#Notice none of these express sympathy or concern for the woman | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fatefulfaerie · 3 years

Text

Enshrined

A happy August birthday to @livthefangorl !! I hope you like it!

When Link pulled back on the reins of his chocolate-brown horse, he already knew Zelda was asleep behind him, her chest rising and falling gently against his back, her arms loosely around his waist, and her breaths cooing alongside the crickets and cicadas that languished in the night time.

“Zelda,” he prompted, looking over his shoulder. “We’re here.”

He would have let her sleep if he hadn’t promised to wake her when they arrived.

“Zelda,” he repeated. Evidently he would need to do more than a verbal prompt.

Holding her drooped shoulders up with his arm, he slowly and carefully turned around on the horse, so that he sat on the saddle facing Zelda. Keeping one hand on her shoulder, he placed another on her cheek.

“Zelda.”

“Hm,” she sported a soft smile.

“We’re here, we made it.”

Emerald pierced through the fog, eyelids flitting like the wings of a hummingbird.

“So soon?”

Link’s smile was genuine and so were his nods, the former knight chuckling.

“You must have really been out because it definitely was not a quick trip.”

“Sorry you had to manage it alone,” Zelda said. “I didn’t think I would sleep that much.”

“You’re still catching up from holding the calamity for a hundred years.” Link said before pecking her lips. “And I wasn’t alone. You kept my heart warm, like you always do.”

Zelda blushed and averted her gaze. The sun beamed in the night.

At least, that’s how Link saw Zelda’s smile.

They held hands after climbing up the ruined and moss-covered bricks of stone, soon strolling through the forgotten temple and not even batting an eye at the decayed guardians.

After Link and Zelda defeated Calamity Ganon in the burnt grass of Hyrule field, none of the Guardians reactivated, none shone with the cursed magenta light that made Zelda hate the color pink. The decayed guardians were now truly decayed.

The peace that the resulting silence brought with that truth was the most romantic thing in the land.

Zelda hugged Link’s arm and their stroll slowed slightly, her head leaning on his shoulder.

“It must be hard to believe,” Zelda said. “This being the last shrine and all. You’ve done so many.”

Zelda could feel Link’s shrug.

“It’s all kind of a blur, scouring the land for the shrines, but...it does feel strange not having shrines out there I have yet to do.”

“A good strange?” Zelda asked. Link smiled.

“Yeah,” he replied. “A good strange.”

The curling orange lights could be seen from a mile away. It was nothing new to either Zelda nor Link, as the latter had done a hundred and nineteen of these, thirty of which with his most beloved companion at his side.

He found that the ones he did with Zelda were the most enjoyable of all.

Zelda still had a giddy excitement when they neared the shrine, dislodging herself from the way she held Link and chasing the shrine as if it were going somewhere.

Of course it didn’t. It was planted firmly in the ancient stones of the forgotten temple, with the largest statue of the goddess Hylia they had ever seen gazing down upon them with a smile that anyone else would describe and lifelike and kind. Link had gotten in the habit of biting his tongue whenever someone talked about their strong faith in the goddess Hylia and how she was the most benevolent of all, no matter how much he wanted to say that their “benevolent” goddess let hundreds of people die before finding the time to award Princess Zelda with her long-deserved sealing power. Sometimes Link thought Zelda was the goddess Hylia, and sometimes he thought that goddess Hylia had abandoned them long ago, if she had even existed existed in the first place.

“Link?”

He hadn’t even realized he was staring up at the gargantuan statue, the way it loomed, the way it mocked their life of doom, still and always laughing.

Perhaps Link was being a bit harsh.

“Coming,” he said, dislodging the Sheikah Slate from the belt on his hip. Link and Zelda could afford to forget about the past, the goddess that betrayed them, the calamity that divided them, the kingdom that doubted them. They had each other in the here and now and nothing was more precious.

Link tapped the slate to the pedestal and, just like normal, the chime chimed and the blue light lighted, changing from a sunset glow to a cloud-free sky in the blink of an eye.

The shrine entrance opened, unfolded before them and soon, welcomed them in to descend into the last depth of untouched technology.

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

When they emerged from the shrine, Zelda had a Great Flameblade strapped to her back and Link had the very last spirit orb in his soul. It was an agreement between them that they would switch off who gets what when it comes to opening chests. This time it was Zelda’s turn, but Link looked concerned, and it didn’t get past Zelda.

“You’re gonna set a forest on fire,” he said before Zelda could ask. She put her hands on her hips.

“If I do, it would be accidental.” She said haughtily. “We both know that I’m not the one who commits arson on purpose.”

“It’s called collateral damage,” Link said. “Sometimes when you blow up a Bokoblin camp, things get a little heated. Besides, we put out the fire before it reached the stable. No one got hurt.”

“Will you be introducing me as ‘no one’ to other people now?”

“What?”

“Yes, this here is my girlfriend,” Zelda said mockingly, imitating Link’s voice poorly. She only deepened it a tad and her royal accent of a hundred years prior seemed unerasable. “She has pretty green eyes and short, blonde hair and her name is No One.”

“Where did you get hurt?”

“I burnt my arm.”

“You did not.”

“Yeah huh.” She rolled up her blue and white sleeve and pointed at her right forearm. “Right here.”

Link’s expression dulled.

“That’s a sunburn, Zelda,” he said dryly. But she knew that.

“Still a burn,” she said with a smirk, big pleading eyes asking for sympathy from Link. He tried to hold his smile, but it broke through in twitches. He finally chuckled as he bowed his head, looking back up with bright, blue eyes completely enamored with the woman in front of him.

Link took Zelda’s hand and brought her now exposed forearm to his lips, pressing a soft, prolonged kiss to the small of her wrist. Not once did he dare break eye contact.

“Better?” Link asked.

“Immensely,” Zelda said weakly. Two months since he rescued her from the calamity and small, unexpected romantic gestures like that still swept her off her feet.

But it wasn’t long before they walked around the shrine, finding the “gift” the last monk had talked about, it apparently taking the form of three different chests.

“I guess we take turns,” Link suggested.

He walked forward to the right-most chest, soon pulling out a simple green tunic that would expose his shoulders if not worn with the dark tan undershirt that accompanied it, the sleeves of which stopping just below the elbows.

Link didn’t even notice that Zelda was opening the left-most chest as he tried his new tunic on for size, only focusing on the fit that turned out to be oddly perfect.

“Link,” Zelda said.

He turned his head as he picked up the blue champions tunic he had tossed to the floor.

Zelda kept her silence as she ran her thumb up and a down a piece of green cloth, her gaze downward and contemplative.

“This is no ordinary treasure,” she said, almost to herself.

“What do you mean?” Link said with a couple steps forward.

“The past heroes,” she started. “The illustrations in the books...they used to dress like this. The green tunic, the pointed cap...”

She paused for a moment before looking over, offering the cloth to Link.

“All of this is meant for you,” she continued. “I...I don’t know how...I mean we’ve both voiced our doubts in the goddess but maybe...”

Zelda was surprised when Link shook his head.

“Then I can’t accept it,” he said. “I can’t accept such a superficial gift from her when she refused for so long to give you what you deserved. It’s not right.”

Zelda pursed her lips and nodded slowly, lowering the arm that offered the pointed cap.

Link watched in silence as she went to the last chest. She let out a soft chuckle, picking up brown shorts.

“As much as I want to see your legs in these, I understand,” she said, folding the cap and the shorts together. “Perhaps these belong here, enshrined with the rest of the past.”

Link agreed by nodding silently, before changing back into the blue champions tunic that felt so much more comfortable, so much more settling, so much more right.

He took Zelda’s hand afterwards, ready to leave the legends behind them.

“Let’s go home.”

#zelink #the legend of zelda #breath of the wild #botw #link #forgotten temple #rona kachta shrine #hero of the wild #tunic of the wild #i actually really like this one

93 notes · View notes

hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

Text

Day one of the Horror on Cherry Lane Challenge! I’ll be participating this month as a writer! The prompt for today is Knife!

warnings for mentions of suicidal ideation and attempts, death, child abuse, and blood.

Billy met Steve in the psych ward.

Well, they met officially at Tina’s party, but that wasn’t the real Steve. That was the King Steve. Deeper than that though, even the Steve Harrington everyone else saw even after the breakup and the fall from grace still wasn’t the real thing.

That was fake smiles, overdone nonchalance to cover up the wound from his fallen status. Now he was stripped down to himself, all bloody bandages and tired eyes, the boy he was pretending to be finally broken down to reveal this.

Apparently, Ruthie Harrington found her son with his grandfather's switchblade- all the other objects in the house sharper than a spoon and with less sentimental value had already been tossed -bleeding all over her freshly polished linoleum floors. She dropped him off at the hospital a night ago and nobody’s been by to see him since.

Now, it’s by pure coincidence that Billy’s already in on the same day Steve’s admitted.

He’s been locked up the past three days compared to Steve’s one. These small town hicks are jumpier (ha) than he thought, and don’t think doing the walk and turn test on the edge of the quarry after downing a bottle and a half of fireball is as funny as he does. Whatever. Cid would’ve thought that was badass as hell.

So he was admitted, on suicide watch for a stupid joke that wasn’t really worth it, or even really a joke. Max came to visit once. She punched him in the chest as hard as she could and cursed him out for an hour. She’d never done that before. By the time she left they were both in tears, and maybe Billy realized a thing or too about his carelessness. Realized for the first time that someone cared.

But he’s still in here for another week and a half by law, so. He’s not going to mope about it. And while Steve Harrington showing up is about the last thing he’s expecting, he decides that’s at least something he can work with. Definitely brings a little life to the place.

He waits until Steve’s intense watch period is over to bug him, once they’re out of their cramped little rooms for a couple of hours to “socialize” (see, the more sound of mind keep an eye on the other patients while the nurses take their smoke breaks) Billy goes straight to Steve. Him and Harrington are far from friends, but that’s pretty much irrelevant when the only other choices for company are kids younger than them too scared to approach them and people too deep in their midlife crises to bother with teenage drama.

Throwing himself down in the blue plastic chair across from where Steve settled in, Billy kicks his feet up on the table,, “What’s up Harrington? Didn’t expect to see a familiar face in here.”

But Steve, poor Steve, takes one look at Billy with those haunted brown eyes, and his face just falls completely apart. There are tears on his way too pale cheeks before Billy even has a chance to breathe.

The smile drops off of Billy’s face, “Jesus Harrington, I know m’not looking my best surviving on hospital food and cigarettes without a hairbrush, but that’s a little unwarranted.”

“Shut up. Not everything’s about you, Hargrove.”

“Oh I disagree with that. But I get the point. I’ll let ya be.” Billy hums, scooting his chair back and getting up. He stops when Steve starts to speak, “Y-You outta be careful saying that kinda stuff in here.”

“What?”

“That the world revolves around you. They’ll come up with a diagnosis for that and keep you here forever. Drug you ‘til you forget your own name, let alone your status.” Steve tells him with humor, wiping the tears off his face.

Billy nods in understanding, sits back down with an interested smirk, “This ain’t your first time here, is it?”

“Is it yours?”

“Nah. I’ve done some shit on purpose, some on accident. Once it wasn’t even me. But s’never done anything to help so far.”

