died with Scott.

Jimmy was so wrapped up in his conflicted mess of emotions that he didn’t even notice that someone else had flown in until Katherine let out a sharp gasp. He tore his gaze away from Scott to see what had caused that reaction from Katherine- and saw Fwhip. A mix of anger and terror boiled in his veins and swirled in his stomach at the sight of him. Fwhip looked baffled to see so many people in Gem’s empire, and plastered on a forced friendly smile. Jimmy’s hand found Katherine’s, and she squeezed it back tightly with no intention of letting go.

“Gem! Hi, so I wanted to smooth things over- I think we left things on a bad note-”

“What did you do to Scott,” Gem demanded, cutting off Fwhip as she stood up from beside Scott. Purple sparks danced in the air around her, and Jimmy swallowed nervously- he didn’t think he had ever seen Gem seem so intimidating before. Jimmy was relieved to see that Fwhip looked nervous too.

“Well, I haven’t seen Scott since our meeting, he seemed upset when he left- weird that he ended up here- y’know I was actually gonna go and talk to him after you-”

“If by talk, you mean do whatever you did to Scott to us?!” Pearl demanded, hand on the hilt of her sword as she took a step forward to stand beside Gem.

“I didn’t-”

“I’ve had enough of your lies, Fwhip. What. Did. You. Do,” Gem said evenly. Fwhip swallowed nervously, before sighing and finally giving in.

“Okay, so I may have set a few traps in his empire and got Sausage to help me with letting a raid infiltrate his village and the surrounding lands- but I figured Scott could handle a few traps and some mobs, it was only meant to be a warning, I never meant to kill him! He must have really gotten soft if he couldn’t deal with it,” Fwhip rambled. Gem and Pearl seemed semi-satisfied with his answer, but Pearl kept her hand on her sword and purple sparks still danced around Gem. But there was something that Fwhip said that bothered Jimmy, and along with what Pearl had said… guilt was beginning to settle in the pit of his stomach.

“What do you mean by that?” Jimmy asked tentatively. Fwhip let out a harsh laugh, turning to Jimmy incredulously.

“The idiot actually fell for you. He was just supposed to be a distraction, a contingency plan to make sure you wouldn’t be trouble. But he got in too deep, and look where that got him,” Fwhip scoffed, looking down at Scott’s deathly still form in disdain. Guilt was crashing on Jimmy in waves now. He had pushed Scott away. Scott had actually cared about him and he pushed him away. And then he had no one to go to for help when Fwhip decided to send a “warning” and got hurt as a result.

“You’re lucky I’m a pacifist,” Katherine spat, more angry than Jimmy had ever heard her. He wished he could have shared her anger, shouted at Fwhip too- but Jimmy just felt numb.

“Well unluckily for Fwhip, I don’t have that problem,” Pearl fumed, drawing her sword. Fwhip started to scramble back as Pearl leapt at him. His backwards stumble turned into a run, and Pearl kept pace with him just fine, using her wings if necessary and brandishing her sword to chase him away.

“Pearl can handle him- can you three help me get Scott to the apothecary? I’d do it by myself, but he’s tall and there’s the bulk of his wings to worry about too,” Gem asked, looking down at Scott worriedly.

“Erm- right, of course,” Jimmy said, letting go of Katherine’s hand to join Gem at Scott’s side.

“Hold on- go to the other side and help me turn him over,” Gem said. Jimmy did as she asked, and being mindful of his wings, the two of them gently rolled Scott over so he was on his back. Scott was feverish to the touch, and even unconscious his expression was contorted with pain.

“He’s hot,” Jimmy said, distant horror in his tone.

“Now isn’t the time for that, Jimmy,” Gem teased, trying to lessen the tension in the air. Jimmy’s face scrunched up in irritation as he half-heartedly glared at her.

“He has a fever, Gem,” Jimmy huffed. Gem laughed nervously.

“I know, I know, just trying to make this less terrible than it is,” Gem sighed. Jimmy gave her a weak smile, and together the two of them gently lifted Scott up. Jimmy ended up mostly holding Scott, while Gem supported his wings. Scott’s head lolled against his shoulder, labored breaths fanning his neck. Jimmy should have felt embarrassed or flustered, cradling Scott like this- but he was too concerned with how limp and unresponsive Scott felt in his arms.

“I’ll get the doors for you!” Shelby offered, quickly making her way over to the apothecary door. Katherine hovered around Jimmy and Gem semi-anxiously, making sure that they had a good hold on Scott as they made their way over to the apothecary. But all went well, and they were able to safely transport Scott into one of the apothecary beds. He had begun to shiver and tremble every so often now, and Jimmy could have sworn the corruption had spread, reaching his fingertips.

“There’s gotta be a way to stop that, or at least slow it down,” Gem murmured in thought, pulling up a chair to sit at Scott’s side. She reached out to the cut where the corruption on Scott’s arm stemmed from, hand glowing purple again. She closed her hand over it, and her eyes began to glow the same purple as her hand. But then the glow flickered, turning red for a moment before it dissipated entirely and Gem drew her hand back with a yelp, stumbling backwards out of her seat beside Scott’s bed. Jimmy scrambled over to help her up, eyes darting nervously between her and Scott.

“Is everything alright? I chased Fwhip off, but I swear if he’s done something in here…” Pearl trailed off as she walked into the apothecary, eyes zeroing on Gem as she rubbed at her temples.

“I’m fine. The corruption- it fought back. It’s… alive, somehow,” Gem said with morbid curiosity in her tone.

“It’s a type of fungus. That’s as much as my people could figure out before I came here to try and find a cure. The red stuff is everywhere in my old home- even if you tried to get rid of it, it would just come back. And in the cases where it latched onto a person… there was no getting it out,” Shelby explained, sounding like she was going to cry. Gem hummed thoughtfully.

“Did you try any sort of magic with it?” she asked.

“No, my people were not magic-users- in fact I’d hardly seen magic before I came here, where the air seems charged with the stuff,” Shelby replied, gesturing around her. A determined expression came over Gem’s face.

“Then I’m not gonna stop trying. I don’t know if I can fully fight off the corruption, but I definitely think I can slow its spread. In the meantime, we’re gonna need to get Scott’s fever down- at this rate, that’ll kill him before the corruption will,” Gem said, resting the back of her hand on Scott’s forehead and frowning.

“He’s probably a little beat-up too- Fwhip did say he trapped his empire,” Katherine added. Gem nodded in agreement.

“We’ll need cool water and cloth to make a compress for his forehead- and I should have some healing potions around here- it couldn’t hurt to brew some more though too, just in case,” Gem rambled, starting to stand up before Pearl put up a hand.

“You two stay here with Scott, I know where you keep things around here. Katherine, Shelby and I can worry about getting things for you,” she soothed. Jimmy tilted his head in confusion.

“Wait, I can help get things too…” Jimmy trailed off uncertainly.

“You can help if you want. I just figured you’d wanna stick by Scott,” Pearl shrugged with a gentle smile. Jimmy flushed slightly as he looked down at the floor, away from Pearl’s knowing stare.

“I… yeah. I’ll stick by Scott,” he said softly, gaze shifting to look at the winged elf who always managed to make his emotions into a muddled mess. Scott was an enemy, a friend, a- a something, then an enemy again- but whatever Scott was to Jimmy now, he knew one thing: he wasn’t letting Scott out of his sight again. Doing so the last time caused this to happen. He had to be there if- no, when Scott woke up. He had to apologize for pushing him away, and hope that maybe Scott still cared about him after everything that had happened to accept it.

Taglists below! Let me know if you want to be added/removed!

MCYT General Fic Taglist: @corazon10000 @damiensaidno @franticfandomfanatic @gattonero17 @hetapeep41 @space-ace123 @vyeoh

AIAHS Taglist: @anty-kreatywna @beepa99 @devilwoodkitty18 @riobug

#empires smp #scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #geminitay #pearlescentmoon #shubble #katherine elizabeth #fwhip #flower husbands #aiahs #mcyt #sage writes

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elidereads · 3 years

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You Came For Me (NSFW Elriel Fanfic)

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Summary: The night after Azriel rescues Elain from Hybern Elain goes to his tent to make sure he's okay.

Word Count: 5,800

Warnings: NSFW

Notes: This is my first fanfic. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated it. 🖤

AO3

She couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she shivered remembering the things she was trying to forget, the feelings she wanted to scrub away. She couldn’t make herself trust that she was safe. She tried to focus on Nesta’s steady breathing and failed. Sounds that had once assured her of her safety now felt meaningless. Nesta had always been her safe haven, the only person who wouldn’t fail her or leave her. But the last time they had slept in this tent Elain learned that she was not safe. The cauldron could find her anywhere.

Not that it was Nesta’s fault, really she only had her own stupidity to blame. Her heart and mind warred with themselves, trying to decide what feeling made her cringe more, fear or shame. If she had allowed herself to see what everyone else saw, that Graysen now detested her, then she could not have been so easily lured. But last night she hadn’t wanted to accept that his affection could be anything but true. Even now a part of her brain defended him, reminding her that Graysen had been the one to lead her to the cauldron, is was the cauldron acting alone. She felt an internal embarrassment for continuing to defend Graysen to herself, that she allowed her stupid heart to create some hope that wasn’t there. She was pathetic.

Everyone in her village had grown up hearing terrifying stories of the Fae above the wall. She had always believed them to have godlike strength. Nothing could, or would, break them. Often she envied them. She was always the meekest of her sisters. Everyone assumed she lacked an opinion on anything, just doing whatever her sisters, mostly Nesta, wanted. In reality she lacked confidence in herself, she always told herself that letting her sisters lead made them happy, why should she push back. But she could imagine herself gaining everyone’s respect by becoming Fae or revealing some secret magic. Now, that secret dream made her feel even more pathetic. She had become Fae and had gained no one’s respect. She was still told what to do more often than she was asked her opinion. The lack of any transformation into the strong female she had imagined she truly was only added to her shame. No, even as Fae she was pathetic and boring. Perhaps Graysen had tired of her before her transformation, he just now had an easy excuse to end their engagement.

How many times did she need to suffer embarrassment in front of these people she barely knew? Starting with Graysen making the very public proclamation that he did not want her. Then, she made herself a further fool by wandering off and getting herself captured. In some ways it would’ve been easier if she had died in captivity. Then she could have been spared everyone’s pity that was so palpable she could almost see it hovering over them as they looked at her. But no, because of her stupidity she had to be rescued forcing Feyre and Azriel to risk their lives to save her.

Azriel.

Although now she thought very courageously about her death she had to acknowledge that that had been a very real fear just a few hours ago. She would swear she felt the world shift when she saw Azriel appear in the tent in Hybern’s camp. She had never felt relief like that. His presence had a way of making her feel like the person she imagined herself to be, certain, fearless. He looked at her as if he knew her. Well maybe not her, not the her that everyone saw, but the her she wanted to be, the heroine in her daydreams.

She exhaled loudly and rolled over, trying again to fall asleep. Mother, she was pathetic, creating some romantic scenario in her head where Azriel was the one person who saw her. He was probably the angriest with her. He suffered the most injuries attempting to rescue her. Would he resent the fact that he was injured before the battles had even begun? All because Elain couldn’t let go of her fiancé. What if Azriel’s injuries hindered him in the battle? What if because of Elain’s rescue he couldn’t fight as well and he …

Elain sat up quickly.

No she couldn’t think this way. She would have to speak to him, ensure he was fully healed before he could be allowed to fight. Surely the others had thought of this but if they hadn’t, she wouldn’t allow that to happen, couldn’t allow it. If there was a time for Elain to speak up it would be now. Well not now, not in the middle of the night with everyone sleeping, but now in there proverbial sense. Would he be angry with her if she was the reason he couldn’t fight? It didn’t matter. She was sure he was angry with her anyways.

Maybe that was why she couldn’t sleep.

She slowly pulled back her blankets and set her feet on the ground. Keeping her eyes on Nesta the whole time, making sure she didn’t stir. She pulled a blanket off her bed and wrapped it around herself as she moved towards the entrance of her tent. A part of her brain was warning this was a very bad idea. If she was worried about everyone being mad at her then she should definitely not make it worse by wandering the camp at night. Again. But another part of her brain, likely the sleep deprived part, was urging her on. Telling her a conversation with Azriel was the only way she would be able to calm down and get any sleep. She slowly pulled back the tent flaps and, with one more glance at Nesta, Elain slipped out.

She was almost positive Azriel’s tent was to the left of theirs and Cassian’s to the right. Too soon she and began to doubt herself. Was he sharing a tent with Cassian? Or Mor? Possibly even both. This was a bad idea. She couldn’t even knock and announce herself because how did you knock on a tent. She would just need to go right in.

She began to turn back to her own tent suddenly Azriel was there at the opening, catching her off guard and leaving her standing there speechless, like an idiot.

“Elain?” Azriel seemed to exhale her name after a few seconds of silence.

“How did you know I was here?” A perfectly appropriate greeting.

“My shadows. They patrol while I sleep. They told me you were outside my tent but I didn’t … are you okay?” Azriel’s eyes narrowed as he ran his gaze over her, looking for a source of harm.

“Yes. I’m okay. I just … I wanted to see you. To apologize.” Azriel gave her a look of surprise as a wind whipped through the camp causing Elain to pull the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

“Come in. Please.” Azriel quickly opened the tent further and stepped to the side so that Elain could get out of the cold.

At first his tent seemed smaller than hers, but she saw that was due to the amount of things he had inside. Not that he was messy, but he had a desk covered in neat piles of paperwork. Armor on a dummy in the corner and an impressive display of knives lied out on a small table top. A fire burned near the middle of the tent, immediately warming Elain as the tent flaps closed.

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked again.

Elain turned away from his things scattered throughout the tent to look at him. “Yes. I promise you I am okay. I couldn’t sleep and I wanted to … I hope I didn’t wake you. Were you asleep?”

“No I wasn’t asleep. I was reading.” He motioned to his desk of papers and Elain caught him wince as he lifted his arm.

“Please sit down. I’m sorry I made you get up. Are you okay?” Everything came out in a rush. Gods. What was she thinking coming here and bothering him in the middle of the night. She touched his arm, gently guided him to a chair and sitting herself down across from him.

“I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.” She noticed how he slowly lowered himself into the chair.

“You’re not okay you’re hurt.” Elain reached to touch his bandage before catching herself, leaving her hand hovering between them. “Is there anything I can get you? Maybe some tea?”

“I’m fine. You don’t have to get me anything.”

“Please. I would like to help.”

Azriel paused, ready to repeat his no, before seeing that accepting the tea from Elain would help her more than himself.

“Some tea would be great. Thank you.”

Elain busied herself bringing water to a boil over the fire and, after Azriel’s shadows brought her the dried tea leaves, making a pot for the two of them.

“Cups?”

“Over there. There are drawers under the table with the knives. They should be in there.”

“Thank you.” She located the cups as the tea steeped in the pot. As she poured the tea she realized how calm her body not felt. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come here. She suddenly felt exhausted and very ready to sleep.

“Here.” She set Azriel’s cup on the table in front of him. She blew on her own and began to take a sip before thinking better of it and setting it down. Finally, with nothing else to busy herself with, she looked at Azriel. He was already looking at her.

She wasn’t sure where to start.

“I’m sorry.” She decided to lead with the phrase she couldn’t stop repeating. “My foolishness put Feyre and you in danger. I will never forget myself for that.”

Azriel closed his eyes, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. “You have nothing to apologize for. It isn’t your fault the Cauldron tricked you.”

“If I hadn’t been such a fool about Graysen it wouldn’t have been able to trick me so easily.”

Azriel shook his head. “It is not foolish to believe the best about the person you love.”

Elain grimaced. “I don’t love him.”

“You don’t?” He responded, slightly tilting his head to the side.

“Well,” she blushed. “Perhaps a part of me does but no … not anymore. I see the situation for how it is. How everyone else sees it.”

Something in that statement made Azriel pause. He looked away from her, as if considering something. “Does it matter how everyone sees it?”

“A few weeks, even days ago I would have said no. It only matters what we, or I, felt but …” She gestured in a direction that she believed was south. “Before today I thought everyone was wrong and didn’t understand what we had. Now it appears I was the only one wrong. When the majority of the people in your life disagree with you, at some point you have to admit it’s probably you who’s wrong. Don’t you?”

Azriel didn’t say anything from a few seconds, continuing to stare at something on the ground, before responding. “That logic makes sense.”

They lapsed into a brief silence where Elain attempted to drink her tea again. This time only slightly burning her tongue before turning back to her next question for Azriel.

“How bad are your injuries?”

“They are fine.”

“I could see you grimacing as you sat down. Please Azriel, be honest with me.”

He raised his head when she said his name and met her eyes. “They are bad, but I have had worse. Rhys, however, has already implied that he doesn’t want me in the battle if it starts tomorrow.”

Elain started to apologize again but he waved her off.

“It’s fine. I don’t plan to listen to him. I will be fine.”

That caused her to gasp. “You cannot fight tomorrow. Not if it’s not safe.”

He offered her a grim smile. “I don’t think battles are ever considered safe.”

Elain did not return the smile. “You know what I mean. You are already injured from rescuing me. You’re already vulnerable. If you were to hurt yourself more, I couldn’t…” She trailed off, not being sure what it was she “couldn’t”.

“I will be fine. I have seen many battles and survived.”

She felt her anger grow, both with herself and his casualness. “You shouldn’t have rescued me. You are more valuable than me. Your life means more than mine.”

His grim smile quickly changed to something close to a glare. “My life means nothing compared to yours.”

Instinctually she reached out to touch his arm, wanting to offer him comfort in any way she could. “How could you say…” But when her arm touched his she was too overwhelmed with images to speak.

They reminded her of the dreams she had been having. Ever since she was Made every night she dreamed like she never had before. Dreams that were as vivid as Feyre’s paintings. Sometimes that how they started. She would be looking at one of Feyre’s paintings and not realize she was dream until it came to life or pulled her into it. Some of the dreams were filled with light, the warmth of the sun, the feeling of a new day. Some filled with shadows and whispers, hidden objects that she could never find clearly.

Surprisingly the dreams of the sun were the ones that preceded her worse days. Days filled with anxiety and unease that made her long to go back to sleep but also made her afraid to. These are the days she spent her time in the garden. Dedicating complete focus to her plants and flowers, working through meal times and until the night was so dark she could no longer see the roots. It wasn’t until day turned to night that her heart stopped racing.

But now she was sure she was not asleep. She could feel Azriel’s arm and hear the crackling of the fire in his tent. Smell a combination of musk and sweat that she noticed whenever he was close. But what she saw was out of place with the war time tent.

Golden, barely-there sunlight coming in through the windows. Another fire in a different hearth. Windows left open, light grey curtains blowing in the breeze. A garden could be glimpsed through the windows full of red roses. A soft moan that sounded vaguely familiar. Was it her own? She looked around to see white sheets were gripped in her hands. She felt a heat climbing through her body starting at her core. She felt something between her legs. She moved her gaze down her body. Heavy breathing moved her peaked breasts up and down as she tried to find air. Scarred hands on her hips. A head of dark hair between her legs. Another moan. She couldn’t help but move her hips in time with his tongue.

Her dreams had never felt this real.

“Elain?” She heard someone call her name, but she wasn’t sure who. She could still feel a tongue moving between her legs, bringing her to the edge of something she had never felt before. Her body began to shake at the feeling, getting closer and closer to a feeling that wasn’t familiar with but was desperate for.

Then her body was truly being shaken.

“Elain!’

Her eyes fluttered. Had she closed them? She tried to focus on why she was shaking.

“Elain? Are you okay?” The scarred hands were no longer on her hips but on her arms. Holding her firmly, shaking her gently. Azriel’s head was no longer between her legs but looking her earnestly in the eyes.

“I … yes. I think. I’m okay.”

“Did you have another vision?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Have you been having many?”

“I’m not sure. I have dreams every night, but I’m not sure if they are visions. They aren’t like this.” She motioned to the air as Azriel lowered his hands.

“What was this one of?”

She hesitated.

“Even if it doesn’t make sense it may be important, for the war.”

“It was of us.” She couldn’t help but answer.

Azriel gave a brief pause, concentrating on keeping his face neutral. “Who do you mean by ‘us’? You and me?”

Elain nodded.

“What were we doing?”

A description of the images flowed out of her. “We were in a house, I’m not sure where. It was peaceful and beautiful. There was a garden outside. We were in bed.” She could feel a blush creeping up her chest to her cheeks. Why did she answer his question. She could have deflected. She must not be fully awake.

Azriel’s cheeks began to blush as he sat up straighter. “Oh. And what were we doing in bed?”

Was it a repercussion of the visions that they had to be spoken whether she willed it or not?

“We … your head was between my legs and you were…”

Azriel stood up suddenly, effectively cutting her off. “I got it Elain. Thank you.” He quickly walked over to the fire and angled himself away from her.

After a few moments of taut silence Elain braced herself and stood. “I don’t know why I said all that. I’m sorry I’ve made things uncomfortable for you. I will go now. I’m glad you’re okay.”

But before she could make it more than a few steps Azriel was behind her. Placing his hand gently on her arm, quickly dropping it as she turned around to face him.

“It’s okay. I know what it’s like being a seer. Some visions must be spoken.”

Elain raised her eyebrows. “Are you a …”

“No.” Azriel cut her off. “But my mother is, I know what it’s like.”

“Did all of her visions come true?” Elain asked, pink staining her cheeks again.

“I cannot remember if all of them did, but I believe most. Although, not often in the way she suspected.”

“Oh.” Elain breathed. The air filling with tension and words left unsaid, until Elain had to say something.

“I would not be upset, if this one came true.” She surprised herself speaking so boldly, but she supposed the vision of the possible future gave her courage that her feelings would be reciprocated.

“Elain.” Azriel repeated her name in a rough tone she hadn’t heard him speak before.

She wasn’t sure who moved first.

His scarred hands were on either side of her cheek, pulling her towards him.

Her hands found his shoulder blades, pulling him to her.

A few touches they had shared before. His hand on her elbow. Her hand on his shoulder. Their fingers brushing. Always they had been gentle, reverent even.

This time their lips clashed. A different kind of reverence, as if their bodies were made to worship one another’s.

The line between sin and sanctification had never been so thin.

With Graysen Elain had been always been demure, unsure of herself. She had rarely felt much pleasure of her own and had the vague impression that he didn’t expect her to have any.

With Azriel she felt uninhibited, she could be herself with him. Elain Archeron, the naive, mortal girl and Elain Archeron, the high fae, the seer. Either way Azriel knew her and accepted her. It drove her confidence now.

Her hands moved to his chest, broad and firm. She had been held against it many times when he winnowed her, but she would never forget how it felt earlier today when he rescued her from Hybern’s camp. Now she allowed herself to give into the temptation she had felt so many times before and ran her hands over it. Unbuttoning the top of his tunic.

His tongue ran across the seam of her lips, urging her to open them for him. She did so eagerly and when their tongues met they both exhaled quiet moans. His hands moved down her hips, over her ass, gently squeezing before moving further down to the backs of her thighs. He bent slightly to get a hold of them and life her up. Pulling her closer to himself, so that their bodies were perfectly aligned. Her hands moved from his chest to circle his neck, one hand threading through his hair.

She felt his pause. His uncertainty in what she wanted next. She pulled his mouth away from his only far enough to speak. “Take me to bed.” Azriel emitted a louder groan before moving his mouth back to hers as if to claim her. After a few steps he was gently lowering her to the bed before positioning himself on his elbows above her, ensuring no weight was put on her. But she didn’t want to be treated so gently. She wasn’t afraid of the weight of him, of this. She pulled his neck down towards her as she lifted her hips up to his. Her body responding on it’s own.

Azriel shifted to one elbow so that he could move a hand to her cheek, gently, down to her neck. His hand circled her neck and he squeezed, lightly. Now it was Elain’s turn the moan, the idea of being at his mercy making her come undone. He squeezed harder before releasing and moving his hand down her body, pushing down her loose nightgown until her breasts were exposed. He broke their kiss to look at them.

“Gods.” He muttered before moving his mouth to her neck. Kissing and nipping until he reached her breasts. She arched her back, begging him to take them into his mouth. He looked up at her as his mouth hovered over her right nipple. His breath causing it to tighten, nearing pain. He kept eye contact as his tongue darted out. Barely licking the peak. Elain trembled and moaned his name.

“Azriel.”

It was his undoing. His mouth covering her nipple, a hand moving to the other. He sucked and bit until she couldn’t stop writhing beneath him, then he moved to her other breast and repeated his worshipping. She felt ready to explode from the feeling on her breasts alone, not to mention the hard length she could feel through his pants when she rubbed against every time his teeth closed around her nipple and she couldn’t help but rub against him.

“Take off your clothes.” She managed between breaths. She knew she was shaking too much to manage removing them herself, not to mention she wasn’t sure how to remove them from his wings.

He removed his mouth from her breast and lifted his head up so that he could look down on her and meet her eyes. He paused, as if he wanted to capture the moment like he was afraid that when he moved to take off her clothes she would suddenly disappear. She gently placed her hand on his cheek, hoping to offer reassurance through her touch. He lowered his head to place a gentle kiss on her lips but raising himself to stand at the end of the bed.

He made quick work of his clothes and she pushed her own night gown the rest of the way off her body. The soft blues of her gown melting into the dark greys of his clothes at the end of the bed. She barely had an opportunity to take in his hard length, standing straight at attention.

Then he was on her again. Without the barrier of clothes every inch of their skin is touching. Elain had never felt so alive. Like her skinning is on fire and freezing at the same time. Every inch of her taut and screaming for more of Azriel. In any way. In all ways.

He leaned forward to leave another kiss on her lips before moving down her body, leaving a trail of kisses between her breasts, her stomach, above her sex. When he was between her legs he looked up at her. “Is this what you saw in your vision?” He didn’t wait for her reply before his mouth was on her. He wasted no time kissing her legs, her thighs. Suddenly his lips and his tongue were between her legs, her sex, exploring her, feasting on all her. “Gods Elain.” Azriel moaned into her, causing her to write more. “What do I taste like?” She had to ask, had always been curious. Her question caused Azriel to moan again, she felt the vibrations in her core. His tongue dove into her, as if he was trying to distinguish her taste. “Sugar.” She laughed gently at his general assessment. Something, anything, sweet. She wondered how he would taste.

His tongue was unrelenting. Licking her up and down. Moving between her folds. Pushing into her. There wasn’t a spot of skin between her legs that his tongue didn’t touch. Over and over. Her hands moved to his hair, gripping it hard enough that she was sure he must be in pain. But he didn’t relented. She couldn’t help as her hips began moving on his mouth, riding his tongue. He brought one of his hands to her ass, helping to lift herself onto him. She didn’t spare a thought for the fact that they were only in a tent, did not stifle her shouts with the fear of being overheard. She became overwhelmed with the feeling that she was about the explode. Her body barreled towards some kind of release, but there was some a part of her mind that seemed to hesitate, fearing there was something she wasn’t doing right, that her sounds were too loud or her writhing too much.

As if sensing her hesitation Azriel moved his hand from her ass to her clit, rubbing it while his tongue moved inside her.

She saw stars.

Her hips bucking into him as he helped her ride out her orgasm. He continued to lick and suck her until she had all but stopped moving. Once he saw that she was exhausted he left one chaste kiss on her before moving back up her body until they were eye to eye. They held their eye contact until Elain lifted herself up to kiss him on the mouth, tasting herself as she did. “You’re right, like sugar.” She offered, surprised that her own voice was deeper and scratchier than usual. Hopefully that wasn’t an indication of how much she had been screaming.

Her declaration pulled another groan from Azriel as he moved to kiss her more deeply. After a few tangles with their tongues she pulled away, bringing her palm to rest on his cheek. “I’ve never felt like that before.”

“Never?” He asked with a slight raise of his eyebrows.

She laughed softly. “No. Never.”

He kissed her again, at first gently, before she was lifting herself to deepen the kiss. To take more of him in. She wasn’t done devouring him, having him. Tension began to find it’s way back into her body, her veins. The satiated bliss she felt just moments ago being replaced with the need for more. One hand remained on the back of Azriel’s neck, gently holding his mouth to hers while her other moved down his body. Over the planes of his broad chest, down to his solid stomach, further down until she could feel course hairs and then her hand found what she had been looking for, had been so curious about. The touch of her hand caused Azriel to hiss.

“Are you okay?” She began to feel embarrassed that her inexperience had somehow hurt him. She and Graysen had had sex yes, but there was no extra touching aside from what was needed. She had been content with what it was, but the orgasm Azriel had already given shattered all illusions of satisfaction she had had with Graysen. She now knew how much she had been missing.

Azriel moved his hips so that his hard length was again touching her hand. “With you I am always okay.”

Her lips turned up in a smile as she kissed him again, capturing his moans with her mouth and she touched his length with her fingers, her hands. Running them up and down him. Marveling at how hard he was, with skin smooth as silk. She wrapped her hand around as much of him as she could and squeezed, pulling another moan out of Azriel. He bucked into her hand once, twice. “Fuck Elain. Fuck.” He moved his mouth to her neck and bit down on the skin between her neck and shoulder, causing her to gasp as the pain and squeeze him harder.

Suddenly he was pulling her hand away from him. “If you keep doing that I’m going to explode.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” She went to move her hand back to him, but he caught her wrist.

“It just depends on what you want.” Azriel didn’t make it a question, not wanting to push her in any direction she didn’t want to go. He wanted to be sure it was completely her decision, her call.

“I want this. I want you.” She had felt that draw towards him, that longing, ever since he first showed up at her father’s estate. Cassian had been the Illyrian who had caused her paused, caused her palms to sweat and her legs to tremble with fear at his presence. But upon seeing Azriel in the doorway she had felt a calm wash over her and had somehow known that if Azriel was with Cassian, then she had nothing to fear.

“Have you ever?”

“Yes. With … yes I have.” She didn’t want to ruin this by speaking Graysen’s name. She didn’t want any thoughts of him in her mind ever, much less in this moment.

Azriel nodded, understanding, before lowering himself, lining himself up with her.

“Stop me if it hurts.” She nodded but he before he moved he looked her in the eyes and repeated himself. “Ask me to stop.”

“You won’t hurt me in any way I don’t want you to.”

He kissed her as he pushed into her, slowly, only a inch but still causing her to gasp. He pulled out slightly before pushing in further. Her gasps mingling with his moans. On the next push her eyes fluttered close, a pain mixing with the pleasure. He moved his left hand to where they were joined, his right staying by her head where is elbow was propped. He moved his thumb between her legs, above where they were joined, he rubbed her until she began moving on him, arching into him, wanting more.

Then he gave her more.

He pulled out nearly all of the way before sheathing himself inside her fully. Pushing her legs wider to accompany his hips. Her hips arching up further to meet his as she let out a loud moan. When he had allowed himself to picture this with Elain he had imagined going slowly. It was an image he had tried to stop himself from thinking but one what often came to him in the time between waking and dreams, when he didn’t have full control of his consciousness. But now that he was inside her, her perfect tightness surrounding him, all rational thoughts were gone and every instinct he had took over. He kept himself from unleashing completely, but only barely.

He squeezed her breast as he moved inside her. She pulled his hair. The sounds coming from her mouth were better than anything he could have imagined. No matter how much he wanted this to last all night he knew he would not last much longer. He raised one of her legs slightly, so that he could push deeper into to her and also be closer to her. He kissed her mouth, her jaw, her neck. Grazing his teeth down to her pulse point, he bit down, claiming her in all the ways he knew how.

The sudden pain of his bite mixing with the wild pleasure she felt every time he reached a spot deeper inside her pushed her over the edge. She clenched around him, bucking wildly to ride out that final explosion of pleasure, moaning her first coherent words.

“Azriel.”

The feeling of her coming around him, the sound of her moaning his name, brought Azriel over his own the edge. He spilled himself inside her, glad for her clenching walls milking him till he was thoroughly spent.

He stayed on top of her after, catching his breath. Hearing her labored breathing in his ear, feeling her breaths gently moving his hair. He gently kissed her cheek, ending their passionate fucking with something so sweet she struggled to catch her breath.

Then he moved, pulling himself out her. She groaned at the absence of him. He got up and walked over to his wash basin. Dipping a cloth into the water before returning to her and gently wiping her between her legs. After he was finished he tossed the cloth back towards the bin. It landed on the floor near by and he didn’t bother picking it up. Instead he turned back towards her, taking her in as she lay bare in his bed, starting at her toes and ending with her eyes, as if committing her to memory. Then he brought his hand to his face, as if wiping at the shadow of hair covering his jaw. Finally he sighed, seeming to reach some internal decision, and picked up her nightgown from the floor and holding it out to her.

She frowned as she took it from him, hoping that he would lie down next to her instead.

But he caught her disappointment, as he seemed to catch all of the emotions written on her face.

“I don’t want you to leave. Never that. But if Nesta wake and you aren’t there, there would be hell to pay.”

She smiled at that truth. “Do you think I can get in without waking her?”

“I will put you in your bed with my shadows. She will never know.”

Elain pulled on her nightgown and picked up the blanket she had wrapped herself in to come to his tent before turning to face him.

For a moment they both looked at each other. Trying to read each other.

Finally Azriel broke the silence.

“Was that like your vision?”

She blushed. “Yes. Well. It was similar but we weren’t in this tent, we were somewhere else and I didn’t see us do everything.”

He offered one of his rare smiles. “Good. So we don’t have to be worried this was the last time.”

“No.” She agreed, returning his smile. “We certainly don’t need to worry about that.”

#elriel #elriel fanfic #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #azriel #acotar #fanfic #elain archeron #elide reads #elriel smut #a court of thorns and roses

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laequiem · 3 years

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kiss you off my lips - folktober day 5

Jurdannet Folktober 2021- Day 05. She who pulls the strings @jurdannet @jurdannetrevels

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Pairing: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar but seen through Nicasia/Cardan Greenbriar? lol

Rating: mature

Word count: 2,532

The Puppet King, my subjects call me. Allegedly, the Living Council pulls the strings, controlling me from behind the scenes. They think themselves subtle, but I hear their whispers. Their words, however, slide off my armor like rain. After all, I have heard them countless times, from other’s lips or from my own mind. I was my mother’s puppet, then Balekin, and now I am Jude’s.

read on ao3

Masterlist • She kills my self-control masterpost

Most days—more than a King, more than a marionette—I feel like a courtesan. Dabbling in steamy displays with courtiers I am barely interested in, all to keep the façade of the immoral king. I pretend at power, desperate for a nod of approval from my seneschal, while she does all the work. Of course, she had never asked me to whore myself out.

Until today.

I do not know who started our tumbling. Maybe I did, my anger blinding me to the foolishness of what we were about to do, in that small room behind the dais. Forgetting that touching Jude again would remind me of everything I have tried to forget since that day she rode me in her rooms. When I kissed her, that anger melted away, replaced immediately with the desire I have been helplessly fighting against for years.

Or maybe this was Jude’s plan all along. She is more faerie than she seems, at least in the way she schemes and bargains. I will charm Nicasia and get her the info she wants. In exchange, she gave me what I want: her.

Her tart taste lingers in my mouth. I did not kneel for her this time, but licking her taste off my fingers made me regret not indulging that particular thirst.

I find Nicasia easily, splendid in a pearl white gown, talking to Randalin. The small sprite does not stand a chance against her. His goat eyes shift towards me, then he bows deeply. Nicasia turns to me, unable to hide her surprise and delight that I have come to her.

“Cardan,” she croons.

Randalin chokes on nothing, animal eyes going wide. I raise a brow at Nicasia and cross my arms.

“Your Majesty,” she corrects herself, a purplish tint blossoming on her cheeks. I will never tire of this.

“Princess Nicasia.” I take her hand and kiss her knuckles. “Would you accompany me on a walk? For old time’s sake.”

“It would be my pleasure,” she beams up at me.

We make boring small talk as we walk, her arm looped around my elbow. The path leads us away from the Palace, towards the beach separating the Shifting Isles. Jude seemed to think Nicasia still liked me, and I suppose I can see it. She looks up at me with clear interest, though the conversation is as weary as can be. I work my charm up even more. A small hibiscus shrub blossoms as we walk past and I pluck a flower, tucking it in her hair with a calculated graze of my knuckles against her cheek.

The sea does not rise to greet us as we set foot on the sand.

“The sea is unnaturally calm,” I say.

I chuck off my shoes and Nicasia’s eyes dart straight to my bare feet. I hope Jude does not ask me if she was right that Nicasia still holds feelings for me, I fear I would not be able to lie.

“It is,” she says, turning back towards the sea.

I slowly uncuff my shirt for the second time today. I chase away the memories of Jude’s curious fingers on me. The way she explored and grabbed at me like she needed to figure me out, to plan out how to efficiently unravel me next time.

Next time.

I hope there is a next time.

“I must admit I am surprised,” I tell her nonchalantly, "I thought the Undersea always made true on their threats.”

I will the nearest tree to stretch out a branch towards me. I unbutton my shirt and remove it, then hang it on the branch.

“What do you mean?” Nicasia asks.

She turns to me. The way she devours me with her eyes takes me back to a time of shared wickedness and complicity. A time when it was us against the world, a time when she chose me over my siblings.

Until she chose Locke over me.

Now do you believe me that she wants you? Jude had asked. I suppose I do.

At one point, this look on Nicasia’s face would have set all my nerves on fire. Now, I feel the same as when strangers ogle me.

“Cleave together lest you face the rising tide,” I singsong, reciting the words from Queen Orlagh’s minion at the Hunter’s Moon revel in the same melody they used. “Yet the sea stays quiet. I take it your kind has another plan.”

I reach for the lace holding together my breeches and pull at the knot. Nicasia looks down at her hands, suddenly captivated by her nails.

“Perhaps,” she says too quickly. “Or perhaps we hope you will come to your senses.”

“We all hope so.”

Including me. Just not about this particular issue. My issue is of the mortal kind, the kind who deals in secrets and knives.

I hang my pants next to my shirt. Nicasia is still fully dressed, standing with her back straight and her lips tightly shut. I stop in front of her and trail a finger up her arm before slipping it under one of the straps of her dress.

“Will you not join me, Princess?”

My tail brushes up her spine and she arches towards me. I don’t wait for her to answer, though. I run into the sea.

The water is cold, unwelcoming. Before becoming High King, the salt water would not have bothered me as much. With only minor magic, only ingesting salt would have hurt me. Now, it grates at my skin like sandpaper, as if eating away my skin to get to the magic within. My magic recoils from any part of me in contact with the water. It’s heinous. I would rather take a dip in the Lake of Masks.

On the shore, Nicasia strips off her dress, hose, heels, tiara, everything. Then, she runs towards the water in a wave of blue-tinged skin and blue hair. She dives under, agile and more in her element than I could ever be.

She resurfaces next to me, a smile on her painted lips.

“Like old times,” she says.

“Like old times, but so much more complicated.” I sigh, then cast my line. “It used to be so easy.”

She takes a step towards me, biting the bait. “What was?”

And I reel it in.

“Everything,” I say with a frown. I take a step towards her, and put my hand on her cheek. “Us.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” she says softly.

“It does.” I sigh again. “Do you realize how hard it is to please everyone? The Living Council is always on my case. And my seneschal—”

She groans. “Why do you even keep her around?”

Because she commands me. Because she is the true ruler of Elfhame. Because I love her.

“I have to.”

Nicasia puts her hand over mine. Her fingers are webbed now, I notice. No gills, however. I suppose she knows I have no desire to ever follow her under again. Now that I am High King, I don’t have to—unlike when I was no more than the lover of the Future Queen of the Undersea.

I wonder if Nicasia notices the way I look at Jude. I wonder if I used to look at her like that, or if it was something else. I did love Nicasia, once, but it was never as labyrinthine.

I try to emulate that look just now, I try to look at her like I used to. Nicasia is still the same beautiful creature she always was: a perfectly symmetrical face composed of sharp angles and large, deep eyes. She is beautiful in the way a painting is, a piece of art to be admired. Just like art, she can make you feel things—but it’s nothing as primordial as what I feel for Jude. Like she is the beating heart I am tethered to.

“There are things I can choose for myself.”

I stroke her cheek with my thumb. She leans into my touch, angling her head towards my hand.

“… things?” Nicasia asks.

“Lovers. Consorts.” I lean in towards her ear and whisper, “A Queen.”

The words sound so wrong, they claw at my throat as they come out. I am surprised I can even say them, but they are not lies. I simply have no desire to make Nicasia any of these things.

“Ca—Your Majesty,” she gasps.

“We’re in private. Cardan is fine.”

I kiss the soft spot under her ear, then pull at the lobe with my teeth. Her skin tastes salty. Like seawater, of course, not the salty tang of sweat drying on skin after an exhausting training session. The point of her ear is unsettling, sharp like a blade.

“Cardan.” She slides a hand behind my neck, toying with my hair the way she knows I like. “Why refuse me so often then?”

I pull back to look at her, my hands roaming down to settle on her small waist.

“My subjects think me… young. Foolish.” I look towards the Palace, the grassy hill looming over the trees. “They already say I am a puppet.”

“They are the fools,” she spits.

I shake my head. “I am a fool. Regardless, if I were to marry so early after being crowned, they would think you the mother of puppets. The one who pulls my strings.”

“Especially given my mother’s insistence,” she says and I nod.

I pull her to me, her hips pressing against mine. Bone against bone. Wildly different from the soft but strong body I was exploring hours earlier.

“Politics, you know.” I sigh. “Tedious.”

I think I am overdoing it on the sighs, but what can I say? I am quite dramatic, even when I am not acting.

“Still,” I lean in, barely a hair’s breadth away from her face, “I have a say in whom I woo.”

Our lips crash together like waves on rocks. Hers are cold, which is fitting seeing how unaffected I am by this. It’s the kind of lustful kiss I give my partners, no feelings other than desire. My body is not fooled, however—kissing Nicasia has about the same effect on me as listening to Fala’s ramblings. I tip her head backward and she complies, malleable and utterly bewitched. My other hand slides from her hip to her buttox. I squeeze a barely-there cheek and she giggles against my mouth.

One of her hands is tangled in my hair while the other one slips from my shoulder down my back. As she has always done, she avoids my scars like they are made of iron. When we were together, I thought it was for my own sake that she never acknowledged them. That she was being kind, in her own way. When I had fresh wounds and I refused to take off my clothes, she understood. But when I ended it and my mind stormed to figure out what went wrong and led her astray, it started to feel more intentional. Like she sees my scars as weakness and she fears that touching them would contaminate her.

“I miss us,” she whispers against my lips.

I only hum an agreement, pulling away to kiss at her throat. Her hand continues its careful trek down my back, until she gets at the base on my spine. A dreadful shiver goes up my spine as I anticipate what she is about to do. Sure enough, her fingers circle the base of my tail. She strokes it, letting it slip between her fingers for the whole length of it. I jerk away, take a step back. As if to spite me, the sea places a slimy rock right under my foot and I slip, falling backwards into the water with the grace of a drunken redcap.

I spit out no less than a gallon of water as I resurface, choking on the salt that is sure to take days to leave my system. Nicasia’s mouth is twisted up in remnants of a smile, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“What happened?” she asks as I stand.

“Something… touched me,” I grumble, a faerie truth if nothing else.

She reaches out, moving a wet strand of hair away from my face. “The High King is afraid of a little fishie?”

I scowl, then splash her with water. “I am not afraid.”

Nicasia chuckles. I shrug her off, starting towards the beach.

“Leaving already?” she teases.

“My guards will start looking for me soon enough, if my seneschal isn’t already on her way.”

Nicasia grunts, probably rolling her eyes dramatically as she follows behind me. “That mortal has too much power.”

I stop in front of the branch I left my clothes on. I still feel the salt on my skin, drying there as the water drips away. I grab my tail and wring water from the tuft at the end of it.

“Does she?” I ask, bored.

“Yes!” Nicasia steps around and puts herself between me and the branch. “What will our world become if mortals do not learn their place? As their power grows, we ought to unite. The Land. The Sea.”

“Nicasia—” I start, but she interrupts me.

“The sea is growing impatient, Cardan,” Nicasia continues, a hint of irritation hidden under the usually pleasant lilt of her voice. “My mother thinks the Land is weak, she might act any moment.”

I inspect my nails, picking a grain of salt from under one of them. “If the Crown is so weak, why try to unite with us at all?”

“I want us to be united,” she spreads her hands, palm up.

“And I want to bathe. Your regnal birthright is quite cold.”

I step around her and start dressing up. Behind me, I hear her stop, then the rustling of fabric.

“Do not jest,” she scolds. “What she’s planning—you should take it seriously.”

“I do. And I will think it over, once I am warmed up.” I finish cuffing my shirt, then hold my arm out for her. “Will you accompany me?”

Arm in arm, we return to the Palace. Even without their High King, the Folk still partake in their traditional merriment. Unheeding of my vague promises and empty words, Nicasia spends the rest of the night at my side. We trade kisses and caresses for everyone to see. Later, we move to the rooms assigned to her to do more of the same, to bathe and exchange soft whispers. When I leave Nicasia’s chambers, she hands me notes regarding her mother’s plans to attack during Taryn Duarte’s wedding.

As I collapse on my bed, finally alone, I curse Jude’s name for being right. Still, her name is the last thing on my mind as I drift asleep.

tag list: @thefolkofthefic @figonas @kingandfireheart @godgavemelou @lizziebxnnet @hazelsheartsworn

If you want to be added to my tag list, DM me!

#jurdannet #jurdan #nicardan #tfota #the folk of the air #the cruel prince #folktober2021 #folktober #jurdannetfolktober2021 #the wicked king #cardan greenbriar

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needleanddead · 3 years

Text

remember when i was like ‘i will probably use this blog to write some horrible reader-insert fanfiction too’? yeah.

knife-edge, strade x reader, 3.2k

trigger warnings: not sfw, non-con, blood, violence, gore, references to torture/snuff films, honestly i figure you probably know what you’re getting into if you’re seeing this. reader uses no pronouns/neutral pronouns but is vaguely implied to be afab.

cross-posted to ao3

You do not know how you still have it in you to scream, and cry, and beg.

Well.

That’s a lie, really; you have it in you to scream, and cry, and beg, because you know that the moment you stop – the moment you let yourself truly succumb to that pit of nothingness that lies heavy and waiting in your chest – he will lose interest in you completely, and you will meet the same fate as all of the rest of them do.

Despite the shock collar that lies heavy around your throat; the proof that he had seen some value in you beyond what you might feel like if he tore you into pieces and let you rot, you know that any peace you have here is temporary. He’ll get bored. He’ll lose control. He’ll--

Sometimes you wonder if those things might be better. The idea of death hovers at the edges of your vision like a spectre, waiting for you – and you are a coward and you run from it, whimpering and sensitive with tears rolling down your cheeks whenever he takes you back down the creaking basement stairs and wraps rope around already rubbed-raw wrists.

You don’t think you’d recognise the sight of your own wrists without the rope burn any more. It seems so long since you’ve been anything other than captive. You’re not sure you even know who you are unless you have a blade half-buried in your thigh or thick fingers digging and reopening wounds or pliers too close to vulnerable flesh.

You think he likes that, too – that you don’t seem to exist unless you’re hurting. Delights that he’s broken you without breaking the part of you that he really likes; the one with the trembling lip and the gasping and the tears beading in your eyes. You beg less now; you have learnt that he’s always able to turn a ‘please, please don’t, not that--’ into something that’s somehow worse. But when you’d first woken up all rope-burnt and disoriented with your arms wrapped around a pole in a basement that smelt like copper and oil, you had begged until your throat was sore.

What you had gotten for your troubles was your own hand wrapped around the knife handle as you sliced into too soft, too giving flesh and stared in horror at bubbling rivulets of blood with the dim thought in the back of your mind; I did this to myself.

It’s a dangerous knife-edge that you’re walking; don’t fight too much, but don’t give in too much. Don’t break, but don’t entirely yield. If he gets bored of you, or if you push him too far – then the collar around your neck will be carefully unlocked and you’ll regret everything. You’ll meet the fate that you so narrowly avoided, bleeding and broken and disoriented as your life slips away to the tune of Strade’s fingers wrapped too hard about your throat.

Or worse, you’ll meet the fate you’ve seen some of the ones who have broken too early become acquainted with; bandana wrapped around his mouth and camera painstakingly readjusted to perfectly centre a sobbing, terrified face. You have been far too close to the ones who end up that way; brought down to the basement and given a nail gun as you’re shoved onto your knees in front of a girl who might once have been pretty but is a little too matted with blood and bruises to be called the same any more.

“I thought they might like to see someone else hurt her this time, schatzi,” his smile had not dimmed a watt. When you had first met him, that smile had put you at ease; his eyes had reminded you of honey, and you’d been so flattered, so warmed, to have the attention of someone who oozed easy charm--

You know now his eyes are not the soft amber of honey but the sharp yellow-orange of a hawk; a predator. When he had smiled at you, he had not been thinking of the kindness of making someone feel comfortable – he had merely been imagining how prettily you would break. Which, as he had not failed to tell you after you’d sobbed out every plea you could and had jagged stitches and broken bones and blood crusted on your face to prove it, had been even more lovely than he had imagined.

The nail gun had been too heavy in your hand; the trigger sweaty, because Strade himself was over-excited and flushed dark pink under tanned skin and excitement beading at his brow. Your fingers had slipped all over it as he’d murmured;

“They want you to put a pretty pattern in her up her shins to her knees. Start at the . . . haa, start at the ankle--”

You’d felt something inside of you snap as if it was very far away as you stared at her legs; already cut up a little and stitched messily, as Strade is so wont to do to make sure his captives last longer. You hesitate too long, because suddenly thick, strong fingers are gripping your jaw and squeezing too hard as they turn your face towards the camera like a rabbit caught in headlights.

His fingers will bruise your face, you know – and he will see it tomorrow, and dig them harder, make the bruises deeper until you can barely open your jaw--

“Ah, they think you’re cute, mäuschen,” Strade says, an uncomfortable lilt in his voice that sets your teeth on edge. “They’d be happy to see you as the star instead – and I’m sure our other guest would much prefer it too.”

(The girl in the chair leans forward, babbling words that don’t make sense; bubbling drool slips from her lips, tinged pink, and you think that this one must have talked too much and Strade has done something to her tongue).

“Now,” his tone is endlessly patient. “You know I want to keep you, ja? You’re very sweet. I like you a lot - so be good and do what the audience want, and I won’t have to do something I don’t want to, will I?”

He is hard to read. Cheerful to angry in moments; snapping and bouncing from side to side with a laugh and a wild light in his eyes that you don’t understand. He does like you – insofar as you think Strade is capable of really feeling for other people – but you can’t wager your life on him bluffing. The girl looks at you with agonised eyes and you pull the trigger, the nose of the gun pressed against her ankle.

You hear her scream – wet, through a throat clogged with blood, the sound mixing with the disgusting crunch-squelch of the nail being driven into her skin too close to the bone – and it echoes far longer in your head than it actually lasts. You feel far away as you trail the gun further up her leg, pulling the trigger, your marks on her surprisingly straight considering how much the both of you are trembling – but you know you’re crying because you can hear Strade breathing a little heavy, see the bulge in his pants (level with your face) from the corner of your eye as you finish the first leg and move to the second.

It’s not the last time he makes you hurt someone on stream. Sometimes, he checks the stream whilst you’re there and whichever poor soul he’s got taped to a chair whimpers and squirms, whistling cheerily through his teeth as if the situation is perfectly normal. You see the comments as they scroll by; asking you to do horrible things, the ping of donations, the occasional plea to dig a screwdriver into your eye socket and make you scream or pull out your teeth with pliers or slash a heavy knife through your ribcage and fuck the wound he leaves there--

You think he lets you see them on purpose, as a reminder of what he could do to you. He always makes sure the stream sees your face perfectly clearly, too – and you never fail to think; ‘he is making me an accessory to his murders’.

(It is not just you; you find out that Ren is subjected to this same treatment, this same reminder that Strade’s moods are volatile and he loses self-control too quickly and there’s every chance that one day, he will go too far. You do not share your thoughts with Ren that even if, by some miracle, the two of you found yourself outside of Strade’s control, your face is probably plastered all over the darkest shadows of the deep web. You never talk about what might happen. You do not quite trust each other beyond sharing in patching up each other’s wounds, occasionally seeking one another out for company, trembling in the night. There is a kind of tension between you; fear that the other is the favourite. That Strade perhaps isn’t capable of keeping both of you long-term.

It makes Strade himself laugh when he sees that you’re on edge around each other and he leans forward to rest elbows on knees and tells you with a wicked glint in his eye that he just wants the both of you to get along. Perhaps you two need to share something very special, like what he shares with the both of you.

When he tells you to hurt one another, Ren has the advantage of animal nature. It’s clear to you where you stand in the pecking order of predators. You think, too, that Strade prefers you there. Master, fox, mouse.)

You never hear anything from the room designated as yours; it doesn’t escape notice that there is no other bedroom, aside from Ren’s domain and the one that Strade himself barely uses. Nowhere for someone else, if Strade were to take it into his head that another captive would be an interesting pet to keep--

It has been long enough that there are some things you have asked for, tremulous and whimpering, decorating surfaces and scattered about the room. There are also reminders of Strade, too; a hammer and nails on a chest of drawers, a knife in the bedside cabinet, too many things that could be used as weapons at the same time as being summarily excused as simply the detritus of a man doing home improvements.

You’d woken up that morning (you know it is morning because early fingers of dawn have penetrated even through the curtains you keep closed) to see Strade silhouetted in the doorway, smile on his face, shirt spattered with dark red and brown. You know that expression. You sit up, letting the covers fall, and he keeps smiling as he closes the door behind him and approaches you like a wolf approaches a frightened rabbit.

“Last night was disappointing,” he says, his tone light. You’d heard a thump in the middle of the night; assumed it to be Strade dragging a body down to the basement, and had resolutely buried your face into your pillow and pretended you heard nothing.

It’s easier to think of Strade’s other victims – the ones not so lucky as you or Ren – as faceless, foolish creatures. Food. Sustenance. Not people.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice quiet, cracking. Strade reaches across and chucks your chin, too fondly, bright smile and bright eyes.

“It’s alright,” he tells you. He’s pleased with the apology. He likes it when you’re polite. “It just means that I’m feeling a little . . . ahh. Restless. You’ll help me with that, won’t you?”

“Of c-course I will.” The stutter; he likes that, you know. He shifts as he sits on the bed.

A chuckle.

“You’re always so well-behaved,” he tells you. “sehr süß.”

The knife-edge you walk; the tight-rope. Well-behaved, but not broken. Responsive, but not troublesome. You’ve gotten it down to a fine art.

He’s on top of you before you can respond, knees shoved between your legs, your hand shoved hard against the bedside table so it knocks uncomfortably against hard wood and you flinch at the shock of pain.

The brief pain, though, is nothing to the anxiety that crawls up your throat as you realise he grabbed the hammer and nails as he walked in.

He chuckles as he sees your eyes widen in fear, cooing softly to you;

“That expression. So hübsch. Stay still for me.”

Your wrist is shaking as Strade carefully places a nail right in the centre of your hand; testing the angle, the positioning. His breath is uneven and panting in excitement at what he’s going to do – and excitement, too, that he knows you won’t pull away. Because you know if you do, it will not merely be a nail through one hand, but perhaps through your other and your knees and your feet, perhaps a knife slicing through you like butter, perhaps the feel of chisels and needles and sharper and more painful objects (knife, pliers, screwdriver, chisel, bradawl, drill--).

He lifts the hammer. He watches intently. His eyes are lit with bright excitement, chest heaving, sweat-soaked and greasy. You taste copper and realise you’ve bitten through your lip.

You’ve grown used to the smell of copper and motor oil and meat. If it weren’t for the flood of blood across your tongue you doubt you’d have noticed.

Crack. The first blow. The pain is blinding.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Every single hit of the hammer sends a new shock of pain through you that echoes through the inside of your arm through to the bone marrow, shaking you. It’s not the most painful thing you’ve felt at Strade’s hands; but you are still partly asleep, still not quite aware, and you are simply looking at your hand with the crunch of fractured bones (twenty seven bones in the human hand; is that your capitate, that’s been splintered through?) and the sick wet noise of blood and muscle and you can’t think.

You stare, unblinking, at where your hand is nailed to the bedside table - the gore and blood that oozes from the wound as he uses the clawed end of the hammer to drag it out again. Strade’s smile is beatific, eyes wide and bright, sweat dampening his collar and his cheeks flushed and ruddy.

You’re unable to process anything for another long, agonising second; relief flooding you when finally, you respond. The whimper a delayed reaction, the tears that roll fat and hot down your own face taking a beat longer than usual.

You fear that you’ve broken for the moment you’re staring in horror; that he has finally, well and truly snapped you in half. Because if you’re broken, that means he’ll lose interest, and that means the basement and the fear of death finally catching up with you.

Occasionally the thought flits across your mind that death perhaps would be preferable; but you are a coward, and you have hurt people (even if it was on Strade’s command), and you do not want to know what awaits you on the other side of a non-beating heart and the light in a tunnel.

Strade chuckles, affectionately rubbing his nose against the line of your jaw, teeth digging just a little too hard into the flesh of your neck.

“You had me worried for a second, mäuschen,” he practically purrs. “I thought I’d heard the last of your squeaking.” Big fingers, tugging at your thighs, guiding you to wrap them around his hips. Despite the softness of his body, the proof that he enjoys lazing around and cheap beer and meat a little too much, there’s raw muscle beneath the chub. Even his hands on you are a reminder of how strong he is.