Steve puffs out a sigh, “Don’t I know it.. I’ve been in and outta this place since I was like, ten. Clearly nothing’s changed.”

“Why? What’s your dirty little secret, Harrington?”

“I cut myself, dumbass.” He deadpans, looking at Billy with a bluntness in his expression that reads more concerning, more like indifference to what he just said than matter-of-fact.

“No shit. But that ain’t the secret.” Billy probes further, can tell he’s getting under that mask Steve wears, “Why do you do it?”

“Legally, I can't tell you. And I don’t think I would anyways.”

“What about if I tell you all about me first? I got no reservations ‘cept the one that got me a bed here.”

“It’s not a hotel, Hargrove.”

“Eh, might as well be. Feels like the damn hotel California.”

“Is that why?”

“Huh? Oh no, I been pullin’ stunts like this long before we left Cali.”

“Like what?”

“Like downing two full bottles of my mother’s meds after she left. Not at the same time obviously, or I wouldn’t be here. Mostly ‘cause my dad didn’t even wanna take me to the hospital either time.” Billy doesn’t look at Steve while he elaborates. Not because he cares, he’s an open book, if a random old woman at the grocery store asked about his last attempt, he’d tell her.

But. He doesn’t like watching people’s faces. Seeing sympathy and concern there. It makes him feel all stupid and guilty. It’s usually not like that with other kids like him, but Steve’s different. He’s got a big heart. Even if there’s no room for himself.

And Billy hurt Steve before. He doesn’t want to see someone he caused pain caring so much about him. He already cracked when Max came to see him. This could be what splits him open, spills out all the things he’s covered up.

So he keeps going, “And like runnin’ out in front of traffic with my friends. They thought we were just playin’ chicken ‘til I stopped dead in front of a station wagon. Metal rims’d done me in for sure if one ‘a the older boys hadn’t pulled me outta the way. Damn near ripped my shirt in half how fast he grabbed me.”

“I’m guessing your parents are the reason why then?”

“Yessir.” Billy deflects, not good at getting deeper into it, “You wanna tell me yours then?”

“I started cutting because Tommy Hagan told me about it. He thought it was freaky, but when he ran his mouth about how they found the neighbor kid in his room, drained of all his blood from his wrists, I wanted to try it. I’ve tried liquor and drugs and all kinds ‘a shit I shouldn’t, but nothin’ stuck like cutting.” Steve pauses for a long time, his eyes going blank, staring right past Billy, “When my mom found out she.. she.. Forget it.”

“Hey, you seen my skeletons. Can’t I see yours?”

“No. I don’t wanna fucking talk about it anymore.” Steve answers, despite his assuredness, his tone wobbling with some unidentifiable emotion.

Talk about mood swings. Billy doesn’t get how nobody would’ve noticed something was up before Steve started carving into himself. Really, he knows someone would have seen it and just ignored it.

It only gets worse though, the reservedness turning to sadness and frustration. None of the words are coming out, but he can tell Steve’s thinking of the stories, reliving all that got him to the here and now. Billy can also tell there’s nothing he can do no to stop him from doomsdaying.

So when Steve is inevitably in the thralls of a panic attack, he tries to hug him tight, to try to get it to stop maybe, that always worked for him at least, but Steve swats him away. Judging from the way he winces, it’s not easy for him to do either, with those thick ass bandages constricting his wrists, but the tears and the pain on his face are buried behind his resolution.

He’s hiding something from Billy.

In hindsight, talking to a new patient about past attempts probably wasn’t his brightest idea anyways, so he switches the subject while Steve works on coming down from his panic attack. He brings up Max and her little nerds, trying to bridge the healthier connections between him and Steve that they’d both been ignoring since the fight. He mentions basketball too, another something they have in common other than trying to kill themselves.

It doesn’t really work, though Steve does stop shaking as bad, just curling up in his little chair and sniffling, pretending not to listen while Billy rambles on and on. But he doesn’t talk. It’s probably better for him not to anyway. Billy himself has been known to say some dumb shit when he’s in distress.

Ultimately, even once the conversation runs out, he stays with Steve until dark. He can tell from the way his gaze sticks to the floor that Steve recovered from his fit a while ago, but he’s embarrassed by having a breakdown in front of him, as if he isn’t in here for the same reason. It helps that he gets it though, and they sit in a comfortable, albeit very prolonged, silence.

Long after Steve gets xanned up and knocked out though, while Billy is still free to wander until the midnight curfew as a low risk patient, he decides to stick with him in his room. Billy’ll never admit it, but he gets nightmares, and he doesn’t want to face that just yet, so with a new friend as an excuse, he’s up half the night watching Steve sleep.

He remembers what happened earlier, how focused Steve was on keeping him away from him, despite his panic, and decides, with a glance at how deeply Steve is sleeping, his greasy hair all strewn about on stiff pillows, that he’s going to figure out what it was.

He snoops around in his bedside drawers, in the bathroom, in the locker in the corner. It’s there he notices the knitted jacket Steve was wearing before, hanging heavy to one side, like there’s something in its pocket. He touches it and feels the outline of something small, so he pulls it out.

He regrets checking though, because it’s a knife. Judging from the old looking engravings on its handle, and the coppery stains within the grooves, it’s specifically the very same one that got Steve hospitalized.

He shoves it in his own back pocket and keeps looking, with a quick glance at Steve, finding a note tucked where the knife had been. Written in perfect scrawl on bond paper that’s been folded a dozen times and stained with tears,

“Do it right next time, why don’t you? Your mother is too soft on you. I’m not paying for this again.

- J.Harrington.”

Billy doesn’t know what to do but throw the note in the trash. Not really in shock, but definitely more than a little fucked up from reading that, he sits on the end of Steve’s bed. His own dad, who'd more than once been the one putting him in the hospital, had never even said anything like that to him.

He didn’t get to talk to Steve much today, but they’ve got as long as Billy’s stuck in here together to fix that. Longer if he just pulls something in front of a nurse. And he wants to, really really wants to.

Because he knows he just met the real Steve, can recognize another broken boy when he sees one, and he knows too, that he never wants to meet a pretty boy like this again.

And if that’s his declaration to get clean, then so fucking be it.

But. He never promised not to hurt anyone. Ultimately he’d still need that outlet.

He keeps the knife. To make sure his pretty boy doesn’t get hurt again.

#CherryLaneChallenge #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #ej writer #story by ej!#tw self harm #tw attempted suicide #tw blood #happy October!#I’m so excited!#I’m gonna try to do all of this but I’m real busy coming up!#im not sure what vibe I’m goin got in this challenge #but I think it’s mostly haunting?#not scary but like that oh moment y’know

39 notes · View notes

nanasparadise · 3 years

Text

“Your musketeer in a blue tunic” Yan! Polnareff x female reader (musketeer AU)

Hiya everyone! As promised, here is a Yan! Polnareff writing, since he was in the top four of the poll for the special but hasn’t reached the top three. I thought it might be a fun idea to make him a musketeer and now I’ve realised this fic turned out to be low-key a Belle and Gaston situation from Beauty and the Beast lmao. Anyway, there might be historical inaccuracies in the story, I’m sorry for that.

Summary: You’re a farmer woman in 18th century France and a certain musketeer keeps crossing paths with you…

TW: toxic relationship, noncon kiss, low-key harassment, forced marriage, MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY/MINORS DNI

I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life.

Word count: 3900

“Just about half an hour and I’ll be there”, you mumble to yourself.

The pouring rain drenches your whole form, an icy cold having already nested deep in your bones. But you can’t stop now, even if it’s raining cats and dogs. You know you have to arrive to the main market place, which is located a good three hours from the farm you live in. If the wool – which you hope isn’t too wet, knowing the burlap bags aren’t protecting it well from the rain – won’t be sold today, you don’t know how you could afford some bread for your family. You think of your little siblings, how they always stare at you with big eyes, expecting at least some crumbs of stale bread in order to satiate their hunger a bit. Your heart aches painfully at that mental image. No, you’re going to sell the wool at all cost, no matter if it means you get sick due to the weather. You owe it to your loved ones, needing to protect and provide for them as the oldest sibling.

A chilly wind blows intensely into your face, making you shiver even more. Lucky for you, no other person is currently on the road, meaning you’re in safety. You’re aware about how many sketchy men lurk in these streets by the countryside, just waiting for a young woman like yourself to pass by and to do God knows what with her. As a protection measure, you always carry a knife with you, hidden in your boot. Fortunately, you haven’t needed to use it, yet…

Suddenly, you hear the footsteps of a horse approaching you, the characteristic sounds of its hooves drawing closer to you. Your first instinct is to immediately pull out your knife, but you refrain yourself.

“It’s probably just another merchant who wants to go to the market, too”, you think, comforting yourself. And even if that shouldn’t be the case, it would be wiser to take your possible aggressor by surprise with an attack if needed.

The steps are now dangerously close to you, too close for your liking, until they come to a halt. Surprised, you stop your walking as well and look up to the person on the horse. Next to you on his steed is a man around your age, probably a few years older, with peculiar silver hair and bright blue eyes. Through his uniform, consisting of a characteristic blue tunic with a white cross on it, you immediately recognise the stranger as a King’s musketeer. You hastily curtsy and meekly avert your gaze, given that he’s of a higher social rank. Why would a musketeer want from you, a farmer?

“Good day, Monsieur”, you greet the musketeer politely.

“Good day, Mademoiselle”, the stranger answers jovially. “Please forgive my intervention, but what does a young lady like you travel alone on such a dangerous road?”, he asks you, sincere concern marking his voice.

Why would he care? And why would he refer to you as a lady when you’re clearly just a commoner? You get the sudden urge to grab your knife again, but of course your rational brain side hinders you from doing so.

“I’m only going to the market place, good sir. I’d like to sell some wool”, you explain shortly, your eyes still not meeting the stranger’s.

“All alone?”, the Frenchman wonders.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice, Monsieur. My father has to work on the farm and my mother looks after my younger siblings”, you reply truthfully. Honestly, you’d prefer not giving too much information away to the stranger, but lying doesn’t seem like a safe option either.

“I see, Mademoiselle,” the musketeer utters politely, “in that case, I’d be pleased to escort you to the market place. After all, my heart couldn’t handle if something happened to a damsel.”

“Thank you for your generous offer, Monsieur”, you answer civilly, curtsying gracefully again. Though internally, you sigh and roll your eyes at the Frenchman’s words.

“More like his ego couldn’t handle getting rejected by a common woman”, you ponder cynically. You’re about to continue your walking as the stranger stops your action abruptly.

“Wait a moment, Mademoiselle,” he shouted hastily, “I’ll take your bags and settle them on my horse.” The silver-haired man dismounts from his white horse and takes the bags filled with wool from your hands, placing and tying them on the animal’s back.

“You are far too kind, Monsieur”, you say with an overly sweet voice. Lucky for you, the stranger doesn’t seem to notice the hint of sarcasm hidden in your tone. Instead, he smiles brightly at you, revealing a row of impeccable white teeth.

“As a musketeer, it’s my duty to help a lady in need”, he boasts proudly. Again, you fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Ah, how rude of me, Mademoiselle, I haven’t properly introduced myself. My name is Jean-Pierre Polnareff, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss…?”

“Y/N L/N”, you reply meekly.

“What a lovely name, Milady.”

The pair of you have been walking silently side by side for a while. You simply wish to arrive as fast as possible to the market place, wanting to get rid of Polnareff’s present. After some time, the stormy weather has changed into a brighter, more pleasant sky. Though some sun rays peek through the clouds, the cold from the previous rain remains. Upon seeing your slightly quivering form, Polnareff offers you a blanket he has in his supplies with him. Politely, you decline his offer. You certainly don’t want to be more in the debt of such a high ranking man.

“I apologise if this may come across as rude, Mademoiselle Y/N, but I couldn’t help but notice that there isn’t a ring on your finger”, the musketeer suddenly mentions. The hairs on your arms stand up at his observation and you instinctively straighten your back. If Polnareff has seen your discomfort, he still chooses to continue speaking. “And you’ve said previously you’re living with your family on a farm. How come such a fair maiden like you isn’t married yet? I reckon you must have many suitors.” Something about his tone and the dangerous gleam in his blue eyes sets you on edge.

“Oh, I do have had some suitors in the past,” you answer truthfully, but cautiously, “but I’ve chosen to not marry. My family needs me and I don’t wish to let them down.” Polnareff gives you a tender glance, the prying shimmer being replaced with sympathy now.

“Maybe you’ll soon find a wealthy man who’s able to help your family out”, he mumbles softly, though you still could hear his words.

“I’d rather not base my life on such an improbable dream. After all, I’m just a common farmer,” you say, slightly amused. “He doesn’t have a clue how life’s for a commoner, does he?”

“So you’d like to marry? It’s your dream, didn’t you say that, Mademoiselle?”, Polnareff counters, hope swinging in his voice. Why is he hopeful? But you decide to not voice this thought.

“Well, that’s quite a difficult question, Monsieur Polnareff,” you retort, feeling unsure now “it would be the wisest choice for me to marry, but at the moment, I feel content to take care of my family.” For some reason, the musketeer’s face falls at your last sentence. Disappointment takes over it instead, his lips turning into a bitter, thin line.

“Ah, I see”, he replies wearily. You immediately notice the change of atmosphere, though you don’t comment on it. Instead, you two continue strolling in silence.

Eventually, the pair of you arrive at the market place. During your travel, none of you spoke further, the mood being too tense and awkward. You settle your burlap bags on the floor on a free spot after the silver-haired man has removed them from his horse for you.

“My sincerest thanks, Monsieur Polnareff.” You bow politely. Even though your eyes have been trained on the floor for only a matter of seconds, some stealthy thief has been able to snatch one of your bags. Immediately, your head leaps up.

“Hey, this belongs to me! Give it back!”, you scream angrily. You wouldn’t let some trickster take your wool, not after working so hard for your family! You’re ready to run after the knave, but a hand on your forearm hinders you from doing so.

“Let me handle this, Mademoiselle Y/N,” Polnareff says confidently, “you’ll have your merchandise back in no time. Just wait for me here.” Quickly, the musketeer dashes into an alleyway after the thief. Confused, you’re left alone at the market place, the man’s horse being your only companion. A sigh rolls off your lips.

“Guess I’ll have to do what he says if I ever want that wool back”, you exclaim exasperatedly. This is the last thing you’ve needed today. First, you’ve been drenched by the rain, then a weird musketeer has started following you and asking you eerily invasive question and now your precious goods have been stolen. In the meantime, you try your best to sell the remaining wool.

After half an hour, you still haven’t sold any wool at all. Though you were definitely drawing attention on you by shouting out some offers, no one has seemed to be interested yet. No one even cared enough to look towards your direction.

“I guess I’ll just have to stay all day, then”, you think gloomily. From the corner of your eyes, you notice an all too familiar form approaching you, though this time with a bag in his hand.

“Mademoiselle Y/N!”, Polnareff shouts excitedly, “I’ve retrieved your bag from the thief!” A sincere expression of gratitude appears on your face. Yes, the man is more than annoying to you with his clingy behaviour, but at least he was chasing the trickster for you!

“Thank you so much, Monsieur Polnareff!”, you exclaim happily, relieved to have your wool back. Now there’s only the matter of selling it left…

“Of course, nothing to thank for, Mademoiselle! I’d never want to see such a charming lady like you in need.”

Purposefully, you ignore his statement, an awkward feeling bubbling up in you. Instead you’re thanking him again. All the while, the Frenchman keeps staring at you with a look of fondness, a huge and proud smile adorning his face. In his mind, he’s just proven to you how capable he is of taking care of you and your family. How could you refuse him now? He’s literally your knight in shining armour! Or your musketeer in a blue tunic. It doesn’t matter, he’s practically your hero!

Polnareff’s grin only widens at the thought of you swooning over him. The silver-haired man doesn’t know why he feels like this towards you. Maybe it’s because you just looked so pitiful when he saw you on that road, soaking wet from the rain. Maybe it’s his pride that doesn’t let him relent. Maybe it’s the way your eyes sparked with determination and love when you talked about your family. Maybe it’s your radiant atmosphere, which draws him in like a moth. Maybe you’re secretly a witch who put a love spell on his poor self, making him a fool for you after having only met you. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

Polnareff quickly stops his pondering. “It’s not of importance,” he muses, “as long as she’ll realise I’m the best choice for her.”

“I see you haven’t sold any of your goods yet”, the musketeer says, trying to sound casually. Though in his thoughts, he already has a plan schemed.

“No, unfortunately not,” you reply, an exasperated sigh following swiftly, “but there’s still some time left until I have to return home. Surely, I’ll be able to sell some.”

“You know, Mademoiselle Y/N, I’d rather not see you standing here all day, maybe even for it to be in vain,” Polnareff utters, concerning coating his voice, “let me help you, I’ll buy the wool.” Your eyes grow big at his proposition. Even though it’s more than a generous offer, especially after all he’s been through for you today, you can’t help but feeling alerted. Why would he go all these lengths for you? He can’t be that kind, there must be something he wants in return.

“You’re far too generous, Monsieur Polnareff. I can’t accept such an offer”, you tell the musketeer, hoping he’ll actually drop his suggestion. But the Frenchman remains stubborn as a mule.

“Ah ah Mademoiselle,” he tuts you condescendingly, “I’m a man of my word. How much would you like? Are two livres enough?”

Your eyes widen so much at his offer, you wouldn’t be surprised if your eyeballs fell out. Two livres? Is that man insane? The wool is hardly five sous worth!

“I think you must have meant two sous, Monsieur Polnareff,” you answer him, still shocked.

“Pas du tout, Mademoiselle. Two livres is what I said and what I meant. Or would you maybe want more?”

Vehemently, you shake your head. Two livres… That would feed your family for at least three months! “No Y/N, you can’t take this offer!” Your thoughts interrupt you suddenly. Not only does your conscience forbid you from doing so, your parents would also wonder where all that money comes from. They might assume you’ve stolen it as no one would believe a stranger to be so kind to just give a random farmer way too much money.

“Monsieur Polnareff,” you try again to change his mind, “I really don’t think you should-“

“Ah, there’s my pouch!”, the silver-haired man exclaims happily, ignoring your previous words. Eagerly, he takes two shiny coins out of it, pressing them in your palm. Admitting your defeat, you curtsy and express your deep gratitude again. Though a small part inside you does enjoy the fact of getting provided for.

After your exchange, Polnareff insisted on bringing you home again. You dislike the idea of him knowing exactly where you live, but that man’s stubbornness and pride is bigger than the Palace of Versailles. Which is why the two of you are walking back to your farm, the wool resting on Polnareff’s horse’s back.

“What are you doing with all the wool, if I may ask?”, you say with a questioning look on your face, “Surely, a musketeer doesn’t need to fabricate his own clothes.” The Frenchman rubs sheepishly behind his neck and offers you a smile.

“Ah Mademoiselle, you see, I might just donate it. I’ve just wanted to help you out, I don’t need it myself.” Even though you still cannot bring yourself to trust him, your heart warms at his statement.

“That’s indeed very noble of you, Monsieur Polnareff”, you reply candidly. The musketeer sends you another bright grin, a subtle blush forming on his pale cheeks.

The sun has begun to set as the two of you arrive on the farm. With a polite curtsy, you’re ready to finally return home, excited to tell your family the good news regarding the money. But Polnareff stops your goodbye. His hand finds its way to your wrist, halting your movement.

“Before we must depart, Mademoiselle Y/N,” he counters hastily, “I’d like to be assured that we’ll meet again soon. I find myself enthralled by your presence.”

Your heart beats faster at his proposition. Suddenly, you realise the dangerous situation you’re in, the big hand capturing your smaller wrist. Could you really deny him without facing consequences? Thoughts like these rush through your head as the man in front of you keeps waiting for your reaction. Still, you’re going to try. If something should happen, you still have your knife with you and your father would surely rush out once he hears your screams.

“Monsieur Polnareff,” you start hesitantly, “I’m deeply flattered by your words. You are truly an admirable and honourable man whose kind actions shall always carry my most sincere gratitude. Though I must admit, I don’t think it would be a wise idea to meet again.” The Frenchman makes a crestfallen face at your words. You feel almost bad for him. “Ah, I think I should explain myself further. Well, Monsieur Polnareff, we are of two different social classes, continuing mingling with me would put a bad reputation on you. I cannot offer you something of interest. Plus, I like staying with my family so far, this is my home.”

“Y/N”, Polnareff whispers affectionately, his thumb rubbing softly on the inside of your wrist. You shoot him a surprised look, confused by him dropping the formal title. If anyone would have heard this, they’d turn it into a scandal.

“I know my offer might appear strange to you, but I wish to marry out of love one day. I’m aware it’s fairly uncommon and even looked upon with scorn to marry below someone’s station, but the matters of the heart outshine the matters of the mind in my case. I have more than enough money, a comfortable estate and an honourable title. So you’re correct by saying you can’t offer me anything. Though you forgot one important thing, dear Y/N: you can offer me companionship, love, a meaningful bond between two souls.” Upon his last sentence, Polnareff tenderly grabs both of your hands in his, admiring how they seem to fit perfectly. Too astounded by his words, you let the man do as he pleases. Quickly, Polnareff catches on with his speech. “Please Y/N, let me see you again. Let me court you properly. I can give you and your family a beautiful life, a life you deserve.” The silver-haired male’s form moves now closer to yours, his blue eyes fixated on your lips. This action breaks you from the spell you’ve been caught in previously as you abruptly rip your hands off his grip and step back.

“I’m sorry, Monsieur Polnareff,” you manage to say, your voice sounding breathless from the adrenaline rushing in your veins, “I don’t think I’m the right woman for you. I do not wish to disappoint you further, that’s why I’m being direct with you. I’m going home now, please do not seek out for me. Have a good evening, Monsieur Polnareff.” You give him one last glance, noting his furious facial expression, before you eventually walk rapidly the path up to your family’s farm.