(Strong enough to drag dead bodies across floors, to lift them into kilns, to hold down unwilling, screaming captives and make them regret they ever laid eyes on him.)

“Unzip,” he tells you. One of your hands is free; unpierced, though scarred from being pressed against stove burned and soldering irons and heat guns, from grabbing the blade of a knife when he’s told you to fuck yourself with the handle, from sanders applied to formerly soft skin. You do not use that hand.

You force yourself to move the one dripping in your own blood, the ruined hand pierced straight through. The movement of your fingers burns, sending shock waves of pain all through you; but you tug at the zip of his pants nonetheless. You get blood all over his clothes but he just chuckles low and dangerous, as you reach into his underwear too and squeeze your eyes shut when you feel how hot and hard and heavy his cock is in your grip.

“Eyes on me,” he reminds you, soft, and you force yourself to open them. He drinks in the expression on your face like he’s a starved man and it’s his first meal.

There’s a bloody handprint on his shaft when your fingers and wrist finally give out and your hand falls onto the sheets and pillows beneath you, staining them too, and you think that Strade is going to drive more nails through your hand just to prove a point about not doing as he says.

But his cock presses hot and needy against your inner thigh, smearing blood and pre-come on your scarred skin, and he’s panting and practically drooling as he murmurs;

“You know you’re not going to break, schatz. You want to live too much.” He leans his face further down. He does not kiss you so much as take control of you; worry teeth into your bottom lip, transfer his own saliva into your mouth, conquer the cavern behind your lips and teeth (one of them is loose; from being hit and squeezed. He pushes his tongue just a little too hard against that one and your body contracts, a whimper transferred from your throat to his mouth, and he swallows it up like your protests are a fine steak). “Ah. That’s what I like about you.”

Are you going to break? The push of him pressing inside of you makes your toes curl, a soft noise that might be a moan escape; Strade laughs, again, the sound too hearty and friendly to come out of the monster that you know he is.

“You like it,” he presses, as his thumbs come to your hips and dig into wounds that have been stitched together; you hear the stitches pop, feel him re-open barely healed gashes. “You like being special to me. You like this.”

You don’t think you do.

You don’t think you like any of this; his body on top of yours, the pain, the mistrust, the fear that prickles hot and sharp and sour in your throat whenever you hear the door (the one you can’t go near) open. But you also know that saying that is the wrong answer. Hitting and screaming like a wildcat is the wrong answer. Saying nothing at all is the wrong answer.

So instead, you open your mouth, you shiver and shudder as his thumb presses deeper into the re-opened wound, and you manage to choke out a mouse-squeak of;

“Pl-please—”

It’s the right answer. His face does not soften; but his smile widens, his hips tilting until you’re so full you can barely move and you ache everywhere, and Strade simply smiles down at you as whatever passes for affection for him leaks into his tone and he coos;

“Don’t worry, mäuschen. I’ll give you exactly what you want. For as long as you need.”

[german translation dictionary; schatzi - sweetheart/dear/darling/treasure mäuschen - little mouse sehr süß - very sweet/very cute so hübsch - so pretty idk how accurate these are i am just using google translate always]

#strade x reader #strade x you #btd strade #reader-insert #not sfw #non con tw #gore tw #torture tw #i think this is the nastiest thing i've written but it's probably just gonna get worse #🦇 pip writes #i had to delete a lot of old fics from an old ao3 for this so it wasnt in the same place as my other reader-inserts dfvnnjbgf

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sweeethinny · 3 years

Text

Come and sit a while with me

It's been a year since I started all of this, that I wrote a fanfic to celebrate Ginny's birthday, and here I am, posting once again, keeping the tradition <3

This story will deal with grief, suicidal thoughts, but it has a happy ending, I swear

Happy birthday, Ginny.

AO3 | FF. NET | SIYE

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It was a normal afternoon at the Potters' house, Ginny wasn't working today and the kids were on vacation, James had gone out with friends, Lily was at the pool with her friends, and she and Albus were enjoying their free time before they had to get ready to go out to dinner and celebrate Ginny's birthday, so they lay on the sofa in the living room, both of them with moisturizing masks on their faces and hair, and the TV on.

The perfect day for her, if she was sincere.

"Mom," Albus muttered, looking at her curiously. "When did you know you loved dad?"

''I always loved your dad.''

''No… when did you know you really love him?'' Albus looked at her, his hair in a bun and his green eyes staring at her in the same way he had since he was born, as if he wanted to know the whole truth, and not half lies. "I mean, when did you look at him and realize he wasn't just another one?"

''Let me see…'' Ginny changed the channel when the movie ended, trying not to smile at the memory. ''I guess I never thought he was just another one, but there was a specific day when I was sure he was the one I wanted to marry…''

August 11, 1998

Ginny loved birthdays, it was simply her favorite date, along with Christmas.

How could anyone not be happy on the day that was entirely and unique to them? Everything revolved around her: the cake, the celebration, the attention, everything. It was her day, the day that Ginny didn't share with anyone, and even though she sometimes felt a bit of a bitch about it, she was glad none of her brothers were born on the same day as her..

She didn't want to have to share this too.

But today wasn't that happy day. Today wasn't sunny and as much as Molly had become more involved in her garden, Ginny's favorite flowers hadn't bloomed in time, as if they knew she was in mourning.

It was the first time that someone would be missing at the party.

Even Charlie called her over the Floo so everyone could sing together and celebrate, but today, it would be eight Weasleys for the first time, not nine. And Ginny didn't know how to deal with that, with that pain that seemed to consume her in every way, and that made her close the bedroom curtains and hide under the covers because she was exhausted.

Exhausted from fighting. Of having to be strong. Not being able to afford the privilege of just crying and admitting it hurt. It hurt a lot. At times it seemed almost impossible to bear. Ginny wanted for the first time in a long while, someone to take over things for her, letting her sleep and cry freely, without judgment, without trying to fix what was broken.

She didn't want a solution.

But she couldn't do that, Molly was doing her best to make this date happy, so that Ginny would realize that there was reason to celebrate, that Fred wouldn't want her to spend all day in her room. She also thought this was unfair, because Fred didn't have to bury one of them, Fred didn't have to go through grief, he never faced that pain, so what would he know?

Ginny knew. She knew what it was like to want to die every day since he died, she was the one who felt this agonizing loneliness that seemed to get bigger every day, she was the one who lay in bed at night and thought she could go crazy at any time because it hurt so much and it was so exhausting.

"May I come in?" A knock on her door made her jump as she tried to hide her dark circles with some of the makeup she had on, and his voice made her curse herself for still being in her pajamas.

''Yes.'' She tried to hide her nervousness because things were still a little awkward between her and Harry, even though she had kissed him a few days after the war ended, on the sofa in the living room in the middle of the night, when her room looked very cold and lonely, and Harry looked so cute wearing plaid pajamas and with his hair cut.

He clearly blamed himself for Fred's death, and Ginny still hadn't gotten over all the latest events: the Carrows' tortures, the war, the deaths, Fred…

Ginny had certain doubts, even though she didn't like to think about it, that they would last.

Maybe they were that couple that everyone looks at and says 'what if life had been different with these two?', figuring they could be something more if there hadn't been so much destruction in their midst.

"Happy birthday." Harry still looked tired, he hadn't regained his weight, but he was already showing signs of improvement, which was good. Ginny was happy to see him look good.

He was wearing the outfit she helped him buy for his birthday when they, Ron and Mione went for a walk in Muggle London. A light blue T-shirt, dark jeans, and black sneakers. A simple outfit, no big deal, but one that seemed to make him look even more handsome, if that was even possible.

The woman who would marry him would be very lucky, Ginny thought.

''Brought it for you.'' She hadn't even noticed that he had his hands behind his back, looking nervous as he showed her a bouquet of honeysuckle, tied with a red satin bow, and a cream-colored card pinned there with his name signed. "I know they're your favorites, and I thought you'd like it." He smiled awkwardly. "I noticed yours didn't bloom this year, and I thought you might want to continue the tradition."

"You didn't have to worry about that." Ginny had to swallow hard to keep from crying in front of him, even though there wasn't a reason to.

"Of course I did, it's your birthday, I want to see you happy." Harry shrugged, his cheeks flushing as if he'd been out in the sun for hours on end. He was so cute, Ginny wished she didn't like him so much, because that way, when their imminent separation came, it wouldn't hurt so much. ''How is your day? I don't want to spoil the surprise, but I think your mom made your favorite cake.''

"It's okay, as far as possible," she shrugged. "Mom is trying to keep me away from the kitchen and all the preparation, so I decided to stay in the bedroom."

''Are you going to be here until party time?'' She thought Harry would start the same speech Hermione gave her when she said she was going to do it, which was the same as Bill and his father: Fred wouldn't like it. Besides, you need to celebrate that you're alive, enjoy life…

Ginny was ready to fight with him, just as she had with the three of them.

"Is there a problem?" Ginny crossed her arms, careful not to crush the flowers.

Harry was bigger than her, but that wouldn't stop her from kicking him out if necessary.

''No. Want company?" Harry looked sincere though. "We can assemble that puzzle you bought, remember?"

''Do you want to stay here? Assembling a puzzle?' Ginny followed Harry as he walked around her room as if the surroundings had been familiar to him for years already, looking for the box on her shelves, which was a total mess of old books, photos and other stuff.

"Of course, it's your day, we'll do whatever you want, ma'am."

August 11, 2021

''How did you know you loved him? Because he wants to assemble a puzzle with you?" Albus asked, no longer paying attention to the TV.

''No and yes. See, unlike everyone else that day, your dad respected my grief. He didn't try to make me go outside, see the bright side of things, nothing. He just stayed there with me, accepting that on that day, I wanted to stay inside my room, putting together a puzzle… He paid attention to the flowers I liked, in the cake." Ginny smiled. "That dawn, after everyone else went to sleep, I finally managed to cry, and son, it's a pain I can't put into words." She swallowed, not wanting to get emotional. ''Over time it gets a little easier, but that year, it was a pain that seemed to tear my chest apart. And do you know what your dad did? He sat with me, hugged me, and listened to me cry for an hour, not saying anything, just standing there by my side.''

The memory was no longer as painful as it had been, and Ginny allowed herself to smile as the image of Harry lying beside her on the bed, his arms around her waist, came back to her mind.

"He never tried to save me, he just stayed there with me, helping me when I needed it, and that was the most important thing."

"He saved you in the chamber," Albus remembered, a mischievous smile on his lips that reminded her of Fred when he was younger. Ginny didn't even know it was possible, but it was always the image that came to her mind when she saw Albus smile like that.

"It was a different situation." She shrugged.

"Did you doubt you would marry him after that day?"

"Never again." And it was true. ''Since that morning, when I woke up and he was still sleeping with me after I cried and sobbed things I don't even remember anymore, I knew he was the one I would marry.'' Ginny touched the ring that was already on her finger for over twenty years now, still smiling like a fool as she remembers the marriage proposal and the marriage itself.

"And why weren't you sure you'd be with him before that?"

''It's not that I wasn't sure, it's just that when you go through something really bad, everything around you seems to fall apart together, it's like nothing else has a solution and you are bound to fail whatever you try. It's a horrible feeling, I hope you never feel that.'' Ginny shifted on the couch to give him a closer look. ''Why this now?''

"Just curiosity." Albus smiled, his cheeks a little flushed. "Happy birthday again, Mom, I love you so much." He kissed her forehead, as she usually did.

''I love you too, my love.''

#hinny #harry x ginny #ginny weasley #harry potter next generation #next gen harry potter #albus severus potter #albus is a cute boy <3 #my fic #happy birthday ginny #harry and ginny

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the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 3 years

Text

Buxom beauty

Oneshot summary; You struggle, as an overweight and taller than average woman, to find the beauty in yourself. However, Loki there to make you understood just how worthy and magnificent you truly are.

Pairing: Loki x reader

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Oneshot

Word; 2.900

Warnings; will say triggering themes ( e.x serious self-doubt) even if it may not be the case, maybe som angst

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing

A/N: So a little mid-week surprise everyone! This fic is per request from a user on my AO3 account following their lines of: “Could you possibly do one where reader is tall for a woman but also overweight? She struggles with seeing herself as worthy or beautiful but Loki is tryna make her see herself the way he sees her in his own special way?? Please can you do this?” It started out as a drabble and an hour later it was all of a sudden a whole ass fic. Tbh I’m not even gonna apologise this time.

Your eyes were levelled with the upper edge of the mirror. Although you didn't concentrate on how the top of your head didn't really fit into the reflected image unless you took a few steps back. Instead, your eyes followed the soft curves running along the sharp edges of the mirror.

It was soft. No, you were soft in places which the majority of women perhaps not were. Rather than resemble the figure of the mirror before you, which was slim and narrow. Your body was an even curve all the way from your busts to thighs. Though depending on how you shifted your weight, it could also become uneven. Despite how it looked, some places were more generous than others in exceeding the public image of how you should look.

When you turned to the side, your head stayed twisted towards your figure. Your outline wasn't straight. Nor descending into a slender point of which your feet was the tip. It was like a wave, rising in places and lowering in others. And much like that movement of water, your body didn't have any sharp edges. It was simply soft and natural-looking.

You closed your eyes, turning back to fully face the mirror. However, as you started to walk backwards, you didn't re-open them. Purely because you didn't need to look to know there was no gap between your thighs. Neither how no trained illusion of abs existed as an outline under the shirt you wore. Nor how the fabric covering you followed the curve of your chest rather than fell in drapes.

Not until you had shuffled about a foot and a half backwards, enough so that you knew all of you fit in the length of the mirror, did you open your eyes.

You saw the tiredness in the eyes staring back at you. It was a tiredness of trying to make yourself look another way, tiredness to view yourself as enough. Only if you realised and found yourself in the fact that you wouldn't look any other way and that you didn't always need to be enough, maybe that exhaustion would disappear.

A sigh left you while you closed the dresser door to hide the cursed mirror. It was with the same force as you'd done earlier today when you had shut the locker door in the gym without even putting anything in there, choosing to just head back home instead.

You'd wanted to be there at first. But, discouraged by the little mirror in the changing room and the glances received from the already remarkably trained people working out, you suddenly didn't.

You still contemplated the choice. Because you shouldn't have chickened out so quickly. However, home meant that you only were aware of your own intrusive thought, rather than everyone else's judgement too.

Since this morning, your head had felt heavy with thoughts. Throughout the day, though, it had only gotten worse.

It felt like even though you rested, the little voice telling you you should do something was there. Yet, every time you did something, the other voice, the one telling you to stop trying, also whispered in your ear. This was a day you listened to the second, exemplified by your action of fleeing the gym.

So, ever since returning from the short trip outside, you hadn't done much more than lounge around in the apartment you shared with Loki.

The raven god was, for the moment, on yet another mission with the team. Though he'd told you that he wouldn't be gone for more than three days, you hadn't gotten to know much else of the mission. And despite you felt worried every now or then about the lack of information, it was fine. Because early on in your relationship, Loki said he never would hide anything from you if you asked, but he preferred to keep his work and private life as separate as possible.

You respected and understood that. So most times, you settled with the little pieces of information he willingly gave you. Primarily because you could sense his nerves anyway and know how serious the mission was from that. This time around, however, Loki hadn't been worried about the mission, so neither did you feel like you had a reason you should.

Although now, worried or not, you wished he wasn't away on a mission at all. Instead, at home with you.

You would've made the most out of the day, despite how you felt, if Loki was here. Maybe you would've watched some movies, gone out on a walk, or perhaps cook together. It was mundane activities but still things both of you enjoyed. Now though, the only representation of your mischievous partner was his shirt.

You'd nabbed it from Loki's side of the closet in an attempt to calm yourself down from the scent still lingering in the fabric. Only that it resulted in a critical try.

Because not only did it remind you too much of the warmth and presence of him, which made you miss him even more. It had also become the cause of you suddenly staring in the dresser mirror and becoming ever more conscious about yourself.

You hadn't only thought back on the day while standing there, but also the way his shirt fits you. It didn't hang down to your knees, not even the middle of your thighs. It ended halfway over your bottom, like your own shirt with an inch or two added. Thus, if you hadn't worn any tights, you would've walked around just as exposed as if you had worn one of your own shirts.

Even now, when heading from the living room to the kitchen, you looked down at where the shirt ended. The edge brushed along the very top of your thighs. You tried pulling it down a bit, but the fabric simply inched upwards again, making your brows furrow and lips purse.

That was until you heard something.

Your expression changed so that your eyebrows raised and eyes sought out the front-door from which the sound of a lock opening came from. You hadn't made plans with any friends today. Even if you had, they should've knocked, seeing how none of them had a key to your place.

The second you started to worry that it was a break-in, you saw a silhouette you recognised all too well. It was clad in green and gold. The raven hair that touched the tops of his shoulders, nearly blended in with the darker details of the clothing. You started to move before even registering anything more of Loki.

It was with mere moments to spare you noticed the emerald shimmer surround him and remove the armoured parts of his attire before you crashed into his chest.

A little ouf left the god, as he didn't expect the welcoming he got. But that didn't matter, as your arms encircled his neck instinctively. Unable to do anything else than simply stay put a few steps into the foyer, Loki encircled your waist with his arms, face boring into your neck as yours already had done in his.

"You said you wouldn't be home until tomorrow", you mumbled. Knowing he'd heard what you said from the little kiss he gave the side of your neck.

"Well, you know how my brother is, ever as impatient. Sometimes for the better and other times worse, thankfully this time was not the latter", Loki pulled his head out of the crook in your neck to look at you, consequently making you do the same. "Hopefully, you do not mind?"

"Definitely not", you thought you'd said it casually, but the way the raven-haired god tipped his head inclined you hadn't.

"Something wrong, darling?" You gave him a smile and shook your head as you said 'no' while stepping out of his arms. If you would've guessed, you supposed it was the way you retracted from Loki's touch that gave him more than a feeling that you'd lied.

"If there's something wrong, you can tell me", that he even said this made you understand he was aware that you weren't ok. Nevertheless, you saw the exhaustion in his eyes by being away on a mission with the team. He may have been recruited to the Avengers by his brother, rather unwillingly one may add, on the basis that the god of thunder could keep a watchful eye over his brother that way, though he by now had accepted the fact he wouldn't leave.

Yet simply because of this, or that he was a god, didn't mean Loki didn't get tired from the countless missions he was assigned. And it was because of this, you didn't want to burden him with what had weighed you down this whole day.

"I know, Loki", you turned then, starting to head towards your shared bedroom and the bathroom that connected to it to run a bath. However, you weren't even able to suggest that before a hand shot out and wrapped itself around your wrist.

It was enough to make you glance over your shoulder with a raised brow, but not enough to hurt.

"I can see something isn't right and that you feel like you can't tell me", your lip caught between your teeth at the pleading way the raven-haired god looked at you. Still, you didn't say anything, now concerned he would find your worry silly. "Darling, please".

"I-I... why do you want to know? You must be exhausted, go take a shower, or I can tap up a bath for us", you tried smiling to convince him he should think about himself before considering you. Yet, it seemed Loki was as persistent as you at the moment.

"Not until you tell me what's on your mind", he took a step closer, now tugging lightly at where he held your arm so you would turn to him.

"It's n...".

"Do not tell me it is nothing. If not because I am the god of lies, then because I am your lover", he cut off the half-ass excuse you'd tried to use and continued to look at you with the intent of not letting you escape with anything but the truth said. Despite he didn't know you knew you wouldn't have tried anything again, the last part of his sentence striking a nerve that made you sigh.

"This day has just been bad", you finally said. "I-I... it feels like I just need a break from my thoughts. And I know you probably need one too, regarding how messy those missions can get", the god of mischief's lip tugged upwards slightly at this.

"You, my dear, are a break from everything that ever could weigh me down".

"How can I be that", you snapped, hand tearing away from Loki's grip. You didn't know why you reacted like that all of a sudden, probably because what he said rubbed so wrong against everything you thought about yourself today. But it got even worse when you saw the slightly shocked look painting Loki's features. "There's so many more that could fulfil that", you mumbled under your breath, feeling the burn of embarrassment in your chest as you turned to head down the hall and not face him after your little outburst.

Yet you were stopped, once again, by the god when he spun you around to face him. The previous shock had now turned into a furrow between his brows.

"But I do not want more, darling, I simply want you", on good days, you may have smiled and kissed him for those words. Now you just cringed at them while trying to escape the grasp he still had on your hips.

"How could you?" You finally said when realising he wouldn't let go of you, head falling forwards to look down on the floor. "Just...just look at me compared to every other woman you meet. What do I have that they don't?"

There was a silence then, one that made you shut your eyes. You prepared to feel Loki's hands leave you where they still rested on your body, hot and anchoring, though that was not what happened. He did move, but not to take his hands off of you, nor away from you. Instead, his finger hooked under your chin.

Even though you followed his gentle encouragement to tip your head upwards, you didn't open your eyes despite feeling his gaze on you.

"Please darling, open your eyes", he didn't need to coax you any further. "There those pretty gems are", you hadn't even opened them entirely before Loki said this, instantly making you smile. Nevertheless, as if your thoughts today really didn't want you to feel happy, worthy, of his love, the corners of your mouth tipped downwards when remembering he still hadn't answered your question.

As if sensing, if not plainly seeing, the change, Loki's brows furrowed. You tried holding his gaze but felt you were unable to do so, which in the end, made you avert your eyes.

What you couldn't know was that your display had made Loki realise something did really bother you today and that the topic of the conversation held moments earlier, maybe a reflection of that.

Suddenly you felt how the touch at your left hip disappeared, to be sensed once more when it rested against your cheek. You were unable not turn towards the god of mischief with wide eyes at his gesture. However, as you once more looked at him, you saw nothing of the playfulness that often accompanied him, just a seriousness as he looked at you.

"You asked what you have compared to what others don't", he began, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek. "You have the ability to calm me like no other. You have a beauty incomparable to anyone else. You have my hearth", you felt a flutter in your chest as Loki's hand trailed from your face down to your waist, only to there pull you close to him, simply waiting for your answer.

Yet, for the moment, you were at a loss of words. Not only by what the god of mischief said. But what you realised and was constantly reminded of when being pressed against him. You'd never needed to crane your neck, nor did Loki need to bend down for the matter, to look each other in the eye.

"B-but how can I have all that?" Your voice was small as the question nearly trembled from your lips.

"Midgard is so harsh and stale that it does not care about anything more than looks. One needs to find softness and in order to do that, one needs to look further than the surface. If people simply choose to do that, they would find so many more like you", the flutter travelled further and further from your chest. Slowly like molasses, the doubt dripped off of your bones for butterflies to instead settle on them. But the dark and sticky liquid stubbornly didn't want to withdraw completely.

"Earth may be like that, Loki, but you aren't from here", you began, fingers twitching against the Asgardian attire, his signum, that he still wore. "You've told me how beautiful the eternal world is, so I know your standard of beauty, like so many other things, are so much higher than mine and everyone else's".

"Asgard is filled with beauty", the raven-haired god nodded, a smirk tugging the side of his mouth. For some reason, it made those butterflies feel like they drowned in the molasses. Because what else than far greater memories than what he's created with you could accompany such a gesture? Apparently, something entirely else, you realised as he continued. "Yet you, my darling, wouldn't fit there because your beauty out-shines all of what already exists. And do you know why none can see this? Because no-one can watch the sun for too long before getting burned".

"But you still do you", you stated incredulously. Thus why, if using Loki's own words, would he do something that hurt him. However, being ever the observant person he was, he caught your doubt. Which made him shake his head and chuckle.

"You seem to forget I am a god, no mere human or simple Asgardian", directly after he stated thus, Loki did something that made you squeal, in both surprise and worry.

His arms tightened around your waist and lifted you, high enough your feet dangled off the floor and your face was a few inches above his. You almost panicked, imagining you were too heavy for him, but you didn't find anything that displayed such strain in his face. And then any caution disappeared as he twirled you around.

A giggle fell from your lips as you felt the air around you shift with Loki's action. You felt light when nearly all thoughts from earlier seemingly were flung out of your mind and even stayed away when he gently set you down again. His firm chest still pressed into your soft one.

"Just think about it, darling, you need a god to love you for someone to find your true beauty. Does not that show how worthy of love you are if no other person can stand beside you and call you theirs", your smile didn't die down this time as you gazed at him.

"I suppose I must agree with said god", you didn't get more time to witness his smirk turn into a smile before his head tilted forward and his forehead came to rest against yours.

"You never must, but oh how honoured I would be if you did".

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capseycartwright · 3 years

Text

but at the cost I payed, I'm pretty sure I got screwed

buck wasn't exactly sure how to process the fact he'd been lied to, his entire life - that his parents had forced maddie to keep such a fundamental part of his past, his life, from him. but - at least he wasn't alone.

or - eight conversations between buck and his true family as he comes to terms with the existence of the brother he never knew he had. set post 4x04

ao3 link

i. albert

Buck had forgotten that Albert would be home, when he managed to stumble through his own front door – breath catching in his chest as he tried to process the bombshell Maddie had just dropped on his life. Maybe – maybe it was rude of him, cruel to forget that he shared his apartment with the younger man, that Albert lived on his couch, but Buck had forgotten, and how he wasn’t sure of a kind way to tell Albert that if he had to have a conversation with another human being, there and then, that he would scream.

And he might not be able to stop screaming.

Albert was looking at him with genuine concern written all over his face, sliding the pan he was using to cook off the hob, so it wouldn’t burn. “Are you okay, Buck?” he asked, and Buck knew he could talk to Albert, and he would try to understand; burdened by his own family issues in ways that would make it easier to admit the insanity of the Buckley family aloud.

But Buck couldn’t.

“That’s kind of a loaded question, Albert,” Buck managed to choke the words out, anxiety clawing at his chest.

Albert inclined his head slightly. “Okay,” he conceded. “Are you well enough to be here, alone – or as alone as you can be with me, here,” he grinned slightly at his own words. “Or do you need me to call someone?”

“I don’t think I know,” Buck admitted, forcing himself to sit at the kitchen table, his blood thundering in his ears as he tried to process everything.

He had a brother. He has a brother – even if that brother wasn’t alive, anymore. Buck had a brother – he wasn’t the only Buckley boy, like he’d believed for so much of his life. For twenty-nine years, he’d thought Maddie was his only sibling, but she wasn’t, and Buck’s entire world felt like it had been spun on its axis and nothing made sense, anymore; but somehow everything made more sense than it ever had before, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with that.

Albert pushed a glass of water toward him, a kind look on his face.

“I don’t think I can talk about it, yet,” Buck admitted, the cool condensation dripping down the side of the glass – a housewarming gift from Hen and Karen, glasses nicer than he’d ever buy himself, if he was being honest – grounding in the way it reminded Buck that he wasn’t dreaming, the glass wet to touch.

“That’s okay,” Albert shrugged. “I can talk, instead, if you want.”

Buck could have cried, with relief. “Yeah, that would be great, Albert.”

Albert grinned. “Okay,” he nodded, moving his pan back onto the hob. “So – I had an online class, today, and one of my classmates, they were clearly not paying attention, but as it turns out, they had taken a series of photos of themselves, and were playing it as a video……..”

Buck forced himself to focus on Albert’s words, his roommate talking about the perfectly mundane happenings of his day, how his online classes went, how their neighbour down the hall still firmly believed he and Buck were a couple, and how its quite sweet, really, because she’s trying her hardest to make sure that they know she accepts them, and she’ll be dropping by a loaf of banana bread, in the morning.

It wasn’t until Albert set a bowl down in front of Buck, a simple pasta dish that made Buck’s stomach growl in acknowledgement of how hungry he was, that Buck spoke, looking at his roommate – his friend – with watery eyes.

“Thank you,” Buck managed to sputter out.

Albert shrugged. “You need to eat,” he said, pushing a fork toward Buck. “My grandmother – she always said that the problems of the world looked a little less daunting, when you looked at them with a full stomach.”

“I don’t just mean for the food,” Buck croaked, though he was grateful for the food – because he wasn’t sure if he had the mental energy to try and make himself dinner, to remember how to cook any of the ingredients that sat in his well-stocked kitchen. “I mean – for taking me out of my head, for a minute.”

Albert smiled, in that endearingly sincere way he always did, Chimney’s brother always one to wear his heart on his sleeve. “What are roommates for?”

ii. bobby

It’s not as though Buck particularly wanted to tell Bobby, about what was going on – but after the incident at the fire, after the way Buck had been acting, he knew he had to, he knew that he had to admit to his boss what was happening. He’d been insufferable to work with, Buck knew, and his boss was owed an explanation.

What Buck hadn’t expected was Bobby’s reaction. It wasn’t – it wasn’t the reaction of a Captain, a professional acknowledgement of a personal trauma that Buck wasn’t able to compartmentalise and leave at home, like he was supposed to, it was the reaction of a friend, Bobby pulling Buck in for a determined, bone-crushing hug.