“I’ll be coming back, Mademoiselle Y/N!”, you hear the musketeer shouting behind you, “I’m not giving up that easily!” His sentences only make you pick up your pace as fear makes itself present in your body. Why couldn’t he just respect your choice? You’re sure there are enough suitable ladies in his rank pining for him, so why would he bother you? Finally, to your happiness, you arrive at the front door. Quickly, you enter your home, locking the door from the inside. Still, it feels as if a pair of blue eyes continues burning holes in your back…

The following month had been both positive and negative. Positive, because your family didn’t need to worry about food thanks to the two livres Polnareff gave you. Negative, because the latter had been true to his word and kept showing up at your place. Every time you told him you won’t change your mind, the musketeer only seemed to be more encouraged to prove you otherwise.

Today isn’t any different. As you make your way to the market to buy some food, you hear the familiar hooves approaching you. Annoyed, you let out a sigh and roll your eyes.

“Bonjour Y/N! What a pleasant day to see you again, mon amour!”, Polnareff exclaims happily while he dismounts from his horse to walk next to you.

“Bonjour Polnareff”, you reply politely. In the meantime, you’ve dropped the titles when you two were alone, not seeing the point of them anymore. Plus, the Frenchman even decides to call you pet names, so why showing him respect?

“Ah, ma puce, no need to be so cold today! After all, I bring some splendid news”, the Frenchman replies excitedly. You eye him suspiciously, brows knitted together. What on earth is he planning now?

“And that would be?”, you answer matter-of-factly. “You’re finally leaving me alone?”

“You see, before I came to meet you, I’ve finally talked with your parents.” At these words, you immediately stop your steps. A feeling of dread emerges in your stomach, making you feel sick.

“Oh no,” you think desperately, “this can’t be good.”

“Very lovely people, indeed. It hurts my feelings knowing you haven’t invited me to them, mon cœur”, Polnareff continues his talk, a hand put on his chest in mock concern.

“And why should I have done such thing?”, you reply coolly, though internally you’re freaking out. You already know you won’t like the answer…

“My dearest, how come you act so cruel? Don’t you think your future husband should see your parents? After all, we’re betrothed now!”

“No”, you retort without thinking. Your palms grow sweaty, a deep fear manifesting in your body. The silver-haired man smirks at your reaction.

“Non? I think your parents disagree with you, ma chérie. In fact, we’ve already picked out a date for the ceremony. Can you believe it? In two months, we’ll be finally one.” Panic overflows your mind, your breathing becoming laboured. How could your parents decide on such a matter behind your bag? After everything you’ve done for your family? Polnareff notices your stress as he softly wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close to his chest. The musketeer tries to comfort you by shushing you and gently brushing over your back, though his actions only fuel your terror. You squirm in his grasp, trying to escape him, escape this situation, but his grip on you only strengthens.

“Let me go!”, you scream all while tears stream down your cheeks, “I don’t want to be with you! Why can’t you just accept that?”

“My little Y/N,” Polnareff mumbles calmly, “if you hadn’t been so stubborn, we could have discussed the wedding plans together. I know you think our union is not favourable, but if even your family agrees to it, it surely can’t be that wrong, hm? You’re so blinded by your little provincial life that you can’t see what’s best for you. And trust me, my dove, I’m the best choice.” The Frenchman grabs your chin, staring lovingly in your by now puffy eyes. “It’s fine if you need some time to realise that. As long as you remain by my side.” With these words, the silver-haired man puts his mouth on yours, his hand now wandering to your cheek. You wriggle harder in his grasp, though your attempts to escape remain futile. Tenderly, Polnareff caresses your face as his lips finally leave yours.

“Je t’aime de tout mon cœur, mon ange*”, he whispers adoringly, pressing your face against his chest again. Your tears smudge the blue fabric of his tunic, your voice hoarse from screaming. And even though you wish this is but a nightmare, you start comprehending you’re truly trapped in Polnareff’s oh so loving arms for the rest of your life.

*former French currency. 2 livres are about 30 euros, which was a lot of money back then

*former French currency. 5 sous are about 3,70 euros, which was still quite some money back in the day

*”I love you with all my heart, my angel”

#JJBA #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #yandere jojo #yandere jjba #yandere x reader #yandere jjba x reader #yandere polnareff #yandere polnareff x reader #minors dni #tw: yandere #tw: arranged marriage #tw: noncon touching

138 notes · View notes

fandomficsnstuff · 3 years

Text

Little Dragon - Part 13

Summary: You were a child slave of Meereen, when one day a silver haired woman sets you free. Though your master isn’t too keen on letting you go, and Daenerys took personal action to see you freed and taken care of.

(Warnings: talks of former slavery, time skips and it’s a bit fast forwarded, Jorah’s death, lots of angst I think, let me know if I missed anything, stay safe out there ya’ll!)

High Valyrian is in cursive

And Dothraki in bold

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

You kept your head down as you rode on your horse, a fairly new experience for you, but it was similar to riding Rhaegal, just smaller, less scaly and less windy, you had reigns to hold onto, and a saddle to sit in. You were broken out of your train of thought as you heard your name called, turning your head to see none other than Jon Snow, giving you a nervous glance “hello” he said awkwardly, making you look ahead, spotting Daenerys talking with Missandei, before turning back to him “Lord Snow, can I help you with something?” he grimaced a bit, but still gave you a smile “if it’s alright, I would prefer if you didn’t call me Lord” you nodded “forgive me, I don’t know what to call you then. All these… customs are new to me, I have only lived with them for a few years now” Jon frowned at your words “how long then?” you shrugged as you looked ahead again “around five, I was ten when our Queen Daenerys found me” you smiled at the memory, glancing at Jon who only gave you a look that silently asked you to explain further.

“You see, I was a slave, in Mereen,” Jon immediately frowned “but you were a child?” he sounded disturbed, and it brought a tiny sense of envy, envy that he didn’t grow up with such horrible things “yes, though that didn’t concern my former master. I remember the day that Daenerys liberated Mereen, I remember seeing her silver hair in the street as she walked with the freed children, but I was still a slave. My master had let his other slaves go but not me, he kept me locked up in his small pyramid… Daenerys saw me watching her in the window, so she waved at me. I remember being so scared of my master that I looked over my shoulder before I waved back, I was so scared of how many beatings I would get if he caught me, but he didn’t, anyway, I must have leaned over the edge of the window, because she saw my collar. I remember how angry she looked as she walked into the house, she immediately had my master thrown in the cells, and then she saw me, on the steps, watching her again” you smiled warmly at the fond memory, a few tears building up in your eyes, but as you looked back at Jon, he seemed horrified and confused, looking away from you as he thought over your words, as if he didn’t know what to say “it’s alright, Jon Snow, I wouldn’t want your sympathy” he looked at you with confusion, something that made you smile ever so slightly, he didn’t know why you didn’t want sympathy.

“I don’t want sympathy because that is not why Daenerys took me in as her own, at least I’d like to believe it wasn’t. Yes, she felt bad for me, but I remember seeing those purple eyes of hers… I remember how safe I felt. It was only later that I learnt of Rhaego. Perhaps she saw in me what she had lost, or maybe it really was just sympathy, whatever it was, I no longer wear a collar, my body no longer bears bruises except for those I earned in training. Daenerys may not have carried me, but she is my mother. That is why I do not want sympathy, Jon Snow, because I no longer need it, I am no longer in a position where it keeps me alive” you finished, speeding up your horse to join Daenerys and Missandei, leaving behind a sympathetic, but understanding Jon Snow.

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

Your lips slightly parted in awe as you neared Winterfell, you felt as though the only grounding force that told you it wasn’t a dream was Rhaegal and Drogon above you, their roars and the sound of their wings let you know you were wide awake, and you finally turned to Ezzo, smiling amazed at him before looking back to Winterfell. You had read about it in Mereen, and you remembered how out of all of the cities, you wanted to see Winterfell the most, and here you were, approaching it slowly as people of the north watched you ride by. You felt Ezzo’s hand gently nudge your knee, making you look at him as he gave you a smile “what?” you asked as he just looked at you, he shrugged and just kept smiling “just wanted to look at you” you blushed at his words, the colour of you (Y/S/C) cheeks flushing red, and you looked away, much to Ezzo’s dismay, he thought it looked beautiful with your (Y/E/C) eyes. You shook your head, almost as if you tried to shake off the blush on your cheeks, but you couldn’t shake off the smile that graced your lips “I’ve read a lot about Winterfell, it was built so long ago, it’s said to be built over there natural hot springs, so even though it’s snowing, the castle is much warmer than it looks” you looked back to Ezzo, only to find him already looking at you, and you refrained from saying anything, just enjoying the soft look he gave you as you looked back to Winterfell.

You marvelled at how big it actually was, and Daenerys, upon seeing your face, couldn’t help the smile that found it’s way to her lips.

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

You sat tense by Daenerys’ side, something she had noticed long ago. You were cold, colder than before. When you read about the hot springs under Winterfell, you had hoped it would have given more of an impact, but here you were, willing yourself to stop shaking, while your mother sat quite comfortably, since she was a Targaryen. Your eyes scanned the crowd as a way to distract yourself, and you noticed how everyone seemed to love Jon, everyone knew him, adored him, admired him, and you could see, out the corner of your eyes, Daenerys’ smile wavering, she noticed as well. Daenerys was so used to being loved back in Essos, in Essos she was the Breaker of Chains, the Unburnt, the Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, she brought wonder and awe to people’s lives as she entered them, but here, here she was the foreign queen who their king had knelt to, the daughter of a madman, leader of an army of savages, and you imagined how much it must hurt her, so turning to her you gently nudged her, giving you her attention, and you knew the smile she put on her lips were fake, it was forced and stretched, like a piece of leather being forced over shapes it wasn’t meant to embrace.

You got up, pulled your new arakh out from behind your back and sat back down, your whole body facing her as you showed it to her “Ezzo gave it to me” you let her hold it and study it, watching her smile fade as realization struck her “your name day…” your own smile fell, you hadn’t meant to force it upon her, she was busy, it was a time of war, you understood how she could forget it, so you quickly shook your head “Mhysa I-... I didn’t mean it like that I just… wanted to show you… he carved the handle himself and-”

“I’m so sorry, Little Dragon” she looked heartbroken and you quickly shook your head again, reaching out for her hands “no, no Mhysa, please don’t be, we’re at war, I nearly forgot it myself, as have Missandei, please don’t feel bad. We’re all busy, you most of all, and after Viserion-” you stopped yourself there, knowing you’d get nowhere with her, and mentioning Viserion would only bring the both of you pain, you could already feel the tears building up in your eyes “I will do my best to correct this, I swear, (Y/N)” you sighed, taking back you anakh, putting it on the table, leaning over and hugging her “you don’t have to, just be happy” you whispered the last bit, feeling her arms finally wrap around you to embrace you as well. Once you parted you saw how sad she still was, which made you feel a guilty, you hadn’t meant to force it upon her, you heard her give a short sigh, turning back to look at the different people, studying them and how they loved Jon Snow, you followed her gaze, and you couldn’t help moving your hand down to gently grasp hers, she was so warm compared to you, her Targaryen blood had fire running through her veins “you are so cold, are you freezing?” you turned to look at her concerned expression, making you smile slightly “no, no I’m just cold. Mhysa, you’re a Targaryen, you have fire in your veins” you giggled slightly, and she joined you, briefly, before looking back over the the northerners “they’ll love you, you know, they’re just scared, perhaps even a bit betrayed, they trusted their king to never kneel again and then he did it, they’re just angry, but I don't blame them, who wouldn’t be in this cold?” you whispered the last bit to her, making her grin and do her best to hold in a laugh that you knew wanted to tear it’s way out of her and make itself known to everyone in the room, a thought that kept you warmer than the fires your brother’s breathed.