“I’m so sorry, Buck,” Bobby’s voice was calm, against the sea of static that was buzzing in Buck’s head, something Buck could cling to as he stood, still as a statue, in Bobby’s embrace.

“You didn’t do anything,” Buck found himself saying, confused.

Bobby pulled back, hands on Buck’s shoulders. “I can be sorry, even if I didn’t have a role to play in this,” he said. “Buck, I’m sorry for you as your friend – what your parents hid from you, it was cruel. You didn’t deserve to be lied to like that.”

Buck swallowed his tears, focusing his gaze on one of the photos hanging on the back wall of Bobby’s office. “Their kid died,” he said, voice robotic as he voiced the sentence he’d practiced over, and over. “I can’t blame them.”

“Yes, you can,” Bobby’s voice was fierce. “Buck – I had to bury my own children. That is a pain I will never forget, and one I will live with for the rest of my life. I can’t even begin to describe to you what that grief, the grief of losing a child, feels like, and I hope you never, ever understand it,” he said. “But I have never put the burden of that grief on May, or Harry. Your parents had no right to force you, and Maddie, to bear their grief in the way they did. It was wrong. It is wrong.”

Buck hated how easily he was crying – how easily he’d always been reduced to tears, too soft, too emotional, not enough of a tough guy to please his father. “It was?” his voice was tiny as he spoke, unsure if he could take Bobby’s words at face value. Was Bobby saying that just to placate him? To make it so he could suck it up, and work?

“Yes, Buck,” Bobby’s voice was firm. “It was wrong – and no one in this team is going to begrudge you the time you need to process this. We’re your family, and we’re here for you. Okay? I’m here for you Buck, whatever you need.”

Buck hadn’t been hugged a lot, as a kid – not by his parents, at least. That was a pitifully sad thing to admit, but it was the truth – for all the ways Maddie had been kind, and affectionate, pressing kisses to Buck’s curls and hugging him close, his parents had been cold, and physically distant, never giving Buck more than a pat on the shoulder.

He knew why, now. They looked at him and all they saw was Daniel – all they ever saw was the son who would forever be twelve, frozen in time. They had watched him grow up, and maybe he was tolerable, when he was younger, when he was going through all the same phases that Daniel had – but as soon as Buck had turned thirteen, and lived longer than the brother he didn’t know existed, his parents had kept their distance more, and more, and then Maddie had left, and Buck had been left to crave physical affection, taking that intimacy wherever he could get it, regardless of the impact it had on him, regardless of how it would all leave him feeling even lonelier, when it was over.

But –

Bobby was a dad.

Not his dad –

But someone’s dad.

“Could I…” Buck cut himself off, embarrassed. “Could I have another hug, Bobby?”

Bobby’s eyes were sad, and full of sympathy – but not pity, Buck noted. “Yeah, kid,” Bobby said, pulling him in for a hug, Buck forced to stoop a little, to match Bobby’s height, comfortable in the embrace, this time. “You can have a hug.”

iii. hen

“Hey there, Buckaroo.”

Buck looked up to see Hen approaching him, doughnut in hand.

“You were missing out on the sugar delivery,” Hen explained, hanging him the plate. “So I snagged you your favourite flavour.”

Buck wanted to cry. “You didn’t have to do that, Hen.”

Hen shrugged, sliding down the wall so she was sitting on the concrete next to him, the bright sun of the Los Angeles afternoon beating down on them, the corner they were sitting in slightly secluded, distant from the noise of the firehouse that Buck normally thrived in – just, not today.

“I wanted to,” she said, taking a bite of her own doughnut – cinnamon sugar, Buck noted, her favourite. She’d always been the one to support Buck’s belief that simple was best, when it came to doughnuts, never making fun of Buck’s preference for plain old raspberry jelly flavour; unlike Chimney and the rest of the team, who favoured the hipster doughnut place around the corner from the station, and all the weird flavours they sold.

“Because you feel sorry for me?” Buck found himself asking.

“Because you’re my friend,” Hen corrected, nudging Buck’s knee with her own. “And I can see you’re hurting, Buck, so I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Buck knew he didn’t look the best, rocking up to their shift that morning – his eyes were red raw from crying, because he was in that stage of processing it all, now (Dr. Copeland had assured him that crying was a perfectly healthy trauma response, but Buck was tired of Albert’s quietly concerned looks, because apparently even crying alone in his shower didn’t guarantee privacy in the tiny space they co-existed in.)

He just hadn’t realised he looked that bad.

“I guess you know, then,” Buck murmured, poking at his doughnut. He’d given Bobby permission to tell the team, if he felt it was appropriate – he just hadn’t been able to face the prospect of telling them himself.

“No,” Hen’s voice was firm. “Whatever is going on with you, is your story to tell, Buck. Unless you want to tell me, I have no intention of finding out what is happening.”

Buck shot her a confused look.

“Chimney, he gave me the impression that whatever you’ve found out, is something that was kept from you by the people you love most in the world, and you didn’t have a choice in who found out, because Maddie told him first, and when – and when you got trapped, in that fire, Chimney panicked and told some of the team,” Hen said, explaining what Buck already knew – what Chimney had already desperately apologised for, terrified that Buck’s newfound knowledge of his dead brother had pushed him from resident daredevil to on the verge of suicidal.

Buck didn’t blame him, really.

“I didn’t hear the secret, at the fire,” Hen said. “And I asked Bobby not to tell me. I want you to be able to tell at least one person, on your own terms, if you want to tell me. And if you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay too – I just want you to have the option. I’m happy to be the friend who doesn’t know, if that’s what you need.”

Hen’s sincerity was making Buck want to cry again, his friend looking at him earnestly as she spoke. He knew that if he asked her, Hen would do her best to never find out what Buck’s secret was – Hen was good with secrets – and Buck wasn’t sure how to voice his appreciation out loud in a way that felt appropriate for the magnitude of what Hen was offering him.

Peace.

The power to take control of his own situation.

Buck hadn’t felt in control from the moment he had picked up that photograph of Daniel, and Maddie had admitted who it was, but now, for a second, at least, he felt in control.

“I had a brother,” Buck admitted, hot, angry tears rolling down his cheeks. “I had a brother, and they never told me – they kept him from me. For my whole life, they kept him from me, Hen.”

“Oh, Buck,” Hen’s voice was thick with emotion as she spoke. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

“I know – I know it wouldn’t have change the fact he died, when I was a baby,” Buck continued, managing to talk about it, even just a little, for the first time since he’d found out. “But I deserved to know, Hen.”

“Yes, you did,” Hen was fierce in her agreement. “They had no right to keep his existence from you, Buck.”

“It explains it, you know,” Buck glanced at Hen, the protectiveness that was written all over her face making his heart twist in his chest. “Why they never loved me, not really – I was never Daniel.”

“I’m not even going to pretend to understand your parents,” Hen said, wrapping her arms around Buck’s shoulders, pulling him close, running a hand through his curls, the same way Maddie used to, when he was younger. “But I’ll tell you something for nothing, Buck; I love you. I love you like a brother, and I know its not the same, but I love you. And loving you has been damn easy, from the moment you stepped into this fire station – because you have a heart of goddamn gold, Buck. And your parents inability to see that is not your fault.”

Buck let out a shuddering sigh, leaning into the comforting embrace Hen was offering him. “I’m not sure if I believe you, Hen.”

“That’s okay,” Hen reassured. “I’ll keep reminding you until you do.”

“You will?”

“I will,” Hen confirmed. “Because that’s what family does, Buck. Now – eat your doughnut before we get called out.”

iv. chimney

Buck hated the tentative way that his friend – and teammate, and future brother-in-law, probably – approached him, looking nervous. He hated it – and he hated how he didn’t have it in him to put a stop to it, just yet.

“Hey, Buck,” Chimney greeted.

Buck paused what he was doing, the chrome of the ladder truck already gleaming from the thorough polish he had given it. “Are you here as my sisters boyfriend, Chimney, or my friend?”

“As your friend,” Chimney answered without a second’s hesitation, which Buck had to admit he appreciated.

“Okay,” Buck put the polish down entirely, nodding. “Because I’m not ready to talk to Maddie about this yet.”

“She knows,” Chimney nodded, quiet for a second. “I wanted to talk to you as my friend, Buck, because – and I would walk through fire for your sister – you were my friend before I ever met Maddie, and I don’t want you to forget that. I care about you as more than just my girlfriends brother, Buck, and I’m – I’m sorry this is happening to you.”

Buck didn’t have a reason not to believe Chimney – really, he didn’t. “I’m still angry,” he admitted. “That you knew before I did. You had no right to know before I did, Chim.”

“I know,” Chimney agreed, rocking forward on his heels as he spoke. “I wish I didn’t know, Buck,” he said. “I wish I hadn’t found out before you. I – I said, from the moment I knew, that you deserved to know, but as much as it wasn’t my place to know before you, it wasn’t my place to tell you. It needed to come from Maddie, and your parents.”

Buck nodded. It was true – that it would have been worse to hear it from Chimney, and not Maddie, or his mom and dad. Of all the people to hear it from, Chimney would have been the worst one. It should have come from his parents, really – from the people who’d forced a child, their daughter, to keep their older brother’s existence a secret their entire lives. Maddie had been nine, when she’d been forced to pretend Daniel had never existed. She couldn’t have possibly understood the consequences of their parents refusal to acknowledge that Daniel had been a part of their lives, once.

“I know,” Buck said finally. “I know, Chim. I just – I can’t pretend like I’m feeling all that logical, about all of this. I’m trying – I’m just not there yet.”

Chimney’s expression was genuinely understanding. “You don’t need to be logical about this, Buck,” he shook his head. “You’re entitled to deal with this and grieve – and be angry as hell – in whatever way works best for you. I just – I wanted to know that I’m here for you, that I’m your friend. And if you need to talk to me, I can be your friend – and just your friend, not Maddie’s boyfriend. What we talk about, it stays between me and you, Buck.”

Buck gave Chimney a grateful smile. “Thank you, Chim,” he said, awkwardly wringing his polish rag between his hands, twisting, and pulling, the material taut in his hands. “I just don’t think I’m ready to talk about it with anyone, yet.”

And that was the truth of it –

Buck wasn’t ready to talk about it with anyone, not his friends, not Maddie, not even with his therapist – not yet.

“Then let’s talk about something else,” Chimney said, grabbing another polish rag, smirking at Buck. “Like your terrible polish job.”

Buck glared good-naturedly at Chimney. “I’m not a probie anymore, Chim, don’t start this.”

Chimney whistled cheerfully as he started to polish, grinning. “You’ll always be a probie to me, Buckaroo.”

v. athena

Buck hadn’t seen Athena in a while – their calls didn’t actually crossover, all that much, so it wasn’t all that unusual to have not seen her in a few weeks. A part of Buck was glad – and not because he didn’t love Athena, but he wasn’t sure if he could cope with seeing the anger she carried on his behalf in person. Buck didn’t like when other people felt burdened by his issues.

“Buck.”

Buck paused, halfway back to the truck. He couldn’t exactly ignore his Captain’s wife – or anyone, for that matter. Maddie (Maddie, always Maddie, not their parents) had raised him better than that, had raised him to be polite. “Hi, Athena.”

“I know you’re not ready to talk about it,” Athena said, hands on hips, stance fierce and protective and everything Buck never had in a mother. He was glad, May and Harry had her, at least. “But I wanted you to know – parents shouldn’t lie to their children the ways yours have lied to you. It’s cruel, and I’m sorry it happened to you, Buck.”

Buck didn’t quite know what to say. “Uh – thank you?”

“I’m not trying to overstep,” Athena raised her hands in surrender. “I’m not your mother. I’m your friend, though, Buck – and I’m someone’s mom, and I can’t stand the thought of you thinking that your parents did all this out of some twisted sense of protection for you, and Maddie. Parents – however hard – should teach you how to grieve. Not teach you to be invisible as a punishment for something you never knew happened.”

Buck nodded, shaking hands gripping tightly to his halogen. “You’re a great mom, Athena,” he said quietly.

“And you’re a great man, Evan Buckley,” Athena gave his elbow a squeeze. “I just thought you should hear that from someone today.”

vi. christopher

Buck had an armful of Christopher the second he walked through the front door of the Diaz household, the little boy flying at him, crutches and all. “Oh, hey, buddy,” Buck laughed, easily scooping a wriggling Christopher up, easing his crutches off of his arms so he could hug him properly.

“I’m glad you’re here, Buck!” Christopher said, grinning widely at Buck, his new braces glinting in the soft light of the evening, reminding Buck of how grown up the kid in his arms was getting – on the cusp of his teenage years, all too soon.

“I’m glad I’m here too, buddy,” Buck replied, holding Christopher close. He wasn’t even the kids dad – and he couldn’t imagine ever lying to him, like his parents had to him, couldn’t imagine doing anything except loving the little boy with everything he had.

“Dad said you’ve had a bad week,” Christopher said matter-of-factly. “So we have a surprise for you.”

“Oh, you do?” Buck gave Christopher a watery smile, flashing Eddie a confused look.

Eddie raised his hands in surrender. “It was all this guy,” he said proudly. “I just did the driving.”

Buck laughed, looking back at Christopher. “Where are we going, then?”

“Kitchen!”

Tossing a giggling Christopher over his shoulder, Buck made his way to the kitchen, Christopher chatting excitedly as he moved. Buck felt like he was going to cry – really, properly cry – when he spotted the feast of all of his favourite things on the Diaz kitchen table.

“We got all your favourites!” Christopher explained. “Popcorn, and chocolate – and pizza! And we’re going to watch Inside Out, because its your favourite film, and me and dad, we’re going to make sure you feel better, Buck.”

Buck wiped roughly at his eyes. This kid. “I already feel better, buddy.”

Christopher’s brow was furrowed. “But you’re crying.”

“People can cry when they’re happy, Chris,” Eddie explained, running a soothing hand down Buck’s back. “It doesn’t always mean someone is sad.”

“Your dad is right,” Buck confirmed. “I’m crying because I’m happy – and I’m very grateful to have such a thoughtful kid taking care of me.”

Christopher grinned again, patting a sticky hand against Buck’s cheek. “You’re gonna be o-kay, kid,” he beamed, and for the first time, Buck almost believed it.

vii. eddie

“He’s out like a light,” Buck said softly, half closing the porch door behind them – enough that they wouldn’t wake Christopher, with their conversation, but still open enough that they’d be able to hear if Christopher woke up in the night.

Christopher had insisted on Buck being the one to put him to bed, that night, despite how hard Eddie tried to get Christopher to give Buck a break – but Buck had enjoyed the routine of it all, if he was being honest, Christopher’s happy snorts as Buck (badly) danced around the bathroom while Christopher brushed his teeth making him forget the car-wreck his life was for a few minutes, at least.

Eddie nodded, nudging a beer toward Buck. “You spoil him, you know,” he said, not a hint of annoyance in his voice. “I know you read him two chapters of his book, not one.”

Buck hummed gratefully. “I know,” he said, voice dropping. “Kids deserve to be spoiled, a bit at least.”

“How are you doing Buck? Really?” Eddie asked, and Buck felt a dam inside him break – he’d kept everything he was feeling so bottled up, for so long, and all of a sudden, on his best friends back porch, it all came pouring out, tears cascading down his cheeks.

“I had a brother,” Buck hiccupped out, bordering on hysterical as he cried, Eddie moving quickly so he was crouching in front of Buck, soothing hands on Buck’s knees. “I had a brother, Eddie.”

Eddie’s face was twisted, a mixture of heartbreak and sympathy. “I know, Buck,” he soothed softly, gentle hands wiping at Buck’s tears, taking Buck’s hands in his own, grounding Buck in the new reality he had found himself in, the past few weeks – a world where he was suddenly the youngest of three siblings, the third Buckley, not the second.

“I always wanted a brother,” Buck admitted out-loud for the first time, unable to stop his tears, gripping tightly to Eddie’s hands. “I love – I love Maddie, but I always wanted a brother, too, and I had one, and I didn’t know, and I can’t stop thinking about how different life might have been if he was still around. He was ten years older than me.”

Eddie was quiet.

“His name was Daniel,” Buck said, shakily voicing his brothers name out-loud for the first time to someone other than maybe. “His name was Daniel, and he was ten years older than me, and I’d have been a really good brother to him, and that’s all I know, and I just – I wish I knew more.”

“You know,” Eddie’s voice was soft, and reassuring, comforting and grounding in ways that Buck wasn’t sure how he ever lived without before, his best friend the kind of anchor Buck needed, in his life. “I bet Maddie knows more.”

“Eddie….”

“I know it hurts,” Eddie squeezed Buck’s hands, his expression encouraging as Buck forced himself to look at the older man. “And it’s going to hurt for a long time, Buck, and I’m sorry for that – but you’re not alone in that hurt. Me, Chris, Hen – the others – we’re here, and we love you, and we’ll do our best to understand, but there’s one person in the world that shares this hurt with you.”

“But she knew, Eddie, she knew all along, and she didn’t tell me – and I know she was a kid and it wasn’t her fault, but it still hurts, because she got to know him and grieve him, and I didn’t.”

“Did she?” Eddie countered, wise as ever now he went to regular therapy. “She had to pretend he didn’t exist. To grieve properly – you need to talk about the person, about who they were, and Maddie didn’t get to do that. As much as she can help you get to know who Daniel was, you can help her grieve the brother she wasn’t allowed to remember. I can’t help you do that.”

Buck tightened his grip on Eddie’s hands. “I can’t, not yet,” he admitted hoarsely. “Not tonight.”

“No,” Eddie hummed his agreement. “Tonight its just you and me, and the rest of these beers, and as much crying as you want. Okay?”

Buck laughed. Back when he first met Eddie, he could never have imagined their friendship getting to this point – to where they could sit, and talk, and drink and cry together. Somehow, somewhere along the way, they’d created this safe space, together, and Buck had never been more grateful for his best friend than he was, there and then.

He had a brother.

And tonight – tonight was the first time he’d said that out loud and hadn’t felt bitter, and angry, about it. Tonight had been the first time he’d said those words out loud and wondered who the person was, who Daniel had been – instead of focusing on the lies, the hurt of it all.

That was progress.

Swallowing thickly, Buck wiped at his sore eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know,” he directed his question at Eddie.

“Anything?” Eddie’s lips quirked up in the beginnings of a smile.

“Anything,” Buck confirmed.

Eddie grinned. “Did you know - nearly three percent of the ice in Antarctic glaciers is penguin urine?”

Buck snorted, the sound outrageously loud in the quiet of the evening. “I don’t want to know how you know that.”

(He knew – of course he knew. Eddie was the only person who knew exactly how to bring Buck out of his own head, with odd facts and quirky news articles, anything to distract Buck from the overwhelming noise of his own thoughts).

Eddie took a swig of his beer, smiling contently. “You’re not the only one who can know weird things.”

viii. maddie

When she opened the door, Maddie greeted Buck with a relief he didn’t feel deserving to be on the receiving end of.

“I’m sorry, Maddie.”

“No,” Maddie interrupted, pulling him close, clinging tightly to his shoulders, refusing to let her pregnant belly be an obstacle to squeezing the life out of Buck – and he couldn’t say he was opposed to a bone-crushing hug from his sister. “You don’t need to apologise, Buck, not to me – not about this. I should be apologising to you.”

Buck pressed his face into the material of Maddie’s cardigan, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume. She’d worn the same one since she was a teenager, and in the years when they weren’t in contact, Buck – well, he’d sometimes go to the perfume section of the department store, and sneak a sample, desperate to feel close to his sister, even if Doug had long since cut her off from him.

“I can’t hear you,” Maddie admitted, her voice soft as she ran a gentle hand through Buck’s hair.

“I said,” Buck pulled back slightly, Maddie’s tears reflecting his own. “I know we’ve got a lot to talk about – but uh, Maddie, will you tell me about him?”

Maddie brushed away a few stray tears of Buck’s before they had the chance to drip from his chin, nodding. “I’d really like that,” she confirmed, tugging Buck toward the couch. Her baby box was still on the coffee table, a photograph of Daniel – the same one Buck had found – propped up against the wood, another one next to it.

Of the three of them.

Buck looked as though he couldn’t be more than a few weeks old, in the photograph, Maddie proudly holding him in her arms, a little boy who was familiar, in so many ways, hair blond and bright like Buck’s had been, as a child – and unfamiliar in so many others, a kid who would forever be twelve years old.

“Is that us?” Buck asked, doing his best to fold his long limbs, curling himself up against Maddie, thinking back to when they were kids, and all the evenings they’d do the same – Buck curled up in her lap as they watched TV, or as Maddie soothed his tears after a fight with their parents. Her belly got in the way, a bit, and a part of Buck’s heart ached with the knowledge that someone else, his niece, would curl up in Maddie’s lap the same way he used to, in just a matter of months, but he pushed the thought aside.

“I told everyone you were my baby,” Maddie said, sounding like she was smiling. “Oh, I loved you so much from the moment you were born, Buck, and I wouldn’t let Daniel go near you – because you were mine.”

Buck didn’t try and stop his tears, now.

“He loved you just as much,” Maddie continued. “He would tell dad, how excited he was to be able to teach you to play soccer, one day, and ride a bike.”

All the things Maddie had taught him, in the end, Buck thought to himself.

“He picked your middle name,” Maddie continued. “Because he had a best friend called EJ, and he told mom and dad that you should have the same initials – Evan James - because you were going to be his new best friend.”

Closing his eyes, Buck let Maddie’s words wash over him, painting a picture of someone he would never have the chance to know – but loved, Buck thought, all the same, because Daniel couldn’t have known, how life would turn out without him, because he had only been a kid, when he died – and he wouldn’t have understood.

“He’d be proud of you, I think,” Maddie said quietly, pressing a kiss to Buck’s curls. “Because I am, Buck, I am so proud of you. You are not a disappointment. You are the greatest man I have ever known and I am so proud of you, and I love you, and I’ll tell everyone the same thing I told them when I was eight and I held you for the first time. You’re mine, Buck, not theirs.”

Buck nodded, not trusting himself to open his eyes. “I love you, Maddie.”

“I love you, little brother,” Maddie sounded like she was crying too, now. “We’re going to be okay.”

Buck –

Well, he didn’t have a reason not to believe his sister.

He wanted to believe her.

And maybe –

Just maybe.

He already did.

Yeah.

They would be okay.

#911 fox #evan buckley #maddie buckley #911 fic #in which i ramble #in which lorna writes fic #this is what i did instead of working this morning yes #don't @ me i;m overflowing with feelings after that episode

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aubreyprc · 3 years

Text

open season but make it spicy

open season but Emily and Morgan are the ones being hunted. for @eprcntiss who is very much the sole reason this, and about 27367289 other things exist, everyone thank her for listening to my rambles and my thoughts. It’s hotchniss, of course. (And Moreid, obvs)

ao3

Hotch watches her as she laughs with Morgan, the two of them almost melded together as they sit on the couch on the jet. The smile he sees on her face, it’s one that reminds him of the weekends the two of them had shared together ten or so years ago, back when she was just a carefree twenty year old who came with no strings, no demands of commitment and no drama, back when he was a newly single twenty something, working security while training for the FBI’s new behavioural unit, who happened to catch her eye. They were never supposed to be anything serious, and he’ll never confess to her that she’s his biggest regret. That he wonders sometimes, what his life would be like now if he’d said what he wanted to that rainy day in June, instead of letting her walk away.

He tries to ignore the pang of jealousy that rushes through him as he watches Morgan run a hand over her thigh as he stands, laughing while he shakes his head. They look like they’re having fun together. He should be glad she’s finding her footing here. He has no right to be jealous.

“You’re staring.” Gideon says, looking at him from his seat across him. Hotch’s eyes snap his way, the older man’s words pulling him from his trance and he clears his throat. “Anything I should know?” He questions. There’s no accusation in his voice, just curiosity and a slight hint of concern for one of his oldest friends.

“No.” He says, looking down at the file, doing his best to try and ignore the way he can feel her eyes casting over him for a small moment before Morgan takes his seat next to her, handing her a coffee.

“Okay.” Gideon accepts, he turns his head slightly to look at the newest member of their team, and doesn’t miss the way her eyes quickly dart from Hotch to Morgan just as he does. Looking back at his file he makes a note to himself to watch the both of them more closely during this case, his suspicion around the two of them rising.

Emily forces herself to move her eyes off Aaron when she see’s Gideon turn to face her, she smiles as Derek hands her a coffee, a small thanks on her lips as she tenses under the older man’s stare, before feeling him look away and she exhales, bringing the hot coffee to her lips.

“If Reid focuses any harder on that book I’m scared he’ll fall into it.” He comments, nudging his head towards the genius, reading a page intensely.

“Maybe you should go and save him.” She comments with a raised eyebrow when she looks back at him, watching as he pierces his lips together and drops his head shyly. “The two of you are idiots.” She smiles, she drops her hand onto his arm and he looks at her. “Take the risk... what’s the worst that could happen?” She sighs, squeezing his arm, “I know what it’s like to wonder about the what if’s, Morgan, and I wouldn’t wish it on anybody.” She tells him and he looks at her sadly, before smiling, placing his hand over hers and squeezing it.

“We land in fifteen.” Hotch’s voice says and they turn to face him and as Emily turns, she spies him staring at her and Morgan’s entwined hands before looking away just as quickly, forcing his jaw to relax as he continues, “The police and the Rangers are waiting for us, once we land we head straight to the station before heading off to the sites.” He says, watching as everyone nods and grabs their files. He takes another look at Emily, and their eyes bleed into each other’s for a moment too long until Reid walks between them, breaking the spell they can not fall back into.

She’s making coffee in the station when he comes up next to her. Her whole body tenses when she feels him stand there and her breath catches in the throat, the smell of his cologne over powering her senses and she’s taken back to the hotel rooms in different cities when he had a weekend off work, nights spent in his apartment where they’d talk for hours, wrapped up in each other as they watched the stars from his bedroom window, days spent hidden around town, the both of them acting as though they had all the time in the world. She’s taken back to when she was happy, free. Back to a time before Irish accents haunted her dreams and the cries of a child she grew too attached to followed her around.

Forcing herself to relax, she turns to face him, a small smile on her lips.

“Do you want one?” She asks, pointing to the pot of coffee she was making.

“No,” he smiles, “You’re heading out with Morgan?”

“Yeah.” She answers, pouring herself and another’s coffee. He assumes Morgan and he has to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“Is there something going on between the two of you?” It comes out of his mouth before he can stop it, and the way her head snaps to him he knows it sounded more unprofessional than he would have liked.

“Excuse me?” She says, barking a laugh at him, “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“It’s against protocol for two agents on the same team to -“

“So you’re asking as my boss?” She questions, facing him fully, crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s it?” She challenges, staring at him, he meets her eyes, the look in them almost begging him to say it. He won’t. He can’t.

“That’s it,” he lies, “Would there be another reason?” He asks as nonchalantly as he can and he watches as she drops her head, shaking it with a bitter laugh.

“No,” she says, looking up, grabbing the two coffee. “Of course not.” Her voice is low, hating herself for even expecting a different answer. “There’s nothing going on with me and Morgan.” She tells him, “But even if there was, it wouldn’t be any of your business, would it, Sir.” She spits, before walking off, closing her eyes as she forces herself to not cry. Finding it ridiculous that he still has this hold on her. He made it clear all those years ago he didn’t fall like she did, and it’s fine. They were never supposed to be anything anyway, and she thinks maybe it’s for the best he let her go that day in June. Even if it did land her in the arms of an international terrorist, under the guise of a name she doesn’t even want to utter. A time she looks forward to the day she’s able to forget.

He watches again with an ache of jealousy and a feeling of something he can not explain when she walks off with Derek. He has to force himself not to react as the man wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his side, the two of them laughing as they head towards their car.

“Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?” Gideon comments as he arrives at the man’s side. Hotch looks at him, watching as the older man looks at him with he can’t figure out and just drops his head.

“No,” he says. “Everything’s fine.” He tells him, heading off in the opposite direction. Gideon sighs as he watches the man walk off, and wonders just what he’s hiding as he follows Emily and Morgan.

The three Agents and the Ranger are walking around the area of the latest murder victim when an arrow shoots from high above them, as if it falls from the sky. The three Agents jump backwards as the Ranger gasps, before dropping to the floor less than a second later. They all freeze, staring at her as she lays there, an arrow rested deep into her chest, eyes staring blankly at them, but then two more are shot towards them.

Morgan turns quickly, grabbing Emily by the waist and pushing them both to the floor, moving them both behind a tree. They drop to the ground as they’re hidden, she’s sat in the middle of his legs as his arms wrap around her tightly, a hand rested lightly over her mouth as footsteps and two male voices head their way. He feels the terror coming off her as they hide and he pulls her further into him, leaving his hand lightly against her mouth to keep her quiet, unsure of how she’d react.

They’d only been partners for ten months, she came off a desk job, he has to take precautions to save the both of them.

Their hearts hammer in a similar beat as the voices quieten and the footsteps fade away and as silence meets their ears, he drops his hand as the back of her head hits his shoulder, her eyes dropping closed as they both catch their breath.

“Come on,” he whispers, helping her off the ground and he stands. He grabs her hand, holding it tightly in his as they walk slowly from where they’d hidden. “Gideon?” Morgan calls as they reach the area. Their hands detangle as he searches for the man while Emily stares at the now murdered Ranger.

“Gideon!” Emily hears Morgan shout and she snaps her head in the direction his voice came from and rushes towards him.

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah it looks like he was knocked out with something. Do you have cell reception?”

Emily pulls out her phone, shaking her head as she looks at him. “You?”

“Nothing,” he tells her with a sigh, “We need to get out of here.” He says, looking around the area, high up on the hills, behind the trees. He looks in the correct area at just the right time to spot an arrow heading in their direction and manages to throw them both onto the floor at the right time.

Emily groans as she hits the floor, she feels the back of her head hit something hard, as well as something graze her temple. His body half covering hers as she brings a hand off her head, blood meeting her fingers.

“Are you okay?” He asks, looking at the cut on the side of her head.

“Yeah,” she tells him, “It’s just a cut.” He sits up slowly, looking around the area the shot came from.

“Thanks...” She whispers and he looks at her.

“For what?” He questions.

“Saving my life.” Emily smiles, squeezing his fingers and he smiles back.

“Always princess.” He whispers, laughing at her eye roll over the nickname. “We need to get out of here.”

“Yeah..” She agrees, slowly sitting up to next him, her hand still on her head.

As they stand, dusting off the ground from their clothing and while she holds her hand to her head again as she continues to bleed, a branch snaps behind them and they both spin around. Morgan takes three protective steps in front of her as the two men, both holding up loaded arrows stand in front of them.

“Run,” the older one whispers, pulling back on his crossbow as they go to grab their guns and the Agents freeze. Holding their hands up. “I said...run.” He taunts, and Morgan grabs Emily’s hand as he turns and they run.

“What about Gideon?” She whispers as they speed down the steep hill.

“He’s Gideon.” Morgan explains. “He’ll be fine.”

The two run until they reach the bottom of the hill and they duck behind some trees.

“Does this mean we’re the ones being hunted now?” She whispers, before wincing as her temple throbs.

“I don’t know,” He whispers back, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good,” she smiles, “Just a small cut.”

“Are you dizzy? Anything like that?”

“No,” she lies, leaning her head against a branch and taking a deep breath. She opens her eyes to find him staring at her with terror and all she can do it smile and take his hand. “I’m okay.”

“If you have a concussion-“

“We wouldn’t be able to do anything about it if I did.” She teases with a smirk and he laughs, shaking his head because she’s right. They’re being hunted in the middle of woods, for christ sake. “What do we do now?”

“We hope the team come looking for us.” He tells her, “And we do our damn best to stay alive.”

After no answer from either of the three agents in the woods, nor the Ranger after an hour, Hotch grabs the rest of the team and a hand full of cops and head into them, his mind running wild with what he could find there, the image of Emily laying dead with an arrow in her chest makes him want to throw up, of course he’d be devastated to lose any of his team but her...he can’t lose her. Not like this.

He runs a finger over his wedding ring as his mind runs wild with thoughts about Emily, about her smile, her laugh, the way she used to wrap herself into his jacket while he still had it on, clasping her hands together around his waist, rest her chin on his chest and look at him with a cheeky grin, a grin he used to love kissing.

He runs his finger over his ring to remind him of what he has. He’s a married man, he can not be thinking about her like that. Not anymore.

The car parks as they reach the crime scene and the lack of Morgan, Prentiss or Gideon is not missed on any of them as they exist the vehicle. Reid runs straight ahead, ducking under the tape and stopping almost instantly with a gasp that has everyone rushing.

“That’s the Ranger.” JJ says, sighing. “Any sign of them?”

“Nothing,” a cop says, “Maybe they head off into the woods after the Ranger was taken down.”

“Maybe...” JJ mutters, looking around.

They all turn, guns pointed outwards as footsteps approach behind them, but all weapons are dropped when a limping Gideon heads towards them, almost dropping completely to the floor before Hotch catches him.

“He-“ Gideon mumbles before shaking his head as Hotch lowers them to the ground. “They.. Two unsubs.” He tells him.

“Where are Morgan and Prentiss?” Hotch asks him, trying to remain as calm as possible.

“Run-“ The older man mutters again before almost falling back under. Hotch taps his face lightly until he eyes open.

“Where are Emily and Morgan?” He asks again and it’s not lost on the team that he used her first name, something that isn’t even uttered much by Penelope yet, who makes sure to always use first names.

“Hunted.” Gideon mutters.

JJ and Reid look at each other, their boss using their new members first name is forgotten as quick as it happened.

“They’re being hunted?” Hotch asks, looking around the woods.

Gideon nods, before the EMTs head his way and he allows himself to be taken to the ambulance.

“If they’re being hunted they could be anywhere.” Reid says with a slight tremor to his voice. “They could be hurt.” His voice cracks.

“They’ll be okay.” Hotch says, who he’s reassuring, he doesn’t know.

“How long until dark?” JJ asks one of the Rangers heading their way.

“Three, maybe four hours.”

“That means we have three hours to find them. We find them we find the unsubs.” Hotch tells them, trying to act as natural as he can but he feels sick. Physically sick at what they...she could be going through out there. She could be hurt. She could be alone. She could be dead.

They’re all staring at the map on the board.

“They could be anywhere...” Reid comments, worry coming off him in waves. “The woods here are huge and they’re locals, they know the whole terrain.”

“They have to be somewhere.” JJ says, “Look at where all the bodies were found. It all coordinates around this one large part of the woods. That has to be where they are.”

“That area is huge,” Gideon says as he walks back into the room, “They’re hiding in plain sight, but it’s in an area we haven’t discovered yet.”

Aaron looks to the floor, holding back his worry as his heart hammers in his chest. He can’t help but think about what he would give to take her place, to keep her safe and it shocks him, that even after ten years, he would die for her.

He steps out of the room, heading outside unnoticed as he thinks about their quick but intense relationship...he wonders if he could even call it that. He thinks back to their last weekend together when he let her go instead of holding her close.

They’d been doing their thing for six months. Something that started out as easy hook ups after hard days and drinks on the weekends that would lead them right into bed, had turned into nights under the stars in a different city when time allowed it, seeking each other out not for sex but for comfort. A hug. A kiss. A simple stroll with the other felt more peaceful than anything else. They’re six months into their thing, Emily lay in his arms, he’s running a hand through her hair when she says it.

“I got a job offer in Europe.” It’s a whisper, her fingers trailing mindless patterns on his bare chest as she speaks.

“A job?” He asks in the same hushed tone, she turns her head, leaning her chin on his chest as she looks at him.

“Yeah..”

“Doing what?” He questions softly, running a hand down her spine.

“Linguistics.” She tells him and at the sight of his bright smile her own comes out, he moves them into a seating position before clasping his hand on hers.

“Em... that’s incredible.” He tells her with a smile, “That’s what you wanted right?”

She nods, smiling as he laughs happily, cupping her face and kissing her, his heart fluttering when she smiles into it, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck and he pulls her into his arms, her laughter sending a flutter up his spine as he smiles.

“I’m proud of you.” He whispers into her hair, kissing her head.

“Thank you.” She says shyly, “It means -“

“I know,” He whispers, running a hand down her back as she leans back, her face inches from his, he runs a finger over a loose piece of hair, tucking it behind her ear before smiling, “Lets not think about that right now.” He says, cupping her cheek. “This is a good thing, sweetheart.” He smiles and she smiles right back, biting her bottom lip, blushing slightly as she drops her head.

They spend the rest of the weekend ignoring what comes with the job offer. Refusing to acknowledge that taking the job means she will have to move to Europe, start a new life out there and it would be without him.

Instead, they laugh, they talk, they spend it wrapped up in each other. Exchanging whispers and chaste kisses instead of confessions and tears.

On the Sunday night, he’s running a hand through his hair as he walks into his lounge, frowning when he finds her pacing slightly, picking the skin of her fingers.

“Hey,” He says softly and she turns, her eyes wide and she smiles, but it’s the her smile, it’s one that’s forced and laced with anxiety. “What’s wrong?”

“They called...” She says, holding her phone up. “I can start next month.” She tells him and he stares at her, nodding his head as his heart shatters in his chest. He wants to be happy for her. He is happy for her. But that doesn’t mean that the thought of her being four thousand miles away doesn’t make him want to drop to his knees.

“That’s great.” He smiles, forcing his voice to sound as though his heart hasn’t shattered. As if the knowledge that this is it for them, that whatever they are is over, isn’t leaving him with an ache in his chest.

“There’s an offer for the same job in DC, in the same department...” She says, looking at him slightly, before dropping her head and pushing her hair behind her ears nervously. “If I wanted to stay local... the options there..”

“Is that what you want?” He asks, putting his hands in his pocket and taking small steps towards her, “To stay local?”

“I guess it depends...” She says, looking at him, she takes a deep breath, swallowing down the panic, “Do I have a reason to stay?” She looks at him, holding her breath and he stares back.

He wants to say, yes, I love you, please don’t leave. But he won’t, he can’t. Europe is where she wants to be. It’s all she talks about.

How she fell in love with Paris the first time she saw it. How she’d love to venture back to Italy when the time was right, gain some closure for something she wouldn’t tell him about, how she loved the cold air in London... and how could he take that from her?

How could he be the the one that holds her back from her dreams?

“I think you should go to Europe,” he tells her, he sees her mask slip slightly, and he freezes, the pain written over it makes him want to take it back, pull her into him and tell her she’s the one. That he loves her and of course she has a reason to stay. She has him.

“Yeah..” She says, her mask slipping back on almost just as quick as it drops and she smiles sadly at him, “That’s what I thought.” She tells him quietly with a nod, refusing to meet his eyes as she looks around the apartment.

The silence is deafening as they stand there, neither having anything else to say.

“I should go,” Emily announces after a few moment, walking backwards before turning, grabbing her coat from the pegs on the back of his door, ignoring the way he softly says her name as she holds back tears.

“Emily..” He says again and she turns, meeting his eyes for the first time since her question. She waits for him to speak, but it’s obvious that he has nothing to say, and neither does she. What’s left to say apart from goodbye anyway?

“Goodbye, Aaron.” She says, before grabbing her bag from the floor and heading out of his door.

As she steps outside, the heavy rains hits her skin instantly and she take an deep breath, a raw sob escaping her throat as she exhales before quickly running down the steps of his apartment building and towards her car.

As she drives away from his street she can’t help but curse at how stupid she was, to even think he could love her. They’d said at the start that they wouldn’t be serious, a little summer fling and she always knew they’d end badly. She fell for him some time during month three, and she had spent the final three hoping that maybe he did too. Learning that he didn’t shatters her more than she thought possible, and the dam breaks as soon as she’s home, stood in a burning hot shower as she realises she’ll probably never see him again, and a sob erupts from her chest as her back hits the wall of the shower as she accepts that he never even loved her either.

He stands staring at the door as it shut behind her for what feels like hours, he curses under his breath and runs a hand through his hair, before rushing towards his door and opening it, the rain makes him pause for a second, he goes to shout her name just as her car door shuts, and as he stands in the rain on his front step, he watches her drive away from him and he feels his body ache with the thought that that’s the last time he might ever see her, that after six months of them being the happiest he’s ever been, they ended like that. He collapses onto his couch as he fills with regret, and he wonders if letting her go was the best decision, if allowing her to live out her dreams at the cost of his happiness was worth it. He wonders if never telling her he loves her would haunt him forever. He assumes it will as a tear rolls down his cheek.

“Hotch.” Gideon says for the fourth time, slapping the man gently on the shoulder and it pulls the man out of his thought with a jump and he turns, cleaning his throat and he faces the man.

“You and Prentiss...What’s going on there?” He questions, Aaron opens his mouth to speak when Gideon holds up a hand, “And don’t tell me it’s nothing, I might have a concussion but I’m not stupid.” He tells him.

“Nothing is going on..” He mutters, “We have...a past.” He explains and Gideon nods.

“You worked for her mother, right? About ten years ago?”

“Yeah.”

“And you and Prentiss...” He says, and Aaron nods.

“It ended..pretty badly.” He tells him, looking to the ground, “I guess it’s still pretty raw.”

“For her or for you?” Gideon asks, looking at his friend and Aaron sighs.

“For the both of us.” He says, putting his hands in his trouser pockets.

“Does Haley know about her?” And the silence Hotch gives him is an answer in itself. “Is there a reason for that?”

“I’m not cheating on my wife, Gideon.” He tells him and the other man nods.

“Maybe not physically,” He tells him, “But emotionally...” He says and Hotch stares at him with anger and the older man stares directly at him. “You’re out here pacing a hole into the pavement because your ex girlfriend is being hunted in the middle of the woods..”

“Two members of our team-“

“So you would be out here pacing like this if it was Reid and Morgan? JJ and Reid?” He asks and Hotch looks at the floor because even though he cares for his team, thinks of them as family, he would be more controlled than this. More put together.

“You’re in trouble, Aaron.” He tells the man honestly, “Loving two women never ends well.”

“I don’t-“ He starts, but stops when Reid and JJ, along with a handful of cops run towards them.

“They’ve found a body.” JJ says, “Female. Dark hair..” She says and it’s obvious in her tone about who she thinks it is and it takes all of his strength to not hit the floor.

“Let’s go,” Gideon says, watching Reid run towards the car at a speeds he’s never seen the man use before and JJ follow behind.

“Look at me,” Gideon tells Aaron, who’s staring into space. “Aaron.” His eyes snap to his friends and Gideon claps a hand over his shoulder. “It’s not her.”

“How do you know that?” He whispers, the thought of loosing her making him want to throw up.

“Because Morgan would protect her with his life, you know that,” He says, “He’d die before he allowed anyone to lay a hand on her.”

Aaron stares at the man, terror written in his eyes.

“They’re armed, they’re skilled and they’re okay.” He tells him, “It’s not her.”

As they head to the scene, Gideon sends a prayer that they aren’t going to find Prentiss dead in the woods, because he doesn’t see Aaron getting over that, he doesn’t see how he could. The one that got away is one that haunts you forever, and getting a second chance and loosing it just as quickly? He couldn’t imagine anything worse.

Emily sighs as they walk, pausing as dizziness takes over her and Morgan stops at her side, taking her hand in his own as he stands in front of her.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks worriedly, eyeing the cut on her head. “You could have a concussion.”

“There’s nothing we can do about it.” She tells him, “Keep moving.” She smiles, pushing him gently and he laughs, stepping backward before turning, watching a few steps in front of her. They’ve walked maybe half a mile when she starts to see stars and she wobbles on her feet, catching herself on a tree with an open palm, bending her head over as a wave of nausea comes over her. Morgan rushes back to her, pulling her hair from her space just in time as she throws up on the ground.

“Jesus, Em.” He says. “You definitely have a concussion.” He’s worried now, because he doesn’t know how bad the concussion is or even how hard she hit her head. They need to get out of here quickly.

“I’m okay.” She whispers, lifting her head up and wiping her mouth, taking a few deep breaths as she closes her eyes. “We need to keep moving.” She says, exhaling.

“Emily, you-“

“We need to keep moving, there’s nothing we can do out here.” She says and he knows she’s right. He loops her arm through his and they walk, watching their steps and their surroundings and the sun sets behind them.

They’ve been walking maybe ten minutes when they stumble across a recent dead body. They freeze, staring at it before the sound of a branch snapping from a few meters away from them grabs their attention and they look up to find the unsubs staring right back at them. They both duck behind a tree as they get their guns out.

“Do you have a shot?” She whispers and he nods, aiming his gun at the younger one as he pulls back of his arrow and he shoots three times, watching as his body crumbles to the floor and when the older one rushes to his side, the two of them run in the opposite direction quickly, before taking a seat on a few rocks. Catching their breath, he looks at her and he doesn’t miss how pale she’s turning, that the cut on her head isn’t bleeding any less or the fact that she ducks her head, resting it in her arms. He takes a seat next to her, pulling her into him and she laughs, accepting his grip and resting her head on his shoulder.

“So, what is going on with you and Reid?” She teases and the man laughs, rubbing a hand up and down her arm in an attempt to keep her warm.

“Honestly?” He says, “I have no idea. We’re sort of just doing this...I don’t know. It’s complicated.” He sighs.

“Isn’t everything?” She comments, closing her eyes briefly. He taps her arm, shaking her slightly.

“You gotta stay awake, Princess.” He tells her and she groans, the pain in her head starting to pulsate. “Tell me and you and your mystery man, you talked about having a what if..” He says, trying to keep her talking she laughs.

“That ship has well and truly sailed.” She tells him sadly, “Which is why you shouldn’t wait with Reid.” She says, looking at him. “You should tell him how you feel.”

“And if he doesn’t feel the same?”

“Then at least you told him... and you can move on.” She smiles, squeezing his hand

He goes to speak when he hears their names being shouted and they both look up.

“Come on,” he says, standing and helping her up, gripping a hand around her waist as he runs them towards the voices of their team, hoping they find them before she passes out.

He’s out of the car before it’s even come to a stop, rushing out and heading straight to where the Rangers stand. All he sees is dark, wavy hair and the closer he gets the more it looks like her and it makes his legs wobble as he runs. He stops in his tracks when the dead eyes staring back at him don’t belong to her and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt relief like it. It causes a loud exhale to escape his chest as he closes his eyes, running a hand over his face.

“Is it Emily?” JJ asks a few feet away from him and he turns, simply shaking his head in response because he can not trust his voice right now. JJ takes a breath of relief and shares the news with Reid and Gideon, the older Agents eyes pierced directly at Aaron’s as the other man sighs, his whole body visibly relaxing.

“Where the hell are they?” Reid asks, looking around the large area of woods their standing in.

“There’s another body!” A ranger shouts, “He’s alive. Looks like he’s been shot.” The last word of the sentence causes the Agents to look up, quickly following the man towards the body.

“Is that one of them?” Hotch asks as they spot the man laying on the ground next to a set fire.

“That’s the younger one.” He nods, following behind Hotch as the team head in his direction.

“Morgan?” Reid calls as he looks around the area. “Prentiss?”

“Emily?” JJ shouts, “Morgan?”

“Where’s your brother?” Gideon asks him, leaning over the dying man as Hotch searches for the lost members of their team.

“He’s gone, after the Agents.” He gasps, pointing his finger out in the direction they went in. “One of them, they’re in a bad way.” He whispers, before choking slightly.

“What do you mean a bad way?” Hotch asks as he bends down at his other side. “Which one?”

“The woman..” He chokes out, “She’s...I don’t know. But she’s sick.” He tells them and Aaron feels his heart drop as he looks back around.

“Sick how?” Gideon asks, the man only shakes his head in reply, his eyes falling shut.

“I got them!” Reid screams, before taking off in a run. JJ watches him go, not quick enough to stop him. Hotch and Gideon stand, heading their way. All three have their guns out as they look around for the remaining unsub. Gideon spots him coming up behind Reid and fires, the bang causing everyone to jump as the unsub hits the floor. Hotch takes off in a run as soon as Emily comes into his line of vision, everyone too preoccupied to notice his dire need to get to her.

They’re hid behind a bush, catching their breath when shouts of their name hit their ears. They look up, listening carefully to the shouts.

“Is that Reid?” Emily whispers, her whole body aching as she leans against Morgan for support, his arm securely round her waist.

“I think so,” he replies, “Let’s go.” Dropping his arm and taking her hand, he misses the way she closes her eyes, her body losing balance catching herself and following him quickly. Trying to ignore the call of sleep her body is begging for.

As soon as Morgan spots Reid, the second unsub falling in a hump to the ground, he relaxes and laughs with relief, dropping his head. He turns to Emily and his smile drops instantly as she almost collapses to the floor. He catches her as her body jerks back into life. He pulls her into him.

“Come on princess. Just stay awake. We’re done. We did it.” He whispers and she sighs, laughing slightly.

“God, my head hurts.” She complains for the first time and Derek laughs, kissing the side of her head.

Hotch reaches them just as Reid does and as the genius pulls the man into his arms, Hotch grabs Emily, keeping her upright with his arm replacing Dereks as the two men engulf each other.

Aaron looks at her, cupping her chin with his hand as he inspects the injury on her head and she frowns in confusion, her breath hitching in her throat for another reason other than her concussion.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, running a thumb over her cheek as he looks at her. Her eyes stare into his as she smiles.

“I’m okay.” She says, her skin burning under his touch. His eyes move from hers to the cut on her head. “I think I have a concussion.” She tells him and his eyes snap back to hers, his face a look of worry.

“There’s an ambulance waiting at the top.” Gideon says and it snaps the moment. Emily moves away from his touch as his hand drops from her face and he would have let go of her completely if she didn’t sway on her feet slightly as they started walking. He stares at the team all walking in front of them before he wraps his arm around her waist again, holding her up. She moves her head to the side to look at him, her small smile making his entire body flutter like a teenager.

“Thanks.” She whispers. He wraps his other hand in hers and doesn’t miss the way her body relaxes into him. It makes him almost smile, that even after all they’ve been through she still trusts him like she did at the start.

He walks them slowly up the hill, his fingers running against her hand as they do. Once they’re at the top they can’t help but notice the burning stare Gideon is giving them and she pushes away from him slightly, heading towards the EMT’s who greet her with a smile, helping her take a seat on the chair in the ambulance.

She has a concussion, but other than that she’s lucky, is what they tell her as she signs this discharge papers. He watches as JJ smiles towards her, guiding her out and can’t help how much he wishes it was him taking her home, him wrapping his arms around her, he just wishes it was him.

“You know what you’re going to do yet?” Gideon asks as they head out of the hospital just behind Reid and Morgan.

“About what?”

“About her.” He says, pointing his head towards the smiling brunette as she leans against the SUV with JJ.

“There’s nothing to do.” He tells him, “I’m married.”

“Okay then.” The older man says, “Let’s get out of here.”

He watches her on the jet as she sleeps, the rise and fall of her chest his only comfort as he completes the report. A strand of hair falls onto her cheek and his fingers itch to brush it back behind her ear, he craves to be back ten years, where he could reach out and touch her whenever he wanted. Kiss her whenever he wanted. He takes a deep breath when he spots Morgan’s hand come across her face to brush the hair away and his body aches with jealousy as he looks away, forcing himself to focus on anything else.

What he doesn’t expect is for her to be at his office door that night.

“Hey,” he smiles as she walks in, “Shouldn’t you be heading home?”

“I am,” she says, “I just..wanted to say thank you for earlier. For helping.”

“Of course.” He says, “How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” She laughs, “It’s been a long day.”

He laughs in response, agreeing with her.

“I should apologise, about asking you about your relationship with Derek. You’re right. It’s none of my business.

“Emily shakes her head, “It’s fine,” she smiles. “You were doing your job. Two Agents -“

“I wasn’t doing it because it’s my job, Emily.” He tells her. Emily closes her eyes as she takes a breath.

“Aaron,” She whispers, opening her eyes to look at him. “Don’t. Please.” She asks, “It’s too hard, okay?”

“Okay.” He accepts, before shaking his head because, no, he has to talk to her about this. “Emily-“

“Aaron.” She says, “Please.” She begs, “You’re married. I cant do this with you. Not again.” She sighs, “It was a bad idea then and it’s a bad idea now.”

“We were never a bad idea, Emily.” He tells her and all she can do is stare at him, her mouth agape as his words hit her. “Sometimes I wish I’d stopped you walking out of the door, told you there was a reason for you to stay."

“Why didn’t you?” She whispers, tears forming in her eyes as she comes to terms with with what this means for her. For them.

“Europe was where you wanted to be.”

Emily shakes her head, “No,” she smiles sadly, wiping her tears just as quickly as they fall, “I wanted you.” She whispers painfully, dropping her head to the floor.

There’s silence then, as what could have been runs through their minds like a snippet of their dream life.

“I wish I’d stopped you.” He whispers, holding back his tears.

“I wish you’d stopped me.” She replies, a sad smile on her face as a tear rolls down her cheek.

“Good night, Aaron.” She says after a few moments, turning and walking out of his door.

He’s hit with a wave of shock as he realises he wants to stop her from walking away just as much now as he did ten years ago.

#hotchniss #hotchniss fic #moreid #open season #demily #:/#erm #yeah #young hotchniss #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #my fics

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wyofabdoms · 3 years

Text

Undercover I Do - Chapter 12

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: While on an undercover assignment posing as a married couple, you are attacked and nearly assaulted. Upon waking, all you remember about Javier Peña is what you remembering seeing from two photographs of the two of you posing as the happily married couple. As you struggle to regain your memories, Javi struggles with his own feelings for you.

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Warnings: Implied cheating, swearing, destruction of government property, Javi has road rage.

Word Count: 2077

Notes: Reeling from what you witnessed in the alley, you arrive at the office for your meeting with Dixon. And you take out some of your anger on Javi's unwitting empty office. But in the midst of your rage, you come across something interesting.

Let me know if you find any crazy mistakes. Feedback and comments greatly appreciated.

Be well!

Read on Ao3

The moment you set foot in the office bullpen, you know your initial bad feeling about this meeting is right. Everyone seems to be looking at you with a pained expression; as though they are all sympathetic to some plight that is still unbeknownst to you. You think maybe it’s just the memory loss and your temper flares, making you want to scream and lash out at all of them, down to the typist in the corner.

Then, Van Ness steps into your line of sight and says your name cautiously, looking at you with concern etched on his forehead.

“I’m here to meet with Dixon. She called me.” You grit your words out, willing him to just back off, not wanting him to ask you if you’re ok, knowing that if he does, you’ll start sobbing hysterically in front of all of these people in the middle of the United States DEA bullpen.

“Ah….yeah, well the Ambassador just showed up, she got caught up meeting with him. Shouldn’t take long. She wanted me to keep an eye out for you.” As he spoke, the younger man steered her towards an office and through the doorway. “You can wait in here until she’s finished, probably five, ten minutes.” Too late you realized the office you were being ushered into was Javier’s office. You thought better about throwing a fit and asking to wait somewhere else. If you did, he’d probably inquire as to why and then…well, it was probably best to just sit in your piece of trash husband’s office and wait.

He won’t be in for a while anyway, you think furiously. He’s too “preoccupied”. That thought brought the empty bottom feeling into your stomach again and was quickly replaced with boiling fury and rage at what you had witnessed. Van Ness seemed to sense your anger and quickly retreated, leaving you to pace Javi’s office angrily.

“What a piece of shit!” You growl under your breath and then proceed to call him every foul name you can think of in both English and Spanish. As you do so, you randomly kick furniture, upending a pile of cartons on an armchair and not caring one second about the headache it would cause him to reorganize it. As you pass the bookshelf, you punch a flag statue off a shelf and enjoy the satisfying crunch it made as it lands on the floor. That sound seems to drag more need to destroy. You tear the cushions up from the couch and rip them open, flailing the stuffing out of them, imagining it was your husband’s insides that you were ripping to pieces, as well as that “informant”! You grab a framed medal off the wall behind the couch, smashing the glass over the coffee table and marching over to his desk, ripping the medal out of its cushioned velvet bed and taking the sharp, pointed edge of the bottom of it to the back of his desk chair.

The tearing sound as the material was ripped open fills up the room like a freight train and gives you an extreme sense of satisfaction. You jab the sharp end of your makeshift weapon into the glossy, smooth surface of the desk and grit your teeth as you put all of your anger and weight into cutting a jagged line from one side of the desk to the other, knocking files that were spread out haphazardly on the floor. Your rage completely overtook you and you began to gouge all of the foul names you had previously been calling him into the surface of the desk until your hand began to ache from pressing so hard. The pain only makes you angrier and you fling the medal across the office, knocking a lamp off of the end table. The clatter and sound of the bulb smashing give you some momentary peace, but then the memory of that woman’s hand moving inside his pants resurfaces again, causing you to redouble your efforts and proceed in destroying every visible inch of his office.

How dare he? How...dare...he? How dare YOU, thinking anything less from the man that was your husband. A leopard doesn’t change its spots...what had you been thinking? WHAT could possibly have EVER made you agree to marry such a vile, disgusting slime ball of a man? You had begged him...BEGGED HIM...to fuck you only an hour before you found him in a shkeezy back alley with a cheap whore. Fuck him! If he would rather have his whores than you, then so be it. He could keep them. How long had he still been “working leads” after you’d gotten married? Did everyone outside in that bullpen know? How many of them still tittered over the water cooler about how many times Agent Peña visited the brothels in the city...how many of THEM out there had he fooled around with, too? Why stop at whores? How could he have convinced you so well. Convinced you to marry him, but then, all this time, convinced you to keep begging him, to keep trying to be with him. You had asked...you had asked him to his face if there was someone else. He had denied it and you had believed him. What a fool you’d been. No, there wasn’t someONE else. There was probably NUMEROUS others.