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

You frowned as you stared at her in disbelief, taking in her words, each time you tried to decipher it a new frown appeared on your forehead “but-...” you leaned back in your chair, your gaze off to the side, not looking at anything in particular. You finally looked back at Daenerys, seeing her being torn between worlds as well. You leaned forward, gently grasping her hand in yours “who knows, Mhysa?” she swallowed the lump in her throat before speaking up “his brother, Bran, Samwell Tarly, and he’s going to tell his sisters” you frowned at her last statement “but I thought he loved you?” at yours words Daenerys finally let a tear roll down her cheek, all her life she had believed she was the true heir to Westeros, and now, now all of the sudden she wasn’t, the goal she had worked her way towards her whole life was gone, snuffed out, like a candle in a storm. You sighed heavily and got up “and he says he doesn’t want the throne?” you looked out a window before back to Daenerys, seeing her nod briefly and weakly, making you sigh again “then that’s that, Mhysa, he doesn’t want it, you are the heir to the Seven Kingdoms, you are the Queen of Westeros, there is nothing else to it” you kneeled down in front of her, you knew how much this meant to her.

She gently shook her head “it doesn’t matter what he wants… he’s the rightful heir and the people-”

“No! Mhysa… you’ve worked towards this your entire life! He doesn’t want the throne, they can’t force him upon it, can they? I-... I know you love him… I know you haven’t said so but, the way you look at him, and the way he looks at you, he loves you as well, I’m not-... experienced in love but, you have to at least trust that, right?” Daenerys sighed and looked at you, raising a hand to gently hold your cheek, you leaned into her touch and she smiled at the gesture “my sweet little dragon” she whispered, leaning over and placing a kiss on your forehead, her eyes closed as yet another tear fell from them.

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

You glared at your mother as she looked at you with a pleading look “I am not going into the crypt, I want to fight!” Daenerys sighed, you two had been at it for almost an hour now “(Y/N) there is nothing to discuss, please, my little dragon, do as I say. You have a responsibility, you’re the heir to the throne, my ONLY heir, please, I can’t let anything happen to you” you sighed as she used your nickname in Valyrian, mulling over her words before finally giving a weak nod, making Daenerys close her eyes in pure relief. You sighed heavily as you walked down the steps, mumbling annoyed, making Sansa frown as she studied you, looking down at Tyrion, who sighed “she wants to fight, a Dothraki has been teaching her for months now. I think she’s scared,” he whispered the last part, making Sansa lean in as he continued “I think she’s scared of losing yet another brother, or perhaps even her mother, she thinks that somehow if she fights with her, she could prevent it” Sansa frowned even more “but the dragons are not her brothers” Tyrion shrugged “she has grown up around them for the last five years, whenever she was sad and Missandei or Daenerys wasn’t around, the dragons comforted her, I’ve heard stories of how they flew up on her balcony and came close to her, let her lay up against them and cry. When they were locked in the pyramid, she visited them every day, Rhaegal was her dragon, and now Jon Snow is riding him, she may not be a Targaryen, but she understands those dragons, almost as well as their mother, so try to tell her, once a little girl, lost and afraid of the world, protected and cared for by these dragons and their mother, that they are not her family. She already lost one brother, forgive me, Lady Stark, but I do believe you can understand how she feels” Tyrion ended, looking back at you as Missandei sat down next to you, talking with you quietly.

Sansa watched you with sympathy now, she understood what it was like to lose family, and while she couldn’t see how you saw dragons as family, she could understand the bond and the grief you must have felt when Viserion died, especially now that it was known that he had joined the Night King as an undead dragon, no longer the brother you knew.

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

You stared at the piles upon piles of dead bodies, blood covering your face, your akanh in your hand, a cut on your hand and leg, still bleeding, your eyes widening as you saw a white figure in the distance leaning over someone, crying. It was nearly dawn, the Night King was dead and so was his army. Your feet took off before you even knew it, you barely felt the wound on your leg as you ran across the body littered field, you fell to your knees, you arakh long forgotten as you stared at the body in Daenerys’ arms. You breathed heavily as you just stared at his pale skin, the blood splattered across his face and armor, and the small drops of tears from your mother’s eyes. You gently shook your head as you held your breath, at any moment he would wake up, right? He would wake up, let you know that he was alright, he was okay, he was wounded but alive, right? You let out a whimper as none of that happened, he stayed still and pale, and you leaned over his breastplate, resting your head on it, not caring about the blood smearing onto your forehead. You let a sob escape your lips, only one, you told yourself, but it was followed by another, and another, and another, and before you knew it you were sobbing against the cold, hard metal covering his chest.

You looked up at Daenerys to see her crying as well, holding Joarh close and you couldn’t help but lean down and hug his stiff form, your arms around his neck as you sobbed against his throat, silently begging him to wake up, and when that didn’t work you tried verbally “wake up, please Ser Jorah, please, please wake up, please no, no, no, no! Wake up!” you hadn’t even noticed how you had begun to speak Valyrian, it was your native tongue after all, even though Jorah never understood it. You shook him as hard as you could, tears streaming down your face as you shook your head once more, you could barely breathe, Jorah had been the one to cut off your collar, he had been the one you had talked the most with, even though none of you understood each other back then. You leaned against Daenerys’ shoulder as you both cried, tears streaming down your faces as you continued to hold the old knight.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, clinging to his corpse and Daenerys’ side as you cried over his body, praying that somehow he would wake up, somehow his eyes would open, or he would cough, say something, anything. But nothing happened, and nothing ever would, he was dead, cold and stiff, buried in metal as he laid in the cold snow, blood surrounding him, some of it his own, some of it not, that thought chilled you to the bone more than any wind ever could, he was bathed in blood, some not his own, it made you sick, and you felt the urge to throw up, leaning away quickly and throwing up over the side, making sure none of it touched Jorah or your mother. Afterwards you groaned, tears still streaming down your face as you glanced at Ser Jorah, another sob forcing it’s way through your body and out your mouth as you yet again fell to Daenerys’ side, holding Jorah. You felt Daenerys’ hand slowly place itself on your back as you sobbed, her own cries still spilling from her lips as you both just held him, not caring who watched or who was nearby.

#Daenerys Targaryen #Daenerys Targaryen x Child!Reader #GoTFanFic

85 notes · View notes

sondepoch · 4 years

Text

Safe (Brothers x Reader)

After years of living in a woman's body, the day comes where you realize you're not a woman. And in light of this revelation, there's another fact you need to face: you somehow have to tell the demon brothers.

~Oneshot

REQUESTS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

The silence is perhaps the most terrifying part.

None of them speak, none of them move, and it feels like none of them even dare to breathe after the words have left your mouth, every single person in the room frozen in place by the weight of your confession.

"I'm not a girl."

Four simple words, and yet they have such mesmerizing power: able to corner the seven lords of hell into a stupor of blankness.

You keep your gaze fixated on the ground, eyes never leaving the wooden floors that suddenly feel so cold as you stand atop them. You start to wish the ground would open, would swallow you up into its depths and pull you from this unbearably tense situation.

"I—I'm sorry," You mutter, not even knowing why you're apologizing. You close your eyes and try to force back the hot tears blurring your vision, already motioning to leave the room. "F-forget it. I'll just go."

Why did you ever think the demon brothers would understand? Why did you ever assume that they, creatures born to the very image of perfection, were going to be helpful? What did you even expect them to do? These boys are demons. It was noble enough that you trusted them to reveal your soul to them, but this silence has made it clear that they aren't going to be any comfort to you.

Your hands clench into fists at your side, and you keep your head lowered as you begin to walk out of the common room—out and away from these demons who clearly aren't going to support you the way you thought they would.

But the second you've taken two steps, you're engulfed in a hug from behind.

"Lu…" Your voice trails off in surprise when you realize who it is that's embracing you so openly, and you have to look up to confirm that it's actually him. "Lucifer?"

Your eyes widen. Only rarely does the prideful demon lower himself to offering comfort to a mere mortal; and on the few occasions where he does, it's always in privacy, beyond the eyes of anyone who might stare. But there's no denying it: even with all his brothers around you and watching, the Avatar of Pride is holding you close, eyes shut, as he traps you in a hug so warm and tender that you have no choice but to relax in his grip, his name falling from your lips in a confused daze once more as you look up at him.

"We always…" Lucifer trails off, his voice thick with emotion. He clears his throat and releases you, turning your body around in his arms so that you can look him straight in the eye.

But the next person to speak isn't Lucifer. Or even you.

It's Asmo.

He bounces off the couch and wraps you in a hug from the side, pulling you close even as Lucifer's arms remain on your shoulder.

"We always knew," The fifth-born murmurs into your ear, pressing his cheek close to yours as he clings to your figure.

And the moment your eyes widen, the moment you process Asmo's words, the moment you try to understand how they possibly could have known such a thing, the remainder of the brothers are shaken from their stupor, and the spell of silence that settled over the room is broken, every single demon darting off the couch in a wild competition to tackle you in a fierce hug.

"About damn time!" Mammon shouts as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, tackling you to the ground. It was in a valiant attempt, of course, given that he just had to hug you before any of his brothers could (and so he decided to go flying in the air to achieve this goal), but the moment your back hits the hardwood floor, the remainder of his siblings are on the ground next to you, cushioning your fall. Even the ever-stoic Lucifer crouches low next to you, a heartwarming smile on his face.

"We've been waiting for you to realize since forever ago," Belphie mumbles into your hair, not-so-subtly pulling you from Mammon, kicking the second-born away in the process.

"I—I realized a while ago," You mumble, eyes still wide in shock at the fact that everyone apparently knew about your gender identity. "B-but how did you guys find out?" You ask, eyes round in disbelief. "I never told anyone here!"

"Your soul," Satan answers, helping you off your back and into a sitting position on the ground, deftly removing you from Mammon and Belphie's grip in favor of settling you between his own two arms, where he cages you in and begins stroking your hair protectively. "From the day we met, we could tell that the color of your soul didn't match with the body you were placed in." Satan taps your cheek, tracing your jawline with a proud smile on his face. "We knew you were a boy from the start, we just didn't know if you knew."

Of course.

You let out a laugh, a short sound that lingers somewhere between amazed and relieved—every fiber of your being abruptly relaxed now that you realize that the brothers are supportive. That they do care for you, and that they love you for you: not for the body you're in or the gender you look like but for who you are, for the color of your soul or whatever else it was that Satan said gave it away.

"I can't believe you made us wait so long for this, normie!" Levi exclaims, his head bobbing enthusiastically as he squirms his way into your arms with a wide-eyed expression. "I was beginning to think that this would be an arc two development, but you're amazing for having the courage and strength to figure it out in arc one!"

You cock your head a little at that, not quite understanding that Levi had split the school year up into 'arcs' and was trying to plan for the day when you would realize you're a guy, but you laugh anyway and pull him close, wrapping him in a hug.

"Guys," Beel pouts, the gentle giant entirely excluded from the whole affair, kneeling on the ground behind the wall of bodies around you, and his brothers make room for him instantly. He flashes you the biggest grin you've ever seen as you pull yourself into his arms, the demon seemingly more delighted by your revelation than any food he's ever been given. "I'm proud of you," He mumbles into your skin, sighing deeply when you squeeze him through the embrace.

The eight of you must remain like that for nearly an hour, with the brothers continually fighting over who gets to hug you until Lucifer gets tired of it and pulls you out of Asmo's arms altogether, lifting you up and declaring that if his brothers want to hug you more, then it will be on a proper bed and not while rolling around on the ground like Cerberus. And, of course, none of the brothers are willing to let go of you for even a second now that you've finally realized and opened up to them about something so momentous, so the eight of you end up sprawled out across your bed, and the fight for your attention continues with Belphie, Mammon, Asmo, and Levi vying for your attention most openly, Beel pouting and earning your sympathy whenever he's excluded from hugs, and Satan and Lucifer pulling you into their arms in what they think is a subtle manner as they push their siblings away to hold you close.

In all the madness, no one notices when the time for dinner comes and passes—even Beel's stomach being too preoccupied with trying to gain your attention (and affection)—so you all pass out on the bed together, with your body sandwiched between Mammon and Levi, every other brother placing a protective hand somewhere on your body.

It is the picture of peace—an image of pure contentment.

And it fills your heart with warmth.

There are no questions asked, no concerns brought to light, no concerns raised. No, the brothers knew from the beginning that your body and soul weren't fully connected, and they loved you anyway. And now that they know you've realized who you are—now that they know you see your truth, they are only more free to love you, because at last the you they love and adore is the you that you love and adore.

The night is nothing short of peaceful. Lucifer never leaves to go finish his paperwork, Asmo never bothers to check his phone when it lights up. Beel never wakes for his usual midnight snack, and Satan doesn't grab a book to begin reading in the moonlight. Mammon doesn't wake, Belphie doesn't snore, and Levi manages to sleep without a bathtub—and you know all this because it ends up being you who wakes in the middle of the night, throat feeling dry and in need of water.

And it's only now, in the dead of night and in the absence of their nonstop chattering, that the familiar sensation of silence envelopes you.

It's quiet. Dark. Almost cold.

But unlike before, you feel protected in this silence. You feel safe here, safe among the demon brothers, safe among those who accept you for who you truly are.

And it's in this dead of the night that you notice something that had been previously hidden by the brothers' nonstop moving: the way they are all poised to defend you, even in their sleep.

Belphie, who lies with his head on your stomach and his arms circling your hips, has one ear up—listening for the sound of any danger even as he dozes.

Beel, though his body is far from yours, has a protective arm extended over everyone's figures, setting it firmly over your stomach where his grip remains firm even in his sleep, the demon always ready to pull you closer should you require any of his strength.

Asmo is a little more subtle, his body almost entirely beneath yours as he holds you on top of him; but his arms hang loose around your waist where the demon's sharp nails are always ready to scratch anyone who might pose a threat.

Satan is another one who remains a little further from you, his body held back by Levi, but he sleeps with a solemn expression on his face as he continues to grip your hand in his sleep, his fingers twitching with his dream: and you can tell that he's a light sleeper, that the demon will be alert in seconds should anything happen.

Levi is equally possessive over you, his head buried in the crook of your neck as his hands snake around your torso, his arms forming a literal shield as he continues to hold you close to him.

Mammon acts like there are no other demons in the bed, blatantly attempting to use his whole body to make his embrace even stronger as he fights to squeeze you tighter, grumbling soft words of discontent that are only silenced when you lean into his touch.

Lucifer is the most protective of all, though, remaining off to the side even in this mess of limbs. A single arm extends over all of you, his brothers included—but the motion isn't meant to cage you in: it's meant to protect you from everything outside, everything dark and twisted in the Devildom that he eternally wishes to spare you from seeing.

And it's only here, with your figure wedged between the bodies of the seven most powerful lords of hell, that you feel truly safe. Safe from anyone who might insult you. Safe from anyone who might deny you. Safe from anyone who might not understand you.

Your eyes, opened by a desire for water, begin to close as you're lulled back to sleep under the spell that is the brothers' protection.

"I love you guys," You mumble, to no one in particular. But the words need to be said, even if the brothers don't explicitly hear them, and then your eyes are closed and the world is dark once more, your breathing falling into the familiar rhythm shared by everyone else on the bed.

It's only after you're pulled back to the dreamworld that one of the brothers chuckles softly and moves to kiss you on the forehead, gazing at your expression as you slumber, so peaceful and trusting and content. And indeed, it doesn't matter which brother made the motion, because his actions echo the sentiments of them all: their eternal desire to protect you, the most precious human they have ever met.

REQUESTS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Word count: 2.1k

Notes: Yo I woke up expecting this to be an absolutely awful day (due to my schedule, Sundays always are) but then shit got canceled and this was such a peaceful day and damn did not see that coming 10/10 well played, my guardian angel

Comment & Like

Requested by Anon! — Make a request!

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

470 notes · View notes

besanii · 4 years

Text

shattered mirrors 54

Wangxian ; 1586 words

“You know, I didn’t think banquets in Gusu could get this lively,” Wei Wuxian comments, pouring himself another cup of wine. “All the ones I’ve attended before have been quite…well, quiet.”

He throws back the contents up his newly-refilled cup in one swallow and sighs gustily. The Gusu Lan Imperial Court may be stuffier than Yunmeng, but they sure knew how to make wine—Emperor’s Smile may be the finest he’s ever tasted, and he’s always tried to make a study of wine tasting on top of his other cultural pursuits. If Jiang Cheng were here, he’d scoff at this claim and insist that Yunmeng’s lotus wine is better, but Wei Wuxian knows there is nothing quite like the soft sweetness of Emperor’s Smile.

Beside him, Nie Huaisang nods in agreement as he sets his own cup on the table.

“It’s only ever like this when they’re entertaining important guests from other states,” he says sagely. “You know…diplomats, royalty—important people.”

Wei Wuxian bristles.

“Aren’t I considered a foreign diplomat?” he asks, affronted. “I don’t recall there being a banquet like this for me!”

“You, Wei-xiong?” Nie Huaisang laughs. “You’re more like a foreign student than a diplomat. You don’t attend court, or participate in state affairs, or have any influence over the politics between Yunmeng and Gusu. Of course they wouldn’t look twice at you!”

“I take offence to that statement, Nie-xiong,” Wei Wuxian says with mock anger and a waggling finger. “I have a lot of sway in Yunmeng!”

He punctuates this with a jovial laugh and washes it down with another cup of wine. His eyes stray towards the head table at the highest level of the dais that sits conspicuously empty, the unoccupied throne more of a figurehead than anything else now, with the Emperor in seclusion due to poor health. One level below, Lan Wangji sits at a table of his own, with his uncle beside him and his brother and sister-in-law across the aisle. He does not touch the wine, and barely spares a second glance at the revelry below, until a young woman dressed in pale yellow robes and bearing a vermilion mark between her brows approaches his table.

“Who’s that?” Wei Wuxian whispers to Nie Huaisang, immediately wary.

“Jin-wang’s eldest daughter,” Nie Huaisang whisper back, holding his fan up to obscure his mouth. “Jin Yantong.”

It takes him a moment to place the name. His eyes widen.

“Isn’t she the one who he sent as a marriage candidate for Taizi-dianxia a couple of years ago?” His brow furrows in confusion. “What’s she doing back here?”

Nie Huaisang taps his fan against his lips thoughtfully.

“Well, since she didn’t become Taizi-fei, I guess she’s here to try for the next best thing,” he says. The look he sends Wei Wuxian out of the corner of his eye is weighted with meaning. “Or, at least, her father is.”

“Can you even do that?” he asks with a shaky laugh, hiding his discomfort behind his wine cup. “Put forward the same candidate for two princes?”

“There’s no law that expressly forbids it,” Nie Huaisang replies, shrugging. “Though I suppose the bigger issue is whether the young maiden in question would willingly submit herself to the potential for ridicule.”

Wei Wuxian hums, although he’s not sure if it’s out of sympathy or something else. He would not put it past Jin Guangshan to put forth his daughter as a candidate repeatedly until she is finally selected as consort; even if Jin Yantong does not succeed, Jin Guangshan has children to spare—he could very well keep putting forth all of his eligible children until one of them helps him get a foothold in Gusu. Three years ago, Lan Xichen had selected Nie Qiongyue as his primary consort and refused to take a concubine; now that Lan Wangji is of marriageable age, Jin Guangshan undoubtedly has him in mind for his daughter.

His stomach clenches as he watches Lan Wangji rise to greet her with a polite bow; she returns the greeting with a dip of the knee, bowing her head gracefully, her hands clasped by her hip. She offers him a sweet smile as she rises, her mouth forming words Wei Wuxian cannot make out from the angle at which he’s observing them. What he does see, however, is the slight softening of Lan Wangji’s mouth as he listens to her, and the softness in his eyes as he responds.

He slams the cup down on the table with more force than necessary, startling Nie Huaisang. Across the hall, Lan Wangji is also watching him with concern, although he makes no move to leave his seat.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mutters, averting his eyes.

Jin Yantong is truly a beautiful young woman, he thinks. Intelligent, accomplished, well-connected. And capable of bearing sons. He coughs as the wine slides down the wrong way, tears springing to his eyes; a few of the surrounding courtiers glance his way with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity, but he is too preoccupied getting his breathing under control to pay them any mind.

Where had that thought come from?

He clears his throat a few more times and pounds on his chest with a fist in an attempt to alleviate the burning pain.

“Wei Ying.”

A hand under his elbow brings him out of his thoughts and he looks up to find Lan Wangji kneeling by his side, looking concerned.

“L-Lan Z—” he clears his throat again, embarrassed. “Er-dianxia.”

The corner of Lan Wangji’s eye twitches at the title, but he does not mention it. Instead, he moves his hand from beneath Wei Wuxian’s elbow to his shoulder, his other hand taking a cup from the tray being offered by an attendant, pressing it into Wei Wuxian’s hands.

“Drink,” he tells him. “Slowly.”

Wei Wuxian looks down at the tea, tendrils of steam curling up from its hot surface, his face flushed. All around them, people are starting to notice—Nie Huaisang has returned to his seat, his eyes lowered respectfully, only chancing the occasional glance in their direction—even the occupants of the dais are watching them, although their faces betray no outward emotion. He sees Jin Yantong across the hall where Lan Wangji had left her, watching them both with an inscrutable expression in her dark eyes, and a stiff set to her pretty lips.

Lan Wangji’s attention is fixed on him.

Wei Wuxian’s heart does a strange little flip.

“Thank you, Er-dianxia, for your concern,” he says with an embarrassed laugh. “I must have had too much to drink. I apologise for causing trouble.”

He goes to set the cup down onto the table, but his wrist is caught in a tight grip as Lan Wangji presses it towards him more insistently.

“Wei Ying,” he says again. “Drink.”

He can really find a reason to refuse, so he obediently raises the cup to his lips and takes a sip. The spiciness of the tea takes him by surprise—how had Lan Wangji known to prepare sobering tea?—he takes another, longer sip, savouring the pleasantly sweet aftertaste. The grip around his wrist loosens and falls away once Lan Wangji is satisfied he is following instructions; when the cup is finally empty, he takes it from him and hands it back to the attendant without a word.