As suddenly as your rage had come upon you, it is just as suddenly replaced by an overwhelming sense of sadness; you feel your legs give out and you collapse to the floor amidst the upended furniture, crumpled balls of paper, broken glass and strewn file folders. Staring at the destruction around you for a moment, you feel the knife of betrayal prick your insides and your heart shatters to pieces.

You bury your face in your hands and begin to sob. After several minutes you draw a watery breath, then shake your head. Dixon was going to be out of her meeting any minute. She was going to find you in here sobbing hysterically amidst all of this.

Oh god! You look around at the mess you’ve made in Javi’s office. The sudden thought enters your mind that you’ve just successfully demolished a significant amount of government property. You frantically start collecting crumpled paper and straightening file folders within reach, trying to return the room to some semblance of order as quickly as possible.

As you reach for one particular folder, you catch sight of half a photograph sticking out that seems familiar. Your hand stops in mid-air.

It’s your wedding photo with Javi.

The same one that’s framed in your apartment. Your hand shakes as you reach for the photo, tears starting to stream from your eyes again at the sight of the now familiar photo. You both looked so happy, so in love with each other. What had happened? How could he be such a good liar?

You cry as you clutch the photo to your chest. Your marriage was over. A marriage that you hadn’t even really gotten a chance to be a part of because most of it was lost to the clouds of your missing memory. And though you didn’t want to admit it...as much as you wanted to hate him, you knew that deep down you were mostly sad because you loved Javier. And he had betrayed you. Had lied to you. But you loved him despite that. And now, knowing what you knew, you couldn’t stay married to him.

And that broke your heart.

You heaved another huge sigh and moved to place the photo back where you had found it….

...and paused again.

What was your wedding photo doing in a DEA case file folder?

Javier didn’t think he had ever driven so fast in his life. Even though he had made a valiant effort at breaking every single driving law in Columbia, it still seemed like an eternity before he braked in front of the DEA building. Today the universe had not been on his side. Despite driving as fast as he could, he seemed to hit nothing but red lights and streets full of bumper to bumper traffic. Crosswalks seemed to be more full than normal with mothers and baby carriages and kids on their way to school. Even when he had tried to take the few shortcuts he knew, he had stalled, running into construction or a blocked roadway where there had once been open passage.

In the end, it had taken him twice as long to get to work then it normally would have. He was furious when he arrived. Furious as himself mostly, but also willing to dole out a fair share to the traffic lights, pedestrians, sidewalk vendors and whoever tried to get in his way before he found out where his partner was.

He was certain she had seen them. He just knew it, deep in his gut. And he knew that he had to find her. To see her. To talk to her. He needed to talk to her before Dixon broke the news to her about her being sent home. He needed to hold her. To tell her….

Would he have the balls to actually tell her what he needed to tell her?

Thinking about that only served to remind him of what a coward he was. He knew he wouldn’t be able to tell her how he really felt. He hadn’t even been able to….SHOW her how he felt. He hadn’t been able to fuck her when she had begged him, when she had willingly offered herself to him on multiple occasions.

He wanted to throw up thinking about it. Thinking about saying those words to her. Thinking about how she was going to be sent home, that by tonight she wouldn’t be in his life anymore, that he was never going to know how it felt to hold her in his arms and whisper those words in her ear, wasn’t going to know how it felt to be inside of her, to know how she sounded and looked when she came undone from pleasure.

Yeah, he was a real fucking coward.

When he stormed into the bullpen, he knew something was wrong. Van Ness and Feistl both stood a short distance from his office, arms folded, heads cocked towards the closed door as though trying to detect any sound. They both had stricken looks on their faces, a mixture of fear and bewilderment, and neither man seemed quite sure what to do with themselves when Javier entered. One look at them and then a look at the closed office door told him that things had already started happening. His heart sank.

“Dixon?” He asked, nodding towards his office. Van Ness started, then stood up straight, shaking his head.

“No. She’s still in a meeting. She wanted me to have her wait in...” Without waiting for any further information, Javi plowed his way past them and wrenched open the door to his office.

He stopped short, eyes widening at the scene in front of him.

It looked like a bomb had exploded in his office. Furniture was upturned, pictures were smashed and hanging askew, file folders were thrown everywhere, the floor was covered in ripped and crumpled paper and...some kind of fluff...what was that? The couch cushions? He saw them ripped to shreds and thrown randomly around the room. Items had been smashed off the bookshelves and lamps were cracked and broken to pieces, leaving large chunks of glass strewn about the floor.

And there she sat in the midst of the chaos.

Her shoulders were hunched over. A file folder was open in her lap and she had clearly been reading several pages of the report found within. Your staged wedding photo was in one hand as she turned the pages of the report with the other. He could only stare at her and at the destruction surrounding her...and then it slowly dawned on him what she was reading.

At almost the exact same moment that he had the realization, she lifted her head from the file and looked up at him.

His heart broke.

Her face was red from crying, tear tracks staining her face, confusion and a thousand questions filling her eyes. Her voice was shaking and wobbly and sounded like a child’s: scared, lost...terrified of the truth.

“Javi?”

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 13

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x female reader #narcos #narcos fanfic #javi #undercover marriage #undercover married trope #pedro pascal fanfiction

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hklnvgl · 3 years

Text

but for their voices

(for the first week of the Mister Impossible Countdown by @pynchpromptweek : Adam’s College Experience! tw: past child abuse)

1/4 | ao3

“So are you deaf or something?”

Everything was supposed to change once Adam got to college. He’d spent hours and hours planning how it all would be, while waiting for the sleep that wouldn’t come because his ribs or his jaw or his lower back or his left ear were hurting.

The first step was making friends. Adam knew the best way to start was with his roommate, and he’d also joined a few study groups so that he had more options to fall back to if some didn’t work out.

Then, of course, once he got a bit more settled in his new routine, he wanted to go out there and date people.

That would take some time, presumably, but that was okay because once he started he’d surely stop feeling so inadequate and out of place. He’d learn how true Harvard people spoke and walked and dressed and he’d become one of them in no time. He’d stop being so weird. He’d stop losing time.

That was the plan. Adam was normally so good at planning. He’d taken all the necessary little steps—he’d found himself a job at the library to have some extra money for things like new shoes and haircuts and bowling trips. He’d tried extra hard to appear friendly and approachable on the first days of class, so that when they got group projects assigned he wouldn’t be the odd one out incapable of finding himself a group. He hadn’t told anyone he couldn’t hear out of his left ear, because that could lead to more questions that would definitely collide with him not being weird anymore.

But nothing had actually changed after Adam had moved out, had it? He could get himself to a different state but he would always carry some things with him.

It had taken Ronan ninety minutes to notice.

Adam tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t bring him back to the dirt and pain he’d worked so hard to leave behind.

His soda glass was starting to sweat onto the wooden table.

“Only on my left ear,” he said, tasting bile on the tip of his tongue. “Had an infection when I was a kid, it’s no big deal,” he rushed, before Ronan had time to ask about it.

It wasn’t the first lie he’d told since arriving at Harvard. Those were not part of the original plan, but it turns out people start getting curious once you let them get to know you.

And Adam wanted so very much for people to know him. Just not what had happened to him—only Adam. Adam Parrish, Harvard student, with a brilliant future ahead of him.

“How’d you know?” Adam asked, even though what he most wished at that moment was for Ronan to drop the subject, for them to go back to talking about the plants Ronan was growing in his greenhouse back home or that one subject Adam coincidentally shared with Dick Gansey who coincidentally was Ronan’s best friend. But he had to know. He needed to know, in case there was something he could change about himself that would prevent other people from also noticing in the future.

“Uh? Oh, well, my little brother has this friend who’s hard of hearing and you just reminded me of her a bit.” Ronan grinned. “It was either that or you kept looking at my lips for some other reason.”

Adam, who had indeed been staring at Ronan’s soft-looking lips, shot his eyes up.

“What some other reason—” Adam began, promptly shutting his mouth when Ronan’s smiling eyes made him realize what he was hinting at.

Gansey saved him from embarrassing himself any further.

“Ronan, I’m so glad you’ve already met Adam. He’s brilliant, you know?” Adam didn’t know how Gansey could have possibly reached that conclusion from the two-hour class they shared and the three times they’d met at study group.

“Yes, Dick, you’ve fucking told me,” Ronan sighed. “He’s obsessed with you, man,” he said to Adam. “You should look into getting a restraining order or some shit.”

Adam, who already had one restraining order in place, looked down at his glass. He suddenly felt like, if he allowed Ronan to study him for a minute longer, Ronan would be able to put the pieces together for that too. He didn’t think he’d be able to deal with that.

He also didn’t know how to deal with knowing that Gansey spoke about him to his friends.

Perhaps his whole problem was that he didn’t know what a friend really was.

Gansey and Ronan kept talking, but Adam didn’t feel like putting in the effort to keep up.

“I should go,” he said, standing up. “Early morning tomorrow,” he lied to Ronan’s raised eyebrows.

“Oh, right. Well, always a pleasure,” Gansey said, extending a hand that Adam only realized a beat too late that he was meant to be shaking.

“You’ll tell the others I’m off, right?” Adam asked, because the sole idea of browsing the pub in search of the rest of the group to be subjected to a questioning on why he was leaving so early made his legs feel weak and his heart beat too fast.

He didn’t stay to catch Gansey’s response.

He didn’t say goodbye to Ronan.

The cold air that greeted him outside didn’t help him regain his balance—he felt a bit dizzy and overwhelmed, but his dorm wasn’t too far and it wasn’t bad enough to justify spending money on a taxi.

Adam’s phone beeped when he was exhaustedly crawling into his bed. It wasn’t likely to be a class email at this hour, but he checked anyway.

Hey it’s Ronan. Gansey gave me your number

Adam was still trying to coax his drained brain to process the words when a second text came in.

I had fun tonight

Adam took a shaky breath as he adjusted his pillow. This was possibly the first time he’d ever gotten a text that wasn’t over homework.

Me too, he sent. He hesitated before adding a smiling face.

I’m leaving town first thing tomorrow, Ronan said.

Adam knew he should say something back, but he didn’t know what would be appropriate. I’m sorry? Nice to have met you? Sorry I left so abruptly for no reason and now you must think I’m weird?

Back to the farm?, he finally wrote, remembering Ronan had said he cared for his family’s cattle for a living.

Yeah. But I’ll come up again soon so that Gansey doesn’t get clingy

Adam didn’t have time to think of an answer to that that made him sound clever or flirty or was more eloquent than a simple ok before Ronan swiftly added: So I was thinking we could meet? At a quieter place?

Adam’s cheeks burned in the dark room. His thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Sure, he wrote, because there was less risk of embarrassing himself if he only sent one word at a time.

Cool. I’ll text you. I’ll bring my lips too

Ok. Cool. Me too.

(next chapter)

#pynch #adam parrish #ronan lynch #pynch fic #the raven cycle #trc #fic #mister impossible #cdth #tdt #cw child abuse #d #but for their voices

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ibijau · 3 years

Text

Futures past pt5 / on AO3

Nie Huaisang chats with Su She, and gets reminded of his mission

"I swear, if that shixiong of yours doesn't stop sneering like that every time he sees you, I'm stealing you," Nie Huaisang grumbled as they walked away from the training grounds. “And then da-ge will be happy to have another hard working disciple, and you will be happy to never deal with those stuck up idiots, and I will be happy to have a friend at home!”

Su She rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile on his lips that pleased Nie Huaisang. He’d figured out pretty quickly that Su She liked being praised, reacting to it like a man lost in the desert who'd found an oasis. It was funny, and a little cute, and Nie Huaisang was only too happy to build up his new friend’s self esteem. When Su She was in a good mood, he was a little more willing to help Nie Huaisang with his homework, at least some of the time. He refused to actually do the work for Nie Huaisang, which was a shame, but just getting help was already something.

And it was help that Nie Huaisang desperately needed.

As weeks passed, it had become quite obvious that he was horrifyingly bad at studying, his grade plummeting down with each new test and surprise quiz. At least he could somewhat manage his homework if Su She or Lan Xichen were helping him, but… but he kept being punished because of his bad grades, meaning he ended up with very little time to spend with either of them. When he went to Lan Xichen’s house, he usually did some homework because that was easier than making conversation, but it didn’t happen that often. As for Su She… well, there were more fun things they could do together, and Nie Huaisang would fail his classes no matter what, so why waste time on something as stupid as homework now it was all obviously in vain?

“What’s the plan today?” Nie Huaisang asked.

"My mother sent me some treats from home and I don't mind sharing," Su She announced. "She figured I'd be sad, since I'm not able to go back for Qingming this year either. The teachers say my attitude isn't good enough yet, and going home might ruin all my progress."

"They're all too hard on you, I swear."

Su She shrugged. He was used to this. From what Nie Huaisang understood, most outer disciples were treated quite harshly until they proved they could be trusted to follow the rules. It might not have been so bad if Su She had been more the side to bend his neck and obey everything like some of the others, but he really had too much pride for a disciple of Gusu Lan. Still, being away from home for Qingming was harsh.

Of course, Nie Huaisang too was stuck in the Cloud Recesses. In his case, that was because the trip would have been too long when he couldn't fly on his sabre, and Lan Qiren had warned Nie Mingjue that it would be bad for his brother to miss any classes due to that. The other Nie disciples had no such problem though, so they'd left and he was currently all alone in the cabin they shared.

Nie Huaisang didn't mind. A little quiet was nice.

“Let’s go to my cabin to have some tea,” Nie Huaisang offered. “We can eat what your mother sent, and I should also still have some sweets, and I don’t mind sharing if it’s with you.”

It was, actually, almost the last of the candies he’d brought from home, and he hadn’t been able to get more. Students were allowed days off to visit the nearby town sometimes, but Nie Huaisang had been denied that privilege on account of his grades. He had thought of going anyway, but so far his fear of Lan Qiren still outweighed his desperate need for something fun. If Su She had been willing to come with him, perhaps… but Su She wasn’t exactly in a great position either, and didn’t want to make his situation worse by purposefully breaking rules, so they were both stuck inside the Cloud Recesses, the most beautiful prison in the world.

But it was a prison with decent company, and Su She agreed to that offer for tea. With just the two of them, they were able to get quite cozy in the Nie cabin. They dropped on the floor all the blankets in the cabin so they could sit in decadent comfort, at least by Cloud Recesses' standards. Half sprawled by the table, they drank the best tea Nie Huaisang had to offer at that moment (he promised, not for the first time, that one day he’d invite Su She to visit the Unclean Realm where he had access to much better leaves), traded treats much sweeter and tastier than anything usually available to eat away from home, and chatted quite freely, knowing there was nobody around to scold them if they got too gossipy.

Su She, who tried so hard to never say anything bad about his fellow disciples where someone might here, ended up spitting a lot of venom on all those other Lan juniors, sparring neither inner nor outer disciples and denouncing their treatment of him as unfair.

“After all,” he spat, “I’m a much better musician than Han Mingzhe and Bao Tong, and my swordsmanship is at least as good as Li Xiaoping, but they don’t get scolded as much. But Bao Tong and Li Xiaoping have parents who are rogue cultivators, and Han Mingzhe’s parents are farmers which is at least honourable, while my father is a merchant, and a rich one at that. Everyone says I just bought my way into cultivation!”

Nie Huaisang frowned, looking down at his currently empty cup. This, he thought, would have been a conversation better accompanied by some wine. Complaining while drinking tea just wasn’t as fun.

“It’s stupid,” he said. “I mean, sure you can buy pills and all, but that wouldn’t take you very far with Gusu Lan’s style, that’s more of a Jin thing.”

Immediately, Su She hunched up his shoulders and looked down, a spot of colour on his cheeks.

“Actually my father tried to get me into Lanling Jin at first,” Su She muttered, sounding ashamed of the confession. “But they didn’t want me because I didn’t know anything about using a sword and they said I was already too old to be taught. Then we tried Gusu Lan, because we’d heard they use music, and I’m good at that. They also said I was a bit old, but they still took me in because they said I might catch up if I worked hard enough. But some of the other juniors still heard about me trying for Lanling Jin, and they’re convinced I must have cheated somehow, and… Well, a merchant’s son, no way I can have gotten here on my own merit, eh? Merchants are all dishonest, right?”

Nie Huaisang grimaced, because he could just imagine the sort of things that Su She might have been accused of. Even his brother’s sect, which tried to reward merit and talent above all else, wasn’t always kind to anyone coming from a merchant’s family. It was a profession with money, but that didn't count all that much when the way they'd gotten that money was through the work of others, not like farmers or scholars who put such high efforts into their respective crafts. Of course, being descended from butchers, the Nie couldn’t exactly look down on others for their origins, and yet…

“Have you told the seniors about this?” he asked Su She.

His friend shrugged and scoffed.

“What for? Most of them agree, or they wouldn’t be so hard on me.”

“Then… what if I told Lan Xichen?” Nie Huaisang offered. “If he says something in your favour, then everyone else will have to be nice to you!”

“Lan gongzi despises me,” Su She muttered. “Sometimes I cross paths with him, and he looks at me like I’m lower than dirt. With everyone else he’s nice, but me… it’s like he hates me, personally. And it’s worse when I’m with you.”

Nie Huaisang's enthusiasm deflated at the reminder.

At least, this confirmed it wasn’t just his imagination. He also thought he had noticed that Lan Xichen appeared to harbour some kind of personal dislike toward Su She, but he couldn’t understand why. By all accounts, Su She had always managed to be perfectly polite around the sect leader’s sons, and while his personality wasn’t the most Lan-like, Nie Huaisang knew his friend had never done anything that cast shame upon his sect. It might have been about Su She’s origins then, but somehow that didn’t sound right either.

Lan Xichen was a little boring, but he put great value on his sect’s rules, and those rules said clearly that people should be judged by their actions, not their origins. Nie Huaisang had copied those damn rules often enough to know that. It really was so odd for Lan Xichen to react like this to Su She, and that made Nie Huaisang want to understand why. Everything else about Lan Xichen was so boring, but this detail made him feel like there might be some personality in the older boy after all.

“I could still ask him to do something,” Nie Huaisang insisted. “He can look the other way if nobody tells him, but I’m a young master of a sect too. I'm not very good at being one, but when I say something, he still had to listen. And if I tell him his father’s disciples are little shits, he’ll have to do something, or all of Gusu Lan will lose face.”

Su She’s expression only turned darker. “It will just make everyone hate me more, even the ones who didn’t care before. Please don’t say anything. I’m just going to work harder, and prove everyone wrong, and when I’m good enough I’ll…” he pinched his lips and dropped his gaze to the table. “They’ll see, they’ll all see. When I’m good enough, I’ll show them all, and everyone will regret that they didn’t respect me.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, and even patted Su She on the shoulder, feeling quite sorry for him. He’d never thought about it before, but the way things were was a little unfair. Su She was so hard working and getting results for his effort, but people treated him like dirt, while Nie Huaisang couldn’t be bothered with anything and would have failed even if he tried, but everyone still felt forced to treat him with a minimum of respect because of his brother.

It really wasn’t fair at all, but all Nie Huaisang could do was stand by Su She and make it clear he saw his friend’s talent, even if everybody else was too damn stupid to notice him.

Nie Huaisang couldn't do anything to help, but he made sure to give Su She the last of his candies, and hoped that counted for something.

It was always too damn quiet in the Cloud Recesses at night, and Nie Huaisang struggled to get used to it. Back home, there was always the noise of something happening somewhere. Disciples who'd decided to continue training after sunset, those on watch duty doing their rounds, servants going about their business... it was a constant reminder that people were around and the world was safe.

In the Cloud Recesses, there was nothing. If not for the snoring coming from one of his companions, Nie Huaisang might as well have been alone in the world.

Nobody was snoring that night. He was alone, and would be for at least two more, until the others returned from seeing their families and honouring their ancestors.

It was annoying enough to be stuck in this lonely quiet place in daylight, when he could at least see people, when he’d been able to pester Su She and feel less alone. Only Su She had long returned to the dorms he shared with other Lan disciples, and Nie Huaisang was alone in this deafening silence.

That was why he couldn’t sleep.

That was why he heard those footsteps coming near his bed, when there shouldn’t have been anyone else in that lonely cabin. It couldn’t be a demon or a ghost, not in the Cloud Recesses, which should have been a comfort. Once, before his father went mad, it would have been.

There were things against which no magical barrier could offer protection.

The footsteps came to a stop near the bed. Nie Huaisang silently shivered under his blanket, biting into his fist to avoid making any sound. If he was quiet, if he pretended not to be there, things would be fine. It had worked whenever his father went into a rage. Back then, as long as Nie Huaisang didn't move, his father seemed not to see him, a trick he'd figured out very quickly and shared with Nie Mingjue.

Maybe it would work here too.

Or maybe not.

Nie Huaisang felt a hand grab his blanket, and all coherent thoughts left him. He shrieked in terror as he leapt out of his bed, nearly falling face first onto the floor but caught at the last moment by strong, slender hands.

“What are you crying like that for?” he heard a strange yet familiar voice huff. “Do you really think anyone would dare attack you here? It’s only me.”

Blinking away a few tears, Nie Huaisang scrambled to stand up while his future self watched him with an unimpressed expression.

“Sorry,” Nie Huaisang muttered, trying to put some order to his night clothes. “I get scared at night sometimes. Well, you’d know. Do… Does it get better?”

“No,” the older man bearing his face said, opening his fan. It was a different one from last time, but just as gorgeous. “It gets worse. I don’t sleep much these days. Haven’t in years. It’s a waste of time anyway.”

Nie Huaisang, who often thought that sleeping was the best part of his day, as long as he didn’t start panicking over nothing, didn’t know what to answer to that. He had a feeling his opinion on the matter wasn’t required anyway.

“So, uh, aside from sleeping, how have you been?” he awkwardly asked. “Anything interesting happened to you? How does time even pass for you? Did you also have to wait for several months, or is it just after the last time we talked for you?”

His future self glared and sharply closed his fan, making Nie Huaisang jump and effectively silencing him.

"How is Lan Xichen?” the man asked. “Have you made progress with him yet?"

"We've talked here and there, but he's always so busy," Nie Huaisang muttered, wringing his hands. “It's really hard to chat with him, you know. And he’s got such boring hobbies, too.”

Not music and painting, those were valid ways to pass time, in Nie Huaisang’s opinion. And sometimes, serious people couldn’t avoid doing some amount of work, so he didn't even begrudge Lan Xichen that either.

But Nie Huaisang hadn’t taken long to realise that whenever they were spending time together, Lan Xichen wasn’t actually doing any sect work. After all, Nie Mingjue had tried to force his little brother to help with those things, so he knew what that looked like. And it wasn't calligraphy either that occupied the older boy, because Nie Huaisang loved that and would have struck a conversation about it if given a chance.

Instead, Lan Xichen had made a hobby of copying books and treaties.

Nie Huaisang had asked, once or twice, if Lan Xichen was trying to learn those texts by heart. The older boy had very awkwardly agreed that he was indeed doing just that, but he hadn’t sounded very convinced. He really was such a poor liar. Lan Xichen was going to be awful at politics if he didn’t learn how to conceal his thoughts. Then again, he wasn’t always like that, was he? With most people he was placid and radiating a sort of empty warmth. It was just around Nie Huaisang that he would get weird, and maybe around Su She as well, as if his disdain was just too great to be contained.

Just as Nie Huaisang was about to ask his older self if he’d ever found out what he and his friend had done to Lan Xichen to be so disliked by him, the man grabbed him by the collar and shook him.

"I thought I'd told you this was essential," his older self hissed, sounding too much like Nie Huaisang's father all of a sudden. "And you’re still only thinking about having fun! Do you want da-ge to die?"

"Of course not!"

"Then get serious about this,” the man ordered, shaking his young self once more before pushing him away with enough force that Nie Huaisang stumbled and nearly fell. “You have to earn Lan Xichen's trust, or he will choose the wrong friend, idiot that he is."

"Well, can't you give me hints?” Nie Huaisang mumbled in a trembling voice, trying again to straighten his clothes in spite of shaking hands. “You've got to know more about him than I do, can't you tell me how I'm supposed to get close to him?"

This, of course, earned him another disdainful glare.

"I don't remember the boy he was," his future self said, "and the man he became was never worth my attention. Figure this out on your own, and be useful for once."

It struck Nie Huaisang as very unfair that his future self was allowed to not have anything to do with Lan Xichen, but wouldn't extend the same kindness to him. It also worried him that the man before him disliked Lan Xichen so much. Nie Huaisang just found the older boy a little boring, but he didn't have any particularly strong opinion about him.

“You can’t do that!” he complained, clenching his fists. “You can’t… I’ve got to be told things! And if you can’t tell me about how to get close to Lan Xichen, then… then at least tell my why it’s important, and why… how does da-ge die, anyway?”

“Murdered, I’ve told you that already.”

Nie Huaisang stumped his foot. “There’s so many ways to murder someone, that doesn’t narrow it down at all! Tell me how, and tell me who…” He trailed off, a horrible suspicion hitting him. “Did… did Lan Xichen…”

Just thinking of it, Nie Huaisang felt a little faint and had to stumble against the closest wall, just to get some support. Whatever he thought of Lan Xichen, that was still his brother’s closest friend, Nie Mingjue's only friend. And besides, Lan Xichen didn’t strike him as a murderer. People changed, certainly, but how could a person have changed that much?

And yet his own future self, standing before him, was proof that such a complete transformation was possible. Nie Huaisang really didn’t see anything of himself in that man, nothing except his aged up face and perhaps a taste for fashion.

“Lan Xichen is too much of a coward,” his older self proclaimed, mouth twisting in disgust. “But he helped the murderer, willingly or not, and sided with him so many times that I’ve never dared come to him with the truth. I wasn’t sure he’d trust me, even with proof. I still have my opinion on that, whatever some others think he'd have done. But you…” he waved his closed fan toward Nie Huaisang. “You might change that. Da-ge’s opinion alone wasn’t enough, but Lan Xichen has no will of his own, he’ll be easily swayed if two people he trusts are denouncing the true nature of the man he protects. That’s all I feel safe telling you at the moment. I don’t trust you not to mess things up if you know too much. You only learned too late to keep your mouth shut.”

It still sounded odd to Nie Huaisang that Lan Xichen could ever side against Nie Mingjue. Not long ago, he would have called his older self a liar, because Lan Xichen was boring but honest and just. Now though, having seen how Lan Xichen looked at Su She who had never done him any wrong… maybe it was possible that Lan Xichen would turn into a bad man, since he was clearly capable of being unjust after all.

“I’ll work harder to get close to him,” Nie Huaisang promised, pushing himself away from the wall now that he felt steadier again. “I really will. Maybe I can ask him to help with lessons a little more… I really need it, if I want to pass.”

“You’re not going to pass,” his older self announced. “It’s fine. Da-ge will send you here again, and you’ll meet some useful allies.”

At the news, Nie Huaisang let out a deep, heartfelt sigh. Having to come back in this boring place for another year sounded like torture, even with Su She for company. And then, meeting more people his future self wanted him to befriend… weren’t these people going to be just as boring as Lan Xichen?

While Nie Huaisang despaired, his adult self turned to check on something only he could see, and huffed.

“I’m running out of time. Fine, let’s be quick. Did you bring with you the information I gave you last time about Meng Yao?”

“Yes, I have it.”

Nie Huaisang took a step toward the place he’d stored his qiankun pouch, but his older self stopped him with a gesture.

“That Night Hunt in Yunping should happen fairly soon now. You have to go,” the older man ordered. “One way or another, you have to go. I don’t know when else we’d have such a chance to alter Meng Yao’s fate, and it is vital that he doesn’t enter Lanling Jin. Do whatever you must do, take whatever risk you must take, but make sure Meng Yao cannot join the Jin.”

Nie Huaisang obediently nodded, half spooked by the edge in his older self’s voice whenever he said that Meng Yao’s voice. Hating someone was just too much effort in his opinion, but apparently he’d grow to hate that Meng Yao person. But if that person was fated to play a part in Nie Mingjue’s death… in that case, and that case alone, Nie Huaisang could imagine he’d maybe become enraged enough to do something about it.

“I’ll do my best,” Nie Huaisang promised, hoping he wouldn’t have to actually kill anyone. Murder was messy, and Nie Mingjue would be cross, even if it was to save his life.

“I know what your best is,” his older self snapped. “You’ll have to do better than that. Take care of Meng Yao, get in Lan Xichen’s good graces, and then… then we’ll see,” he mused. “Depending on how well you do that, there might still be a few loose threads to cut. Xue Yang and Su She didn’t need the Jin to make trouble, we might do everyone a service and…”

“What about Su She?” Nie Huaisang cried out, grasping the older man’s wrists.

He was roughly pushed away, and earned a nasty glare for his outburst.

“Don’t mind that yet,” his older self said, straightening his sleeves. “All that matters for now is Meng Yao and Lan Xichen. Focus on them, I’ll explain the rest when the time comes.”

“But that’s…”

“I’ll return in a few months. You’d better have good news for me next time.”

Nie Huaisang launched himself at the older man, wanting to grab him again and force him to explain why he’d mentioned Su She. His hands found only empty air and he stumbled forward, falling to his knees on the hard wooden floor. It hurt, and might even bruise later, but Nie Huaisang didn’t even think to rub them or cry.

He knelt there far too long in that lonely cabin, and wondered what might happen in the future that would cause him to treat Su She as an enemy.

#xisang #nie huaisang #su she #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #baby nhs has a very rough time and needs a hug #well he's not getting one #double time travel

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beewolfwrites · 3 years

Text

And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter Eighteen: Do Not Go Gentle

Hello again! Welcome to Chapter 18 of this Chishiya x OC/Reader fic. So many of you loved the ending of the last chapter, I hope you like this one too.

There are certainly some... revelations coming to light.

You can find the full fanfic and this chapter here on AO3 too. Enjoy <3

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The rooftop was usually quiet at this time, but not today. The ruckus below could be heard for miles, cheers and laughter stretching across Tokyo like sunlight. But even the sunlight left shadows in crevices and alleys.

Legs dangling off the roof, I watched on as Hatter, flanked by Aguni and several militants, got into a car. He waved and blew kisses at the swathes of Beach residents. It was one big show, nothing but superficiality as the Beach’s king headed off into battle. The sun bounced off his ring as he kissed a woman’s hand, the blinding light only serving to darken his sunglasses.

‘Not joining the party?’

I didn’t bother turning at the familiar voice. There was a rustle of fabric as he sat down beside me, leaving enough space between us that it wasn’t uncomfortable.

‘I’m not a party person.’

As the car pulled away from the hotel, my eyes drifted to Niragi who was standing by the hotel door. He looked visibly irritated, most likely because of the fire that had spontaneously started in his room the night before. Apparently, he’d gone on a rampage, throwing accusations and pinpointing certain names. In an attempt to calm him down, An had used her forensic background to sweep the room, only to find no fingerprints, hairs, or traces. Niragi had been seething ever since.

‘I’m guessing you heard about what happened,’ I tried to hide a smile. ‘Somebody tampered with the plugs of his bedside lamps while he was in the game last night. Whoever it was cut through both the earth wires and messed with the live wires.’

Like many of the other lamps in the hotel, they had metal casings. And because the bedside tables were made of wood, it didn’t take much for the metal to overheat.

Chishiya let out a content sigh. ‘There were no fingerprints. It could have been faulty wiring.’

‘That’s true,’ I said, thinking back to the box of disposable latex gloves in Chishiya’s room. ‘Though it’s one hell of a coincidence that it happened to both the bedside lamps.’

‘But not impossible.’

‘No,’ I said softly. ‘It’s not impossible.’

He reached into his pocket and held out the taser. ‘It wasn’t too bad. Just a case of rewiring it.’

Holding it in my lap, I felt instantly safer. ‘Thank you.’

We fell into companionable silence, me watching as Hatter drove off into the desolate Tokyo streets, and Chishiya mulling over whatever crazy calculations were running through his mind. Eventually, when the car disappeared into the dust, the Beach residents retreated back to the patio, continuing as usual as they waited for the return of their king.

‘Hatter’s going to die in this game, isn’t he?’

‘Of course,’ Chishiya said. ‘That’s why I’ve invited Arisu up here with us.’

‘You’re going to include them in the plan?’

A faint smile ghosted his features. ‘Did you think you were special because I included you?’

‘Of course not. That’s ridiculous.’ It was ridiculous, and yet something unpleasant twinged in my chest at the thought that it wasn’t just me, him and Kuina. It begged the question, if he wanted help from Arisu and Usagi, why did he bother with me? ‘Chishiya, I know I’ve asked you this before, but why did you bring me here?’

‘If you’ve asked me before then you’ll already know the answer.’

The answer was that I was useful to the Beach, but something told me it wasn’t the true answer. There was something I was missing here, if only I could figure out what it was.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Why did you really bring me here?’

He didn’t reply, but I could see him considering the question, thinking of all the different avenues he could take to answer it. Lucky for him, he never had to, as the rooftop door swung open and Kuina stepped out, followed by Arisu. He looked pained, as though he’d seen a ghost, but when he saw me, his expression filled with recognition.

‘I remember you from the Tag game,’ he said.

I gave him a smile. ‘も覚えています.’ I remember you too.

He relaxed slightly at seeing a familiar face, but when he turned back to Chishiya, there was still some mistrust there. ‘You and Kuina wanted me to come up here. What’s going on?’

Chishiya and I got to our feet, and I was reminded a little of the time when I had been invited up here too. Only now, my bruises had healed, and Chishiya and I were on good terms again.

‘I’d like to ask you one thing,’ Chishiya said, his tone calm and calculating as always. ‘How do you plan to live in a world that’s so full of despair?’

Arisu seemed visibly surprised by the question. But I wasn’t. I knew Chishiya enough to see that this was a test. What the answer was didn’t really matter. It was all just a way for him to gauge Arisu’s personality and analyse which parts of his nature could come in use. Seeing this test being used on someone else, I wondered how often Chishiya had deployed the same tactics on me.

‘I’ve come this far,’ Arisu said, ‘and I just want to know who’s behind all of this, who I should get revenge on. And if there’s only one person who can leave, I want to make sure it’s Usagi.’

Usagi must be the name of the climber girl.

Chishiya smiled. ‘It’s a good answer.’

‘でも、悪い溶液だ,’ I said. But it’s not a good solution.

Kuina strolled along the edge of the rooftop. ‘In order to leave, you and Usagi would have to win game after game and become number one. It’s impossible.’

Arisu’s face fell, although he must’ve known this deep down already. It was impossible to win every game, and despite how much we talked about surviving, Kuina, Chishiya and I would probably die before then. The odds were against us.

‘It has nothing to do with you guys anyway,’ Arisu said, defensively.

‘We think you have potential,’ Chishiya replied, looking out in the direction where Hatter’s car had disappeared. ‘That’s why we came to find you earlier.’

‘Potential….’ Arisu’s confusion was illustrated all over his face.

‘What if I said there’s a way to change the status quo all at once?’ Chishiya casually suggested, and Arisu’s eyes widened.

I drifted in and out of understanding as Chishiya explained how the tensions between the militant sect and the idealist sect were growing stronger, and that Hatter would probably not return home from his game today. Arisu’s nervous reaction was too open, too trusting.

He wears his heart on his sleeve. That’s why Chishiya picked him.

‘What are you planning?’ He glanced between the three of us.

Chishiya’s smile was terrifying. ‘I plan to steal all the playing cards,’ he said. ‘We’re leaving the Beach.’

And just like that, Arisu was hooked. Trapped in the net of manipulation so carefully laid out for him.

Chishiya was a trickster. Now that I could his tricks laid bare in the sunlight, it was more obvious than ever before. In my head, I ran through all the conversations I’d had with him, but there was nothing that stood out as obvious lies or half-truths.

And he’s always helped me. He screwed with Niragi’s lamps and started that fire. He didn’t have to do that… it can’t have been for nothing.

As if sensing the conflict within me, Chishiya’s eyes locked onto mine from across the roof. They were guarded and distant, with just a hint of something warmer, and a little voice in my head told me it wasn’t real, it couldn’t have been real. Yet it didn’t stop my heart from shuddering, or my face from glowing under the sunlight.

And all at once, I realised I was just as stuck as Arisu.

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

Later that day, Hatter failed to return from his game.

It was information kept within the executives out of fear that the Beach’s residents would panic. Naturally, Chishiya had told Kuina, Arisu, Usagi and I, not that it was a surprise to any of us. Apparently, gunshots had been heard in the area, but the only witnesses around were militants, and each and every one of them swore that Hatter died in his game.

There was no time to waste, and the situation had formed a perfect opportunity. Chishiya had invited us to his room to go over the the plan, but now that it was actually happening, it felt a lot more nerve-wracking.

Arisu and Usagi were sitting in their chairs, sharing uneasy glances as they wondered whether to go ahead with this. From my seat on the couch, I listened carefully while Chishiya brushed through the details in Japanese. He was speaking slower than usual, probably so I could understand as much as possible, but there were still some things I would have to ask about later.

He began passing around walkie-talkies, sliding them across the coffee table towards Arisu and Usagi. As he placed the device in my palm, his fingers brushed mine.

‘The playing cards,’ he said. ‘they’re kept in a safe hidden somewhere in the royal suite. Nobody knows the passcode except the current number-one. But because there’s always chance that the number-one could die in a game, the code is also kept in a black envelope. The black envelope is only opened when there’s a new number-one.’ He sighed. ‘There’ll be a meeting tomorrow, and Aguni will open it in front of all the executives.’

The system itself made sense, but how could Chishiya find out the passcode without being able to see inside an opaque black envelope?

He’s cunning, but cunning doesn’t give you x-ray vision.

‘It’s only read by number-one, right?’ I asked, wondering if I’d missed something along the way in my attempt at translating.

‘That’s right. But as for the safe itself, Arisu will be the one to infiltrate the royal suite.’

Arisu frowned. ‘But what about the passcode?’

‘I already have an idea about that,’ Chishiya said dismissively. ‘I’ll tell you when you’re in front of the safe.’

‘You really are cautious,’ Arisu replied with a grin. He nodded. ‘Got it!’

Chishiya looked at Kuina and Usagi. When he turned to me, I dropped my eyes to the coffee table, feeling embarrassed at how I was acting. It was as if I were a schoolgirl again. ‘You three will be on the lookout,’ he said.

Usagi flinched, eyeing the walkie talkie in her palm. ‘It’s too dangerous,’ she whispered. ‘If we’re found out, we’ll be killed.’

Her eyes were hazy with worry, and it was obvious she cared deeply about Arisu. They must’ve stuck together after the Tag game, becoming not just allies, but something more. It was clear as day from the way they looked at each other.

‘It’s fine, Usagi,’ Arisu tried to console her. ‘With Hatter dead, there’s no unity at the Beach. This is the only way.’

I wanted to believe him, I truly did. But as I bore witness to Chishiya’s growing influence on Arisu, the more doubts I had. Looking at him now, beyond his calm surface, there was something calculating there. An empty darkness. And I was right in the middle of it.

Just what are you really planning?

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The next day, Chishiya disappeared to attend the opening of the black envelope. It meant the rest of us had a few hours to kill before the executives and militants would hold a speech in the lobby to declare Aguni as the Beach’s new king.

I was sitting alone in my room, the walkie talkie on the desk beside me as I ran through the plan over and over. There was so much that could go wrong.

So far, I had intentionally stayed hidden. With Hatter had gone, there was nothing stopping Niragi from killing me and having done with it, and if I wanted to make it out of this place, it was best to keep my head down and remain out of sight. Luckily, my visa still had four days left, so I didn’t have to worry about running into Niragi at a game or in the lobby again.

If everything goes well, I’ll be seeing the last of him.

There was a knock at the door and Kuina called out from the other side.

‘Door’s open!’

Kuina entered, looking cheery and troubled all at once. ‘When is it not?’ she said, taking a seat on my bed as she played with her hair.

I folded my arms against the back of the chair as I took in her dismal energy. ‘You look drained. Something happen?’

She stared at the carpet. ‘Nope, but something will. I can sense it.’

She must be feeling it too.

‘Do you think the plan’s going to fail?’ I asked.

She laughed at first, then frowned. ‘I don’t know. It might, it might not. I just hate waiting like this. It feels a bit like waiting to die.’

The sun was beginning to set, and our time at the Beach was drawing to a close. Either we’d make it out and escape tonight, or we’d be deemed traitors and made an example of. It all depended on whether Chishiya could figure out the passcode, and whether Arisu could locate the safe in the first place. I bit my lip at the thought, tasting metal on my tongue.

I hate putting my life in someone else’s hands.

‘Kuina,’ I said, feeling a little awkward. ‘Do you trust Chishiya?’

She seemed to struggle with the question as she took her time to answer. ‘Not exactly. I trust him to a degree, and we’ve kind of become friends, you know. But if it really came down to it, he would put himself over me, if it means he’s able to survive. He might feel bad about it afterwards – or not, who knows? But that’s what he’d do.’ She looked at me, perplexed. ‘Why?’

My mind skipped through every time I had caught myself caring about him… the comfort I felt around him during the Hunting Season game… the fear of seeing him injured and the guilt of knowing he was in pain… the hurt every time he upset me… and the warmth of safety, knowing he was looking out for me in his own way. Even if he was downright cruel, he always gave me a reason to keep going.

‘I don’t either.’ I swallowed, trying to force myself to admit the truth. ‘But at the same time, I think I feel something… for him, I mean.’

Kuina took the quit-smoking aide out of her mouth. ‘I know.’

My head shot up.

What?

‘You know?’ I asked, surprised, confused and overwhelmed all at once. ‘How did you know before I did?’

She shrugged. ‘Because any idiot could see it, even Niragi. You’ve got some serious chemistry going on there.’ With a shake of her head, she said. ‘It’s a shame he’s such an asshole.’

I pushed my head in my hands, but it wasn’t enough to hide my embarrassment. I felt so exposed, like my mind and heart were put on display. If it was that obvious, it meant everyone would have been able to see it. Everyone.

‘Chishiya already knows, doesn’t he?’ It wasn’t even a question at this point.

She tilted her head from side to side, trying to make me feel better by pretending there might have been some room for error. ‘He probably does.’

‘There’s no ‘probably’,’ I groaned. ‘He definitely knows. Nothing gets past him.’

‘Can’t say I agree with your taste in men,’ she said, quietly, ‘but I guess it’s too late to interfere.’ Even though her tone was lighthearted, there was an edge there. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

How do I even begin to answer that question?

I slumped down onto the back of the chair, tired and exasperated with the whole thing. It had always been my dream up until now, to fall in love, live freely and keep looking to the future. But not like this. It was the wrong place, the wrong time, and as much as I hated to admit it, the wrong kind of person.

‘Who knows?’ I groaned. ‘This isn’t exactly the best place to fall in love with someone. This was what I always wanted, but now that it’s happening, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.’

I looked to Kuina for advice, hoping she’d anchor me down and tell me it was going to be fine. Instead, she was at a loss, unsure of what to suggest.

But then the walkie talkie on the desk hummed to life, and it no longer mattered.

‘They’re about to make the speech.’ Chishiya’s static voice buzzed through. ‘It’s time.’

#alice in borderland #aib #imawa no kuni no arisu #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x oc #chishiya x reader #chishiya alice in borderland

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lifeofclonewars · 3 years

Text

Beginn, Shed-ic Kix, and Jessplea Chapter Seven

‘Cause I’m Due For A Miracle

Finn can’t talk to Kix. Kix hears a message. Jesse shares some good news.

Chapter Title from "Stare At The Sun" by Thrice

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Kix made me cry writing this chapter and I only almost cried while I wrote Chapter 5. That is your only warning.

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Finn was frustrated. Partially from not being able to use his right arm, of course, but, mainly, because of two people. Two brothers, to be exact. His frustration at Kix wasn’t… actually frustration with Kix. It was more irritation at the fact that every time they talked, two minutes later a comm would go off and one of them would be called away.

His frustration with Jesse was a whole different story.

“How does Kix suddenly have the worst timing in the galaxy? I hate this,” the ghost said as he paced the room. The duo was in Finn’s quarters. There weren’t many places to have a conversation with a ghost nobody else could see. Thankfully, since Finn wasn’t on active duty, nobody would find it strange for him to be in the barracks.

“I know, Jesse. You’ve said that ten times.” Ten times today, that was. “I’m trying, but we are on a military base.”

“Right, right, I know. Sorry. I’ve been waiting for this for a long time. Maybe I should go bug Hardcase instead.”

Finn took a deep breath. Calm in, frustration out. It would do no good if he snapped at his companion. Not to mention all the training he’d had — ‘trooper and Jedi — to help with moments like this. “No, no, you’re fine. We could go over any other questions you might have, if you want.”

After Jesse’s surprise proper introduction, they had had a long talk. From Jesse’s understanding of what was going on with the whole ghost thing to making a plan, they covered it all. They’d both had plenty of questions for each other. Finn asked how the sitting, appearances, and so on worked. Jesse asked if he thought where all the clones were gathered was the Force or Manda or something else entirely, and questions about the stormtrooper rebellion he’d wanted to ask, among other things.

Somehow, they ended up with a pattern of asking questions back and forth when Jesse hung out with Finn for the hour instead of Kix. It reminded him of the past-revealing-openings pattern he and Kix had gotten into before they had shared everything. Many things had changed since then, and would hopefully continue to change.

Before Finn knew it, he was friends with Jesse, too, or at least on his way to being friends with him. Jesse took it in full stride, delighted, and told him he was grateful Kix had someone like him around.

Jesse hummed. He stopped his pacing and took a seat on the floor. “Are you set in your answer to where we’re at is the Force?”

He shrugged to the best of his ability. “Like I said, I’m not sure. I tried to do some research, but there’s only so much to which I have access here. You can ask Master Sky—”

“No,” he said quickly. “No offense to him, but I don’t need him finding out what’s going on before Kix knows.”

Fair enough. Plus the whole ‘son of his former general’ thing was probably odd, even after how long Kix (and thus his ghost brothers) had been with the Resistance.

He told Jesse as much and he nodded in agreement. “Alright, then what’s your question?”

While Finn had talked to Jesse, he’d only seen the others. Since the reveal, their brothers had been urging Jesse to shadow Kix every day — not that he needed much convincing — so they could talk. As a result, he had taken to asking about them, about stories Jesse was willing to share about their childhoods and the war, and how they were doing. Furthermore, Jesse helped him put names to who was who of those he had seen.

He rolled the question around in his mind before nodding to himself. That should do.

“How did Kix get his name? That’s something he’s referenced casually but refuses to give details. I’ve been meaning to ask, and it doesn’t seem like a sore subject, just something he finds amusing to keep on the down-low for now.”

The man cackled. “Oh, no, I’m with him on that one. You’ll find out soon enough; it’s a great story. It’s better with the suspense.”

That piqued his interest. “Not even a hint?”

Jesse grinned. “Not a single one. Stars, I haven’t thought about that story in ages. It’ll be worth the wait, trust me.”

Finn raised an eyebrow at him. “Since you didn’t answer my question, how about a different one? What’s the stupidest injury Kix helped you out with?”

“You remember that story Kix told you about someone punching through a bedframe when you first met?”

Not an overly large amount of details, but it rang a bell. He nodded.

Jesse lifted his hand. “That was me. Kix never let me forget it. Didn’t leave any marks thanks to a bacta cast, but the dented frame was somehow kept. He and Hardcase got it framed and hung up in the barracks as a reminder until someone else got injured from off-duty stunts and whatever they had done replaced it.”

They talked some more, swapping questions and stories. Eventually, they rounded back to talking about how they were going to tell Kix and possible ways to make sure they got to speak long enough for it.

“Smash his comm, that’ll do it,” Jesse suggested.

Finn narrowed his eyes at him. “Is that a serious suggestion, or...?”

Jesse snorted. “No, not really. Not only would we both end up on his bad side, but there’s also the chance of yours going off as well. So unless we smash both of them — which I don’t think you’re going to do — we really shouldn’t.”

It was a tempting thought: no notifications until he got a new one. But, ultimately, it wouldn’t work out. Between more planning for the ‘trooper rebellion, his squad’s plans for both missions and off-time, updates from Rey, Poe, and Kix, and everything else that came with being in a rebellion, he would miss too much.

“No, we shouldn’t,” he agreed. “If it comes down to it, I could always tell General Organa I need to talk to Kix about something important and I haven’t had the time. She’d be able to pull the right strings to get us an hour or two.”

Jesse tilted his head to the side. “That’s a good backup plan. Asking Kalonia would likely work, too, considering how many times it’s been the medbay that’s called Kix away. I still don’t know how he manages to spend that much time there and get anything else done. He must be able to manipulate time without realizing it or something. It’s uncanny.”

Finn laughed. “As far as Rey, Kix, and I are aware, he’s not Force-sensitive. Insane reaction time or supposed time manipulation or not, that’s not something we’ve picked up on. It’s also not something to spontaneously pop up, as amusing as that would be. There are usually subtle things that hint at it. For example, I used the Force to help with my accuracy during training without realizing it. I only learned that was what I was doing when I joined the Resistance.

“Also, as far as I know, time manipulation without the Force usually involves traveling to the past, a faulty hyperdrive, and outstanding odds. Poe’s talked about it a bit, since the engineering aspect of it is fascinating, if you ever want me or Rey to help you talk about it with him. Or one of your other brothers, if they want. Time manipulation with the Force, as far as I’ve managed to find, is incredibly hard, and you probably don’t care about the details, if you understand them.”

Jesse rolled his eyes. “Alright, but you have to admit that being in the medbay, sleeping and eating enough, and having enough time left over to talk to you is impressive.”

“True. It was only a matter of time before neither of our schedules lined up well. The fact that they did for so long is remarkable.”

“At least we know Kix isn’t purposefully avoiding you. If that was the case, he’d never be outside the medbay. There’s also the fact that I would be there with him, poking him so much he’s never not shivering and leaves the medbay that way.”

Finn smiled to himself. That, he could tell, was a product of being brothers and not just friends. He’d heard a handful of stories regarding annoying a sibling into doing something. It was a different thing to witness it happen, even if it was only Jesse talking about doing so and not following through on it.

“That could be another backup plan,” Jesse continued. “If all else fails, I go bug him enough that he leaves whatever else he’s doing and then you cross his path and get to talk that way. Then, I poke anyone who tries to interrupt. If it includes running around the base to bug whoever sent messages until they say ‘nevermind,’ so be it.”

That had both of them laughing. When it stopped, Finn responded, “Yeah, I think I’ll stick with talking to General Organa being the backup plan.”

“I thought so. It doesn’t hurt to stick an odd plan out there. Goodness knows how many risky and weird plans our legion went through with and succeeded during the war. Not to mention some of the ones I had to come up with during ARC training.”

Once again, that led to talking about the training differences between the clones and the First Order stormtroopers. Jesse had had a different training regime than Kix, after all, between being an infantry trooper and then his promotion to ARC. If anything, Finn and Jesse had more in common with their training experiences than Finn and Kix because of it. Even the difference between Kix and Jesse’s training was notable, and they had the same trainers and program for most of it.

That somehow looped around to Mando’a and what Kix had taught Finn so far. A handful of words, as of yet — a side effect of their conversations being interrupted — but more than he had known a week ago. Vod, jate, elek, nayc, vod’ika (similar but distinct from vod), vor’e, and, of course, k’oyacyi.

Jesse raised an eyebrow. “You’re a fast learner, Finn. I’m impressed. Not too bad for a week of interrupted meetings, both in quantity and your pronunciation.”

He gave a small smile. “It might be a side effect of the training. Maybe the Force-sensitivity, if it’s not that. Or maybe it’s just me, I’m not sure. But thanks.”

The ghost suddenly straightened, eyes wide, then stood up. “I just thought of a way we can get Kix’s attention to know that, when we finally get to talk, it’s going to be a serious conversation. It’s not a solution to how we’re going to get to that point, but it’s something.”

Finn leaned forward. “I’ll take anything. What is it?”

“I can teach you to say something else in Mando’a! You haven’t looked up any on your own, have you?”

He shook his head. “Kix said the dialect you spoke — speak — is different from what you would hear on Mandalore. I don’t care about being understood there or understanding them; I want to be able to communicate with you guys.”

For whatever reason, Finn hadn’t been able to feel any of the ghosts’ emotions through the Force besides that one time on the unnamed snow planet. But given how Jesse was beaming at him, his reaction to what he said would’ve flooded the Force with warmth and sunshine had it been possible.

“You have no idea how wonderful it is to hear that,” he said. “I would hug you or squeeze your shoulder right now if I could.”

As it was, Jesse poked his bicep lightly and made his arm hair stand on end. He tried to not shiver, given the significance of it. Looked like cold-resistance training paid off for more than just snow planets.

“Anyway,” Jesse continued after he cleared his throat, “with that, Kix will know you somehow learned more, and that can be the lead-in to the conversation.”

“I like it. As long as it doesn’t somehow spook Kix too much, I think it’ll work.”

“He’s a medic, he doesn’t spook easily.”

“True enough. Let’s give it a shot.”

With that, Jesse sat back down — on the other end of the bed, this time — told him what he wanted Finn to say, as well as what it meant. He went over it as quickly as it was normally said, and then more slowly to help him hear the correct pronunciation of each syllable. Then, he had Finn repeat it, starting slowly until he could say it as accurately as he could.

“Great job, Finn. I think that will go well. As for getting the time, I say give it a day and then talk to the General about it if nothing comes of it.”

“Sounds like a plan. Thanks — or should I say, vor’e, Jesse.”

“Anytime.” He stood once more. “Now, no offense, but I have spent a much longer time in here than I initially planned.”

Finn smiled and gestured toward the door with his head. “None taken. Have fun bugging Kix, even if he doesn't know about it yet. See you later.”

“Oh, I will. See you, vod. Only a little bit longer.”

Only a little bit longer, indeed.

----

It was just his luck. In the week and a half since Kix had told Finn he was going to teach him Mando’a, they hadn’t been able to have a conversation longer than five minutes. He couldn’t blame anyone for it — things were picking up speed in the number of encounters with the First Order, especially with those who were in on the stormtrooper rebellion. A direct result of that was, unfortunately, more injuries, which meant Kix was needed in the medbay more often. Sure, he already spent most of his time there, but more often than not, when he was on call, he was definitely in the medbay by the end of the day.

Finally, he had two hours where he wasn’t on call or shift, didn’t need to eat or sleep, or contact someone about anything not involved in any of those things. In short, he finally had time to hang out with Finn and have a proper Mando’a lesson.

Finn had passed his check-up on his shoulder the day before, but even then, Kix hadn’t been able to talk to him. One of the other medics had taken the sling off, given a list of physical therapy exercises to do for the next weeks, and switched him to light-duty. Kix had been across the medbay, checking in on one of the patients with more severe wounds, at the time, and had managed a wave when Finn walked by, but that was it.

Kix headed toward Finn’s quarters. He’d messaged him earlier, and they had agreed to meet up there. From the messages, Finn seemed as eager to learn more of the language as Kix was to teach him. He couldn’t help but smile when he thought about that.

The hallways were relatively quiet and empty. They were still the lively spaces they had been in the months they had been there. It was only a matter of time before they had to evacuate to a new place, especially with how long they’d managed to stay on Krocca, but he appreciated it all the same. New posters and signs lined the walls, some of them recruiting posters for the Resistance. Those had a handful of comments from friends of whoever was featured surrounding them, teasing, compliments, and plenty of inside jokes.

Someone was mumbling somewhere nearby. From around the corner, it seemed. As Kix drew closer, it became more clear what they said. It was—

They were speaking Mando’a.

Who else on base spoke it? Was there a Mandalorian around? He never did check what happened on the 501st’s trip there or anything that followed it. Kix had no idea how a Mandalorian would react to seeing a clone around Nova Base. What was he supposed to do in this situation? It was never one he thought he would have to prepare for.

He continued to get closer, and he recognized the voice and words once again: it was Finn. Kix sighed in relief. That made sense. Why did he freak out and why wasn’t that his initial reaction to hearing the words?

Wait.

Those weren’t words he’d taught Finn. And who would Finn be talking to?

He walked past the corner and almost ran into the man himself. Nobody was with him.

“Oh, Kix! Su cuy’gar, baar’ur,” he greeted, saying the words he’d been mumbling before they saw each other. Rather well, might he add, for words Kix hadn’t taught him. As far as he knew, Finn hadn’t looked up any Mando’a in his own time, so why now? If not that, who had taught him? Was there a Mandalorian on base after all? Would he have to fight them? He’d do it if needed.

“Su cuy’gar,” he responded, narrowing his eyes. “When did you learn that, vod?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I lost track of time doing something and was just headed back to my room to meet up with you. Should we head to where we were going to have the lesson?”

Kix agreed, and they headed off to the room they had reserved for a meeting, though it wasn’t going to be used for a tactics or logistics meeting like it normally would. They caught up a little as they went, talking about how the past week had gone, what they had been doing, and how Finn’s arm and shoulder were doing.

Finn was more thoughtful before he gave his answers today. Almost like he was listening for something else, but Kix didn’t detect anything nearby. But then again, he wasn’t the Jedi of the two of them. It didn’t escape his notice, either, that Finn didn’t have the datapad he had been using to make a personal dictionary of Mando’a with him.