Wei Wuxian sits up, his head already feeling clearer as the tea takes effect, and offers Lan Wangji a sheepish smile.

“Thank you, Er-dianxia,” he says again. “I apologise for causing trouble. I will excuse myself to clear my head.”

Lan Wangji rises to his feet—both Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang immediately follow suit as per protocol—and shakes out his sleeves.

“Wei-gongzi should not feel the need to apologise,” he says, letting his voice carry around the hall and to the ears of their spectators. “No harm was done. If you wish for fresh air, allow me to accompany you outside.”

He raises his arm in a sweeping gesture towards the doorway with an expectant look in his direction. Wei Wuxian hesitates, painfully aware of everyone’s eyes on them, before he sinks into a bow with his hands clasped before him.

“Please do not let me take you away from the festivities, Er-dianxia,” he says, with all the formality of a courtier to his prince. “I am already much recovered and will be fine on my own. There is no need to worry Er-dianxia.”

Lan Wangji opens his mouth as if to protest, but a soft cough interrupts him before he can speak. Nie Huaisang catches his eye and tilts his head pointedly towards the dais, where Lan Qiren looks on disapprovingly.

Lan Wangji sighs heavily through his nose.

“Very well,” he says, sounding none too pleased to be saying so. “Take care, Wei-gongzi.”

Wei Wuxian bows again at the dismissal and hurries from the hall without a backward glance. Once he is far enough from the entrance and certain he is not being followed, he allows his shoulders to slump. His heart is racing, the heat still high on his cheeks despite the sobering tea—and the expression on Lan Wangji’s face looking down at Jin Yantong is still vivid in his mind, causing his stomach to twist uncomfortably.

He looks down at his wrist, where Lan Wangji had held him.

Oh, he thinks faintly. I see.

Notes:

Taizi-fei (太子妃) - Consort to the Crown Prince

Jin Guangshan is king/lord/wang (王) of the state of Lanling Jin, and Jin Yantong (金燕彤) is his eldest daughter by a concubine. And yes, Jin Zixuan does exist.

Set early on in the Wei Ying arc, just after LWJ’s birthday ficlet (#33).

Master Post and ko-fi link on my sidebar!

#mdzs #wangxian #my writing #shattered mirrors fic #lan wangji #wei wuxian #王爷机 X 花魁羡 #no knives #courtesan!wwx #prince!lwj

214 notes · View notes

raisedbyfandomwolves · 3 years

Note

Prompt: [Human AU] Karamel & a broken air conditioner

I know this took forever and you probably don’t even remember sending it, whoever you are, but I hope the length makes up for it.

Mike groaned in relief the moment he felt the air conditioner start to work its magic and collapsed on his sofa with the life-saving can of soda he had retrieved from his fridge. Absurdly hot summer days were not exactly uncommon in National City but today felt like it was one for the record books and not even an earthquake was going to make him leave his apartment.

Lethargic and eager to get his mind off the weather, he cracked open the can and gulped down a mouthful of soda while his free hand reached for the remote. His Netflix queue had gotten pretty long recently thanks to all the late night shifts he had been pulling at the bar and this seemed like the perfect chance to clear it up a little.

He was just about to load up the new He-Man and the Masters of the Universe animated series when he was interrupted by a series of rapid knocks on his door. Since he wasn't expecting anyone to visit him today, he spent a few seconds trying to figure out who it might be before giving up and dragging himself to the door.

The person he found on the other side, however, was someone he would never have expected on any given day:

Kara, his really cute neighbour from just down the hall who he'd barely said more than ten words to ever since their first awkward encounter when he'd moved in a few months ago...

...and who currently looked as if she had just spent an hour trapped in a sauna that had been set to the highest possible temperature.

In other words, it was a miracle she was still standing and hadn't passed out yet.

“Whoa there.” Concern for her overrode his confusion and he reached out a hand to catch her in case she really did faint right in front of him. “Are you okay?”

She nodded vigorously in response. It didn't seem like a smart move in her condition but he thought better of saying anything about it. “I-I'm fine. I'm Kara, by the way. Mike, right?” There was a crinkle in her brow as she said that which caught his attention for reasons that escaped him but he put it out of his mind and nodded. “Um. Actually... Not really...? I, uh... I was hoping you could help me. I-If you don't mind, that is.”

Even if he didn't think she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever met, he was pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to refuse. Only a heartless jerk would, after all. “Of course. What do you need?”

“My, um, my air conditioner broke down-” He immediately winced in sympathy; that explained why she looked like she was on the verge of having heat stroke. “-and Mr Jones isn't picking up and, well, I kind of really need it to work since, you know.” She gestured vaguely around them to indicate the weather, and he noticed that the crinkle had returned. “S-So I was wondering if... Would you happen to know anyone who might be able to help fix it?”

It seemed a little unusual for their generally trustworthy landlord to be unavailable but Mike supposed the man had his hands full lately helping his daughters prepare for college. “I'm no technician but do you want me to come take a look and see if I can figure out what's wrong?” Then he realised how forward and open to misinterpretation his offer sounded and quickly back-pedalled. “B-But I totally get it if you're not comfortable with-”

“Y-You would?” she interrupted him with surprising enthusiasm that seemed to shock even herself if the way she flushed an even darker shade of red was any indication. “Um, I mean... Are you sure it's not too much trouble? I don't want to be a bother...”

“Considering the weather, I don't think anyone should be trying to get through today without air conditioning. Besides, I didn't exactly have plans to do anything but vegetate in front of the TV so you're definitely not interrupting a schedule of any kind. Hold on, let me get my Swiss Army knife and a torchlight just in case.”

“I can't thank you enough for this,” Kara said as they made the short journey down the hall to her apartment. “You didn't have to, you know.”

“True, but if my grandfather ever found out I turned away someone in need just because I wanted to avoid a little heat I'd never hear the end of it,” he chuckled as he waited for her to unlock her front door.

“Well, I'm sure he's very proud of you.” Kara opened the door and made a weak flourish. “A-Anyway, um. Come on in. Sorry about how hot it is... but you probably expected that already. The fridge is still working though, thank god, so do you maybe want a drink?”

“Sure.” This wasn't exactly how Mike had ever imagined he would be invited to her place but immediately shook the thought out of his head. He was here out of a genuine desire to help, not do something borderline creepy like check whether she had a boyfriend or not. Eager to keep his mind from going anywhere it shouldn't, he headed straight for the air conditioner and got to work.

After several sweltering minutes poking around its insides, he found the problem. “I think I know what's-” he started as he turned to face her.

The rest of his sentence turned into a choked noise when he realised two things in quick succession:

First, she had bent her head down to try and see what he was doing without him having noticed.

Second, because of that, he was presently looking right down her shirt.

A loud clang resounded through the apartment when he jerked his head away only to smash it on the air conditioner.

“Oh my god!” he heard her exclaim through the throbbing pain in his skull. “Hold on, I'll get an ice pack!”

“I'm fine, it's not that bad,” he protested feebly but didn't try too hard to stop her when she returned with the promised ice pack and gently pressed it against the bump on his head.

“Well it looks bad and I feel guilty so please let me do this, okay?” she countered with surprising firmness. “And before you say anything, I'm not taking 'no' for an answer.”

Aware that he was in no position to argue, he conceded and they spent the next minute in complete silence before she spoke up again. “So did you manage to figure out the problem?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Glad that the heat covered up his blush – How was he supposed to tell her that he'd accidentally looked down her shirt? – he flashed her a small smile. “It's just a broken fan blade. You're actually kind of lucky because it would've cost you a lot more to replace, say, a broken compressor.”

Her shoulders sagged and she let out a sigh of relief. “Thank god...” she murmured, her eyes slipping shut before she opened them and trained those mesmerising blue orbs on him again. “And thank you so much. I really owe you for this.”

“I didn't really do much. All I did was figure out what needed fixing; it's not like I can even give you a discount on the replacement part. Speaking of which, you should probably try to call Mr Jones again and let him know about this. The sooner you get your air conditioner fixed, the better... especially considering the weather.”

“Still... W-Well, um. There's no reason to keep you here any longer s-so, um... I'll walk you back to your apartment...?”

How was he supposed to pass up the chance to spend just a bit more time with her? “I wouldn't mind that.”

“I'm serious though,” Kara insisted as they exited her apartment. “I still want to pay you back i-if you'll let me. L-Like maybe... um... H-How about din-”

“What are you two doing out of your apartments in this heat?” a third voice burst their little bubble, and Mike looked up to find none other than Mr Jones staring at them from the top of the stairs.

“O-Oh. Uh.” Hadn't Kara said he hadn't been around or something earlier? Confused, Mike turned to look at her only to find her doing a very good impression of a deer caught in the headlights. It didn't seem like she would be speaking anytime soon so he began explaining the situation. “Kara's air conditioner broke down and she said she couldn't reach you so I volunteered to see what was the problem. It's going to need a new fan blade.”

“Huh.” Mr Jones frowned. “I'm pretty sure I didn't have my phone on silent... I guess I must not have heard it ring. Anyway, thank you, Mike; I think I have a spare lying around in the basement so let me go get it and come right back.”

Then the two of them were alone in the hallway again.

“Um-” Mike started... except that was as far as he got.

“I'm so sorry,” Kara blurted out, her expression one of pure mortification. “I-It's just that I was on the phone with my best friend Eve when the air conditioner broke so I told her what happened and the next thing I know she's saying how it's the perfect opportunity I've been waiting for to talk to you and if I didn't do it she was going to set up like a hundred dating profiles for me a-and I just-” Realising she was blabbering, she shut her mouth with an audible click and reddened even further. “A-Anyway, I'm really sorry a-and you can forget about what I was saying earlier s-so. Um. Bye.”

“Hey, wait.” A goofy smile spread across his face as he grabbed her hand to stop her from leaving. Suddenly he had a feeling he knew what that little crinkle in her brow meant. “If you're really sorry, I have an idea how you can make it up to me.”

She stared at him with a mixture of confusion, curiosity and a fair bit of lingering embarrassment. “W-What is it?”

His smile widened. “Let me take you out to dinner.”

#karamel #prompt fic #anon

19 notes · View notes

pastelwitchling · 4 years

Text

The day had started with a knock at the door.

Alex had woken up in the middle of the night and had stayed awake, preferring to focus his mind on coding and military work than try to let it rest for another second. He’d been doing so since he’d come back to Roswell, and even more so since Michael and Maria had started dating. It never mattered that they broke up, something in Alex had shattered at the thought of Maria’s hands on Michael’s body, kissing down the trails that Alex had kissed himself.

The real problem now, however, was the fact that Alex was struggling to do almost anything during the day, the exhaustion taking over more and more of his sanity. But he couldn’t go back to sleep, he couldn’t hide behind any more trenches, hear any more explosions, run from his father, run from the man he loved and the woman who had been meant to love him and yet betrayed him. Alex would’ve rather let the exhaustion kill him than succumb to these nightmares.

But that also meant that time stopped having any meaning, so when Alex heard the knock at his front door, he thought it was still barely dawn. A glance at his phone told him it was almost noon. Days off without any work schedule will do that to a man.