They reached the room and sat down at the table. Kix set his own datapad of what he wanted to cover on the table but kept it off. There was a holoprojector he had planned to hook up to the ‘pad. For now, it stayed off. He crossed his arms.

“So, what have you been meaning to talk to me about?” he cut to the chase. “And how does it connect to you knowing some words I know I didn’t teach you?”

“It’s a bit of a long story. In fact, it starts back before we met. But as for the words, that’s about half a week ago, but, technically, before that: since you agreed to teach me Mando’a. There’s also the fact that it’s connected to me being Force-sensitive and you not.”

“Finn, take a breath. You’re not making any sense.”

He did so and took an extra moment before he spoke again. “Sorry, it’s just — this is a big thing and even though I’ve gone over what I want to say, I’m unsure how you’ll react and how to break the news the best.”

Kix had no clue what Finn could be talking about. The small part of his brain that had him closed off from others for so long told him Finn didn’t want to be friends anymore. He pushed it away easily. If Finn didn’t want to be friends, he wouldn’t have learned how to say ‘hello’ and ‘medic,’ even if he wasn’t sure how he learned them.

Unless someone had hurt Finn, somehow, especially over his past. Without a doubt, he knew he’d do anything to help Finn if that was the case. He hoped it wasn’t, but there was the possibility. Even if it included tracking down whoever it was. Research was, after all, a strong suit of his, even if tracking wasn’t. It was looking more and more like a Mandalorian had taught Finn the words and then betrayed him.

Finn suddenly grinned and reached a hand across the table. “I’m fine. It’s a good thing, I promise. No need to worry about me.”

Instinctively, he grabbed Finn’s outstretched wrist and checked his pulse. It was steady and uniform, at a nice resting pace, if a bit faster than normal. To be expected, if this was as big as Finn was making it out to be.

Kix took his own deep breath and allowed Finn control of his arm again. His pulse didn’t say he was lying, and Finn was an empath Jedi, he reminded himself. Nothing bad happened and Kix didn't have anyone to fight. For now, at least.

A moment passed. After they had settled back, Finn spoke again.

“There really is no easy way to put this, but I’ll give it my best shot. As you know, being Force-sensitive includes many things Force-null people can’t do. One of these things is seeing — and manifesting as — Force ghosts. The manifesting requires training before you die but that’s not the point.”

Strange beginning, but Kix had had years of putting up with odd Force kark at this point. He nodded and gestured for Finn to continue.

“Oftentimes these ghosts are former Jedi Masters. Master Skywalker has interacted with many of them to learn from them. Though sometimes they just annoy him because they can, he’s said. Obi-Wan Kenobi, for example. For both instances.”

Kix blinked. That’s one thing he hadn’t expected to hear. Though, if any of the generals managed to learn how to be a ghost to talk to (and pester) their padawan’s son, it would be him.

“Hm, I can see that happening. Figuratively,” he said.

Finn smiled slightly. “Anyway, that’s how Force ghosts tend to go about. Oh, and there can be multiple who appear at a time. It’s a matter of whether they want to or not.” He paused. “I’ve been seeing and interacting with some that, for whatever reasons, don’t abide by those rules.”

“How?”

“None of them are Force-sensitive, for one. Nor did any of them train for it. Only one of them can appear at a time, so they’ve been rotating through. Like Master Kenobi, though, you know them.”

What? Who would he know who would be Force ghosts, Force-null or not? Did Finn mean people who interacted with him in the past or people who knew him? He’d met plenty of beings throughout his life; the difference between the two was prominent.

“People I know?” he asked aloud. “Who are they?”

Finn scanned his face before holding eye contact with him. After a moment, he reached forward and grabbed his hand with his left once more. The significance of it settled in Kix’s chest.

His friend took another careful breath, then said, “Your brothers.”

Kix leaned back in his seat, eyes stinging. He covered his mouth with his hand and tightened his grip on Finn with the other. His throat closed up and anything he might have said lodged in it.

He couldn’t be kidding now. Please don’t let Finn be kidding now.

He’d spent countless hours feeling like his brothers were still with him since being unfrozen. From his persistent reminders of what Jesse would say during card games to feeling like Rex was right beside him on rough nights like he used to. Ever since he woke up alone and surrounded by strangers he couldn't help but sense something familiar around him in the midst of everything off and new. On the Martinet, in the medbay, in the mess, on that unnamed snow planet. Nearly everywhere he went.

Kix had just thought he was nostalgic and grieving.

“My brothers?” he managed to force out.

Finn nodded. “Yeah, your brothers. Jesse’s here right now, actually. He’s the one who taught me the words.” He gestured with his head to the seat to Kix’s right.

Jesse was here? Jesse was here, right now. He taught Finn more Mando’a when Kix had been too busy to do so. Even death couldn’t stop him from following Kix around in his free time. Kix gave a choked laugh as some tears slipped down his face.

“Really?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“Really. Here, I can prove it. They’re transparent, so they go through whatever they try to touch. If they poke people, it makes them shiver. Jesse, poke him.”

Sure enough, Kix shivered, then set his left elbow on the table and leaned his head against his hand. He was definitely crying right now, but he didn’t care. Jesse was here. He could talk to his brother again.

He could interact with his brothers again.

Oh, but that meant — that meant they definitely knew Kix failed them. Failed to warn others about the chips in time, that Fives was right. He failed to save them from Order 66, from the Empire. Instead, they got to (had to?) watch him live a full life none of them got to experience. Who was he to deserve it?

“Jesse — I’m so sorry, Jess. I should’ve told you about the chips. I failed you and our vode because I didn’t. None of you got to live the lives you deserve. I’m so sorry.”

Finn let go of his hand, stood, rounded the table, and sat to his left. “Hey, no, Kix, it’s not your fault. Jesse’s being really adamant about that right now, but I’m saying it, too. It was a conspiracy by a Sith, no less. Uncovering it is in itself monumental, much less living to tell the tale.”

He hugged him and Kix couldn’t help but cling back. It wasn’t hard to tell Finn had tears in his eyes, too. Jesse probably did, too, but he could only guess at that.

“Jesse is also asking if you blame Fives for the chips activating and — in his words —Darth Hideous’ rise to emperor.”

Kix stiffened. “No, never. It’s not his fault.”

“It’s the same thing with you. It’s not your fault; the only person to blame is Palpatine. And the people who he had in on his plans, but mainly Palpatine.”

“I wish I could shoot him in the face,” he mumbled, but the smile and laugh Finn gave indicated he’d caught it.

“A common sentiment, I’ve heard. Thankfully, he’s dead.”

“Super dead.”

“If he ever somehow comes back, we can both shoot him in the face, then.”

“Sounds like a great plan, though unnecessary.”

“Of course, of course.”

He released Finn and straightened once more before drying his face with the edge of his sleeves. A small smile made its way onto his face. “Thank you for telling me. This is… some of the best news I’ve ever received. I thought it would be years before I could talk to them again. And, Jesse.” he said, slightly louder as he didn’t know if his brother had moved around the room or not. “All those times I thought there was a draft in the medbay and it was just you poking me? I should’ve known.”

Finn laughed. “He says, ‘What else did you expect me to do?’”

“Not bug me in the medbay after the literal years I spent telling you not to?”

“He says he’s incapable of doing so, but he’s glad Yorick Junior is around.”

Kix threw his hands in the air and rolled his eyes despite smiling wider at the words. That was, somehow, still a losing fight. He couldn’t believe he was having the same argument with Jesse they had fifty years ago. It was such a Jesse thing to say in response, there was no way Finn was making this up, shivers or not.

He sat back, suddenly fighting back tears once more. “I missed you, vod.”

A beat of silence — from his point of view, at least — followed as Jesse responded.

“He says he missed you, too,” Finn passed on eventually. “And that he’s proud of you — that Hardcase, Rex, and Torrent are, too. Your other batchmates, as well, though they don’t talk often. The whole GAR, essentially, is proud of you and what you’ve been doing and how strong you’ve been throughout the situation you’ve been thrown into. He also told me to give you another hug, but I was going to do that, anyway.”

Kix didn’t think he was going to stop crying, laughing, and hugging Finn anytime soon at this rate. He didn’t mind; he got to talk to Jesse again and have Finn meet their brothers himself. It was beyond his wildest dreams but it was happening.

Their plans for a Mando’a lesson were forgotten as they continued to talk to Jesse. They’d have the time later. He got to talk to his brother now.

----

Coming back after a day of shadowing had always been an intriguing event. Usually, at least one person was eager for details. Ever since Jesse talked to Finn, however, he had almost the entire GAR waiting for news, standing close like rations on a supply ship, whether they had met Kix or not.

The past week and a half, it hurt to come back. He’d arrive, hundreds, thousands, millions of eyes on him, he’d shake his head and watch as all the faces dropped. Yes, he made progress with Finn and planned more. He became closer friends with said man as well. But it was still a stretch until he talked to Kix.

Today was different, though. When he arrived back with his brothers, all eyes were on him as normal. Everything looked the same: Torrent, eager and excited; others, hopeful. All were waiting to hear their last living brother wasn’t as lonely anymore.

He grinned; his cheeks hurt from how widely he did so. “It worked. We talked.”

Cheers rang out across the open space. Many vode shouted their congratulations, others asking if they’d be able to meet Kix and talk to him soon. There were hugs galore. Brothers surrounded him, patted him on the back, nudged him, hugged him, and shared their own two credits. It was the day they all had been waiting for.

Jesse turned and watched the 501st’s reaction. They were the loudest of the bunch, almost all of them having interacted with Kix at least once. Torrent, especially, was making a ruckus. He couldn’t find it in himself to mind. In the midst of them, Rex stood, a proud smile on his face. Hardcase leaned against him: he looked like he was holding back tears.

Rex gestured for him to join them, and the brothers around him let him slip around them effortlessly. As he approached, people dispersed, going back to their normal day-to-day post-life activities. They knew who in the 501st would want to hear first — everyone else could find out later, whether through Jesse himself or from the others there.

Before he saw them, Jesse knew who was going to be listening. Hardcase, Rex, Fives, Echo, Tup, Dogma, Coric and the other Teth survivors, Patch, Remedy, most of the medics, if he was being honest. His two other batchmates were there, too. He raised his eyebrows at them and they waved; he wasn’t sure why he was surprised to see them. They had grown up with Kix, too, after all, and had asked to be updated regularly even though they didn't shadow the medic like he and Hardcase did.

The group sat in a tight-knit circle, every bit of focus and attention on the ARC. He sat down, Hardcase to his left, Rex to his right.

“So?” the heavy-gunner prompted. “What happened?”

From when he first arrived and talked to Finn in the corridor to when he left mere minutes ago, Jesse covered it all. The more he said, the more of a reaction he got from the group. When he mentioned that Kix crying had made him cry, Hardcase did, too. He turned to him and gave him a hug. Ryle and Squints crossed the circle and gave him their own hugs before they hugged Jesse. Maybe this would be what finally got their batch to be as close as some of the others.

Rex rolled his eyes but had a fond smile when Jesse said Kix told him to stop bugging him in the medbay, even after all these years. The medics gathered all backed Kix up and gave him a hard time about it. He raised his hands in surrender but didn't apologize.

“He was impressed by how long you lived and fought for the Rebellion, Captain,” he told Rex. “I think it helped with some of the guilt over the chips.”

“Tell him he can join the club,” Fives said, only to get punched by Echo.

“There is no club,” Echo said.

“Yes, there is,” Fives insisted. “Rex and I meet once a week and sit in silence. Kix is welcome to join whichever one of us appears next.”

Rex put his head in his hands. “That’s not what I thought it was.”

Jesse patted his ori’vod on the back. “If it helps, I asked Kix about keeping his hair grown out and the fact that he has a beard now. He gave a non-answer, but then Finn asked why I had the Republic cog tattooed across my face. The traitor went and spilled the whole story and I couldn’t stop him because he couldn’t hear me. Finn’s a traitor, too, because he didn’t tell Kix I was protesting it until after Kix finished talking.”

That got more than a handful of chuckles. “Good for him,” Patch said and Jesse shot a look his way. Patch smiled innocently in return.

“When Finn told him I protested, Kix went, ‘Yeah, I thought so.’ Shabuir.”

The entire group broke into laughter that time. It took minutes to calm them down, and it was only thanks to Rex's signaling. Fifty years after the war or not, habit and instinct rang strong. Not to mention respect.

Once Jesse had laid everything out, the smaller group dispersed. He stayed sitting, Hardcase next to him. They watched as the others got up and went off to other groups to spread the news. Echo and Fives went to their squad of batchmates and 99, of course. Rex, to the 212th. Squints and Ryle to their squadmates. The medics left for a larger gathering of medical personnel.

“I can’t believe we get to talk to him again and he’ll be able to respond,” Hardcase said after the others had left them alone. “We can talk to him.”

“I know, it’s hard to believe and I had a conversation with him already. I’ve been waiting for this for so long, it doesn’t feel real. It’s almost like a dream I don’t want to wake up from. That’s the good side of not being able to sleep here, I guess.”

“Haven’t you heard? Rex and some of the commanders figured out how to anyway.”

Jesse snorted. “Rex told me himself through just a look when I told him it wasn’t possible. The same day I first talked to Finn, actually.”

Hardcase nudged him slightly. “You said you wanted to judge Finn’s kih’vod potential for yourself, didn’t you? How did that go, especially after the conversation?”

“Oh, he is such kih’vod material, I almost want to cry more. Good on Kix for becoming friends with him. It’s good for both of them. He’s a great kid and gives lots of hugs, which is always a good sign. I need to spend some more time with him. All those conversations we had were great, and he’s well on his way to knowing how to act like a little brother.”

His batchmate smirked at him. “I see. The Legion’s genes have finally caught on to you and Kix.”

What? “Case, that makes no sense.”

Hardcase shook his head in response. “You see, we have a habit of adopting shinies. Rex adopted the Commander, then Fives and Echo, as his little siblings, all when they were shiny. Fives eventually adopted Tup and might’ve done so with Dogma if things hadn’t gone the way they had. That’s basically happened now, with help from Echo and their batch, though Dogma’s far from shiny. Coric adopted Splint within seconds of him stepping into the medbay for the first time. You get the idea.”

Jesse raised an eyebrow. “Finn’s not a shiny, though. Not even touching the ‘not a clone’ part, he’s been in combat before, long before he met me or Kix.”

Hardcase waved a hand at him. “That doesn't matter. Commander Tano’s not a clone. Plus, relatively speaking, he’s shinier than Kix, so Kix adopted a shiny and dragged you into it. Accept your fate, Jess.”

He shrugged. “Just wait until you have a conversation with him yourself, vod.”

His brother smiled wryly before dropping his gaze to the ground. Silence grew between them. A group in the distance cheered — over something about what Jesse had shared, presumably. Cadets, eager to know what their older brothers talked about, ran around the groups, tried to sneak in and eavesdrop. Rather unsuccessfully, but none of them were turned away. A ways off, 99 had his own group of cadets around him and was explaining to them with the help of Echo and Hevy. The silence continued to drag on between the two brothers left to themselves. Jesse wasn’t sure whether or not saying something was what was needed.

“Did you pass on the message like I asked?” Hardcase broke through quietly. He fidgeted with his hands and Jesse reached over and squeezed his arm in reassurance. Hardcase flipped his hand and grabbed onto Jesse’s forearm in return.

“Yes,” he whispered. Anything else would be too loud.

The grip tightened. “What did he say?”

“He had plenty of things to say. Said he misses you, too, and can’t wait to talk to you again. He’s grateful he has both of our helmets again instead of a kriffing piece of gum and your spare ammunition. It never got used, by the way. Back during the war, and during his stint with the pirates. It’s in his room in the barracks, right next to the helmets. Also, he understands you would’ve been there during the conversation if you could’ve and he expects you to come talk to him tomorrow.”

Hardcase squeezed his eyes shut. He grabbed onto Jesse’s arm with his other hand, holding tight with both. “I haven’t heard him speak to me directly in so long.”

“I know, Case. I know. We’ll fix that up tomorrow.”

“I’ve missed him so much even though he’s been right there. He gave my helmet a keldabe when he got it and I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t do anything. It aches.”

Tears pricked at his eyes. Every time Jesse thought he was done crying today, he proved himself wrong.

“I know what you mean. You remember. We talked about that, some: as much as we could both stand. Just — talk to him about it tomorrow. Hugs aren’t possible but Finn’s willing and it’s more than we had yesterday.”

“I can't believe it’s finally happening. I’m repeating myself, I know, but I really can’t. This is the best thing to happen in decades. Thank you for figuring it out for us.”

With his free hand, Jesse pulled him closer and rested their foreheads together. At this rate, with how tight the grip on his arm was, Case was going to bruise it, through the armor and all. He didn’t care. It was the least of things on his mind at the moment.

“Thank you for supporting me throughout it, vod’ika. I don’t think I would’ve had the energy to go through with it without you. Visit Kix as many days in a row as you want. Everyone will understand, I think. If they don’t, I’ll tell them to back off. Batchmate privileges, and all that.”

His brother made somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Love you, Jess.”

“Love you, too, Case.”

“It’s finally happening. I don’t know what else to say.”

“Me, too, vod. Me, too.”

It was like Hardcase had said: things hadn’t looked this bright since the beginning of the war.

----

Mando’a Translations

Vod, jate, elek, nayc, vod’ika, vor’e, k’oyacyi: Brother, good, yes, no, dear brother, thanks, come back safely/stay alive

Su cuy’gar, baar’ur: Hello, medic

Vode: Brothers (plural)

Ori’vod: Older/big brother

Shabuir: Jerk but much stronger

Kih’vod: Younger/little brother

----

Palps is super dead and will stay that way. TLJ and TROS? I don't know them.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed the feels fest! I can't believe this is the second to last chapter. Did you guys know it's been over a year since I posted Chapter 1? Insane. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me for that long, especially those who have been commenting that long. You guys give me so much motivation <3 If you haven't been around that long, still, thank you for reading and enjoying my story!

As always, feel free to yell at me in a comment or send an ask or message

Thank you all so much!!

#b writes #beginn shed-ic kix and jessplea #pun wars #clone medic kix #clone trooper kix #medic kix #kix #arc trooper jesse #clone trooper jesse #jesse #finn #writing #captain rex #echo #fives #hardcase #various others who are there but don't speak #ohmh

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onebatch2batch · 3 years

Note

24 or 43 for kastle from the 50 prompts thingy??

43. “Are you drunk?” [ao3]

I got a little carried away....not sorry. Thank you for the prompt!!

The sun has long since set by the time Karen manages to shoulder her way into her apartment building, annoyed. It’s been a long and difficult week, and she had been so excited to get home to her pajamas, wine, and fuzzy socks. In fact she’d been almost out of her office before realizing that her cabinets at home are completely empty. She’s been so busy at work that grocery shopping has been on the back burner, and she knew that if she’d just gone straight home after work she would have ordered in food all weekend. Her budget would never allow for that--and so she’d stopped at the little bodega on the way home and bought what she needed. All in all it had amounted to about four bags and a bottle of wine tucked safely away in her purse. She’d walked the five blocks home with aching hands and aching feet, dreaming of her quiet apartment. Maybe I’ll take a bath, she thinks as she shoots the broken elevator a sour look, or maybe I’ll just lay in bed and watch Netflix. Or try to work through one of my cold cases. Or read. Oh, maybe I’ll read in the bath.

She does none of those things. Karen reaches her floor, turns the corner, and her heart stutters.

There’s someone at her door. He’s got his back to her, so she can’t make out much, but he’s in dark clothes and his hood is up. He’s got his forehead pressed to her door. Part of her hopes he’s just drunk and thinks he’s somewhere else. The more logical part says that she definitely recognizes those combat boots even from behind.

“Frank?”

He jerks, then turns to give her a wide, loose smile. “Hey, Kar’n.”

She stares. Blinks. Stares some more. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh.” He shifts, nearly trips on a frayed part of the hallway carpet, catches himself last minute. “Can we talk inside?”

There goes my quiet evening.

As happy as she is to see Frank Castle alive and well, she knows not to expect more than a friendly social call. Karen passes him a handful of groceries and digs out her keys, letting them both into her warm apartment. Frank slides the lock in place behind her as she moves towards the kitchen, kicking off her heels with an embarrassingly happy groan. “Is this a coffee conversation, or something strong?” she asks over her shoulder.

Frank carefully maneuvers the handful of bags onto her counter and focuses on removing everything for her to put away. “You worried ‘bout me bein’ here?”

That’s a loaded question. She raises a brow. “Frank, you never visit recreationally. What’s going on? Are you on the run again? Need some info on someone?” If they have to have this conversation, she’d rather get the niceties out of the way and get back to her weekend.

“Nope. None of that.” He smiles again, nearly drops an apple, and then something clicks.

“Wait a minute,” she gasps, amazed. “Are you drunk?”

His answering grin is enough. Karen laughs incredulously, some of the tension knotted in her spine loosening. As soon as she’d seen him she had assumed that he needed something, or needed her help. Not that he was paying a visit on the way home from a bar.

“I didn’t even think you drank,” she huffs, amused. She quickly puts away her groceries and then pours a glass of wine for herself.

“I don’t usually,” he admits, leaning against the counter. Now that she knows what she’s looking for, there’s a warm flush on his cheeks and a looseness to his limbs that’s different from his normal, tense posture. “It’s Curt’s birthday, we had a couple after group.”

She’s glad to hear he’s still going to that group. They settle on the couch and exchange small talk about how it’s going and how Curtis is until curiosity gets the better of her. “So why are you actually here, Frank?”

He looks caught. She’s interested to see that his usually expressive face is much more so when inebriated. Every flicker of his eye and clench of his jaw gives away what he’s thinking. It’s like reading a book on how dodgy a vigilante can look. “Well, I wanted to see you.”

It's such a line, and coming from anyone form him she would have rolled her eyes. As it stands, the idea of The Punisher making a booty call because he’s had a bit too much to drink makes her laugh. She catches the hurt look on his face before he can hide it.

“What?”

“Oh no, Frank, I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I’m glad you’re here.” She reaches over to squeeze his arm reassuringly, which seems to mollify him slightly.

“What’s funny, then?”

“Just the thought of The Punisher making a booty call.” Karen laughs again, unable to help herself. Frank is the most intense person she’s ever met, and she would certainly know if that was his plan. She doesn’t think he would be able to hide it if it were. She looks at him, inviting him to share in the hilarity of the idea, but he’s not laughing. Not even a little. In fact, his face flashes red and he clears his throat, looking away.

“Hang on,” Karen says slowly, laugh dying in her throat. “Is that what this is?”

“No,” Frank says quickly. “No, of course not.”

He’s lying. It’s the first time he’s ever lied to her. Karen’s mouth drops open. She stares at him, waiting for him to crack a smile or announce that he’s messing with her, but he just stares out the window and clenches his jaw. When she realizes he’s not planning on explaining, she takes two large gulps of wine and sets down her glass.

“Really? Because it kind of seems like I hit the nail on the head there.”

He’s already shaking his head emphatically. “No, Karen, Christ, I just, I--I wanted to see you, that’s all--”

This could go so many different ways, she’s not sure which option to explore first. She could let him off the hook and feign ignorance, maybe talk for another hour and then send him on his way. Or she could demand he tell her what he wants. Or she could mercilessly tease him--who can say they’re able to tease The Punisher and get away with it? And anyways, he’s gotten her into plenty of life-threatening situations (even if he usually saves her from them later) so joking around to get back at him is too good to pass up.

“Is there something off putting about me, then?” She raises a brow, having only a hair too much fun. “Because now you’re being a little too defensive for my tastes.”

“Oh Jesus, Karen--”

She shrugs. “I’m just saying, we’re both single and know each other and if that’s what this is, then you just have to say it--”

He’s starting to look panicked. “No it’s--”

“Come on, Frank, just admit it. You came here for a booty call--”

“Hey, no--”

“Because you’re drunk and have some excess energy--”

“It’s not because I’m drunk.”

The game is over. Frank is looking at her with a particularly focused expression that steals the air from her lungs. He leans forward, in her space, stopping just short of her lips. “If you think,” he rasps, and now it’s Karen’s turn to flush at his proximity, “for a second that I would come here just to sleep with you like it’s not something I’ve thought about constantly for two years, like I would just ruin this for one night--along with you and your fucking stubbornness and your smile and how you look in those fucking--...skirts--...” he takes a deep breath in, closes his eyes briefly, and then snaps them open to give her a loaded look, “--then you’re fuckin’ crazy, Karen.”

And then he sits back, and looks away.

She’s sure she looks like a complete idiot, but Karen can’t wipe the shock off her face. After a few moments where it feels like her heart literally stops beating, it reanimates with a pounding she can feel between her legs. Her throat is suddenly too dry, and she swallows hard. Her mind races to get them back on solid footing, but her mouth has other ideas. “So you’ve thought about us having sex?” is the first astonished thing to escape her lips.

“No,” Frank sighs patiently, but like she’s deliberately being obtuse. It’s such a funny, cute little sound that she’s never heard from him before, and it’s doing nothing for the desire that’s coursing through her. “I think about us in every way. Having sex, sure. But watchin’ tv together. Gettin’ a dog. Goin’ grocery shopping. Shit, just gettin’ up and having coffee in the morning. Just...I just think about us.”

It’s such a momentous confession that Karen feels inadequate to handle. Ever since she pleaded with him in the hospital, begging for him to leave the fight behind for her, she has filed away her feelings. After such a staunch dismissal of her feelings, she was sure he wasn’t interested in her other than as an informant and maybe, just sometimes, a friend. Now with his (albeit drunk) confession, she knows otherwise. She still doesn’t know what self-sacrificing, self-deprecating bullshit caused him to turn her down before, but that’s a discussion for another time. Right now, she wants to drag him towards her and kiss him senseless. She wants to smack him for waiting so long to say something. She wants to cry with relief. She wants to make him feel validated and loved. She wants to prove to the world that Frank Castle is a good man who has been dealt a shitty hand, even if she has to scream it from theEmpire State Building. “Frank,” she chokes out, “you should have said.”

He tenses, looking at her wearily. “Am I too late?”

She doesn’t answer with words. She’s too busy closing the gap between him and burying her face in his neck. He smells familiar, like sandalwood and vanilla, reminding her of a different day in her apartment. She’d hugged him for much longer than appropriate and he hadn’t pulled away. She thought maybe it had been a sorry and thank you all at once. And then he’d left again, and it had nearly broken her in two. “Never,” she vows into his skin, painting a promise with her lips.

She hears his ragged exhale, and then he’s drawing her up towards him. His kiss is soft, just a brush of lips against hers before he presses another to her cheek, her forehead, her chin. When he returns once more to capture her lips, Karen lets her hands wander the wide expanse of his chest, lets herself revel in the firmness of his body against her. Touching him like this is such a foreign feeling, but like she’s finally found the missing piece to a long started puzzle. His hands are just as eager, running along her spine and then resting on her hips before his strong fingers sink into her hair, the others pressing firmly on her lower back so that he can grind up against her. Karen gasps and Frank takes advantage of her parted lips, deepening the kiss, his tongue curling against her teeth. As Karen loses herself in the feeling of his heat and hands and kisses, she daydreams about what could happen next. She could slide off his lap to kneel between his legs. She could take the very strong evidence of his arousal and pepper it with kisses until he begs her to take him in her mouth. She could get him just close enough, and then crawl up the hard line of his body to take him in every way possible. She could make him believe that he’s been worth waiting for.

Instead, she pushed lightly on his chest until he pulls away with what she can only call a pout. He looks the definition of dishevelled with his soft curls askew and pupils blown wide. Her chest heaves, and she bites back a small noise of disappointment when his hips cease their wonderful friction against hers. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re drunk,” she reminds him unsteadily.

Frank lets his head fall back against the couch. His hands tighten on her waist briefly, reminding her of their precarious position--as if she could forget. She hasn’t been so turned on in eons. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “I know.”

“We should stop.”

His head lifts, eyes meeting hers, hopeful. “For now?”

Karen smiles, allowing one more brief kiss. It takes every bit of self-control in her to keep it chaste. “Until you’re sober. Then we’ll talk. But we can check one thing off your list, if you like.”

His mind struggles to switch gears. “Which one?”

Karen kisses his nose before clamoring off the couch (and his lap) on wobbly legs. “I’m going to preset the coffee machine for the morning. Now, which side of the bed do you sleep on?”

When he gives her a tentative, wonderful, bashful smile, Karen has to force herself to walk into the kitchen. Frank Castle has never been so dangerous as he is now, she thinks, sitting on that couch with mussed hair and swollen lips. Every instinct begs for her to return to his lap and continue what they started, but she measures the coffee out and stays strong. They can finish tomorrow, but they have things to talk about.

Over coffee. She smiles and sets the timer.

#kastle #mine #my writing #kastle ff #kastle fic

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