He pushed himself off the counter and went to answer, surprised to see Max Evans standing on the other side, smiling mischievously as if he and Alex were best friends sharing a dangerous secret.

“Morning, Manes!” Max said, uncharacteristically cheerful.

“Uh – good morning, Max,” Alex said with furrowed brows, stepping aside as Max let himself in. “Did – did something happen?”

“Hm?” Max looked over his shoulder at Alex, arms crossed behind his back. “No. I just felt like coming to see you.” He raised an eyebrow at him. “That okay?”

Alex blinked, surprised. A blush rose up his neck but he ignored it and began quickly clearing away his files. “Y—Yeah, that’s fine. Does Michael know you’re here?”

Max chuckled. “Come on, Alex, you know Michael. No one can even mention your name around him. You know, because he” – here he did animated quotes with his fingers – “loves you.”

Alex’s brows furrowed. “Max?”

“Or, you know,” Max shrugged. “So he says. Doesn’t really act like it though, does he?” He chuckled. “What a dick. You want me to make you some breakfast? I’m basically Chef Ramsay with a few eggs and spices.”

“Uh – Max,” Alex asked. “Are you okay?”

Max stilled for a moment in front of the stove, but when he turned to Alex, his smile was smaller, more hesitant, the kind of smile Alex knew Max to usually have. Though there was something about the look in his eyes…

“I miss Liz,” he said blatantly. “You know, with her gone to California, I just thought you would understand what it feels like to miss someone and not be able to tell them.”

Alex felt an odd chill at the base of his spine at the darkness in Max’s eyes. Something still felt off, though Alex couldn’t put his finger on what exactly. “I…”

“I can’t tell Michael,” Max shook his head. “You know what he’s like, he doesn’t take anything seriously, he doesn’t think anything’s worth caring about –”

“He cares about you and Isobel,” he defended.

“I know,” Max nodded gravely. “I know, but he doesn’t love anyone like you and I do. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to feel like you’re burning from the inside because of how badly you want that person.” He sighed. “Alex. Michael doesn’t have room in his heart to really love just one person. He fights for who he loves… but not to keep anyone. He just doesn’t care enough.”

Alex blinked, startled at the cruelty of Max’s words. He wanted to deny them, to tell Max just how loving Michael could be, to tell him of all the times Michael had fought for him… and he came up with nothing. All Alex could pull from his memory were moments Michael had taunted him, had turned him away, had refused him, had let him turn away without a question, without holding on, without a single request to stay. Then there was the moment Michael chose someone else because it was easier.

Alex’s shoulders fell only for a moment, his gaze dropped for a single instant, but it was enough for Max to notice, and for a split second, Alex thought he saw Max smirk, but when he blinked, the man’s expression was one of sympathy and kindness.

Still…

“So,” Max shrugged a shoulder, his smile so gentle and so full of hesitation that Alex could not help but sympathize. “Can I make you some breakfast?”

“I…” Alex glanced at the door, half-expecting Michael to suddenly come in and explain what Max was really doing here, and why his brother was offering to do something nice for Alex instead of him. “Sure.”

Max smiled, and Alex felt the small ball of tension in his chest loosen just slightly. “Okay! Okay, food for two.” He pushed Alex’s shoulders, guiding him onto a stool at the counter. “You just sit down and relax, I’ll take care of everything.”

Alex sat down with a sigh and watched with a smile tugging at his lips as Max took a carton of eggs and a bundle of vegetables from Alex’s fridge as if he lived there. Alex had no idea how hungry he was until Max set a colorful omelet in front of him with an expectant smile, waiting for his reaction. Alex dug in and his eyes fluttered. A moan escaped his lips and he quickly covered his mouth with his hand, hoping it would take the sound back, but it was too late. Max had heard him and his smile had widened.

“Good?”

Alex shook his head. “Amazing.” He pointed a fork at Max. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

Max blinked, as if surprised to be offered. “Sure. Yeah. Breakfast, you and me.”

So Alex and Max sat and laughed and talked. All about little nothings but none of it mattered because for the first time, Alex wasn’t thinking about Michael or Project Shepherd, but about Jane Austen and movies and Hamilton. He was smiling and it didn’t feel forced. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

Then his phone rang.

Alex glanced down at the name flashing on the screen and any semblance of a smile on his lips disappeared. Max followed his gaze and his brows furrowed. They sat in silence until the phone stopped ringing.

“Why didn’t you pick up?” Max asked.

Alex searched Max’s face carefully, looking for any sign of judgment, any disappointment. There was none. He sighed, choosing to smile instead of cry about it like he wanted. Like he’d been wanting for the past few years.

“Because I’m having breakfast with you,” he said simply and stood, taking his and Max’s empty plates. Max was staring at him with an unreadable expression. “Look,” Alex said, putting the plates in the sink, “for the first time in a long time I’m having an actual good morning. Can’t I have it just a little longer? And then, I promise I’ll call him and help him with whatever he needs.”

Max smirked, something that reminded Alex a little too much of Michael. He shrugged. “I’m not here as Michael’s brother, Alex.” He scoffed then, as if he’d made a private joke. “Believe me. You want to have a good morning, let’s have a good morning.”

Alex began to smile, but then they heard a tapping on the roof and rubble fell from the ceiling.

“What the hell,” Alex muttered.

Max tilted his head. “Must be an animal up there or something.”

Alex rubbed his eyes. “If it’s picking at the wood, I need to stop it.”

Max stood. “Now?”

“I don’t want to let it get worse,” Alex said. “I’m sorry. Hey, make yourself at home, I’ll be right back.”

Alex turned, not even considering that he was leaving Max alone with his phone that had started, once again, to ring.

“Come on, Alex,” Michael muttered. “Pick up. Pick up.”

“He’s still not answering?” Isobel asked, sitting across from him in a Crashdown booth. “Maybe he’s still asleep.”

“Alex is always up before the sun is,” Michael said. “He doesn’t really sleep.”

She frowned. “Aw.”

Michael was directed to voicemail again. He got off the automated message and dialed again.

“Would you give it up?” she said. “He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I just need to hear his voice,” Michael said.

“Then go see him.”

“He doesn’t want to see me.”

Michael was just about to hang up and try texting instead when Alex picked up on the other end.

“Private?”

“No,” Max answered. “Not exactly.”

Michael frowned. “Max?” He caught Isobel’s gaze. She looked just as surprised as he was. “What’re you doing with Alex’s phone?”

“Oh, we’re just spending the morning together,” Max said cheerfully. “It’s been a lot of fun. I’d ask you to come, but… well, Alex really hates you right now.”

Michael’s brows furrowed, a painful sting in his chest. “What?”

“He just gets it, you know?” Max said matter-of-factly. Michael was getting more and more confused.

“Max, what’re you talking about? What’s really going on?”

“Michael, I’m telling you,” Max said with a chuckle. Was he drunk? “Alex and I just understand each other. I know what he’s going through. Being abandoned by the one you love sucks. Not that you’d know, am I right?”

Michael’s fingers curled to fists. “Max,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m being there for Alex,” Max said sweetly. “Does that bother you, Michael? Does it upset you that someone could actually care about Alex? Or do you want him to wait on the sidelines until you decide he’s worth your time?”

Michael’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed. Isobel kept nudging his arm, asking him what was wrong, but Michael couldn’t hear her anymore. Because just then, Max Evans walked through the front door of the Crashdown. Isobel followed his gaze and gasped, her eyes wide.

Michael stood. Max saw him and came over, concern evident in his expression.

“Mr. Jones,” Michael hissed before Max could ask what was wrong. “If you touch a hair on his head –”

“Then what?” Mr. Jones laughed. “Tell me, what will you do, Michael?”

“Listen to me, you sick bastard –”

“It’s too bad, you know,” Mr. Jones said. “He’s pretty handsome. Really nice, too. But, you see, the problem is… he’s too clever. Pesky, I know, but how am I supposed to corner you guys if he’s always there to save your asses? No. You understand I have to do something about it, right? Nothing personal.”

Michael was already out of the Crashdown, Isobel and Max at his heels. “I’ll find you,” he said. “You hurt him in any way, and I swear, it will be the last thing you ever do!”

“Oh, gotta go, Michael!” Mr. Jones said cheerfully. “Alex is working on the roof. I should probably go make sure he doesn’t, you know, slip and fall to a painful death. Later!”

Michael tried to argue, to threaten, to plead, but the line had already turned dead.

“Alex, hold up!” Max called as Alex brought out the long ladder and set it against the side of the house.

“Max, I told you I’ve got it,” Alex said. “You should go back inside, have some coffee.”

“I wouldn’t be much of a Superman if I let you do this by yourself, would I?”

Alex laughed, and Max smiled. “Superman?”

“Don’t look at me!” Max said. “I’m not the one that came up with it! But,” he sighed, “I figured that if everyone was going to make me out to be so perfect, then I should probably do more than screw up all the time.”

“You’re talking about Liz,” he said softly.

“I let her down,” Max nodded. “Least I can do is help make sure her best friend stays safe.”

Alex looked to the ladder and sighed. “All right, hold onto it then.” He got ready to climb as Max hung onto the ladder. He paused, “And don’t worry. This time, Liz was in the wrong. She’s just got too much pride to admit it. But she’s smart, she’ll realize that she made a mistake, and she’ll come back.”

Max scoffed. “You, Alex Manes, are way too nice for this town.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

It was slow, Alex’s climb up the ladder, but eventually he made it to the roof. He tried not to show how out of breath he already was, looking around for the animal tapping on the wood. Instead, he found that a part of the roof was caved in, barely held together by the support beams below.

Alex frowned. “What the hell?”

“What’s going on?” Max called from below.

Alex shook his head. “It looks like something struck the roof and broke the wood apart.”

Max hummed. “Or someone.”

“Who would be able to do this? I would’ve noticed if someone had been on my roof, they would’ve had to not use their… hands…” Alex looked down again and was met with two sights.

The first was that the ladder had been taken down and Alex was now stuck on the roof. The second was that Max was watching him, amused, his arms crossed.

Alex stepped back slowly so that he could hold onto his chimney but keep an eye on Max – or the imposter, he should say – at once.

“You’re not Max.”

“No,” Mr. Jones said with mock sympathy. “But hey, getting you up there was easier than I thought it’d be. I thought this would have to be a lot messier, but falling off the roof works, too.” He cackled. “You’re usually too smart to trick. You must be tired!”

“Get away from me,” Alex warned.

“Oh I won’t touch you, Alex,” Mr. Jones smiled. “That’s sort of the point. Murder always comes with way too many questions. Accidents, on the other hand…”

“No one will believe that I let myself fall off the roof,” Alex said.

“They will actually, want to know why?” Mr. Jones tilted his head. “Because you’re broken, Alex. You’re a shattered toy who can barely stay on your feet, and everyone knows it. You don’t sleep, you don’t eat…. Max Evans may be Superman… but you’re definitely not.” He shrugged. “Anywho. We don’t really have a lot of time, so –”

Mr. Jones put out a hand and Alex felt himself suddenly jerk forward. He managed to stay on the roof only by grabbing the chimney at the last second.

“It’s a shame,” Mr. Jones sighed. “You really could’ve been someone, you know, if you weren’t so busy looking after everyone else. Let this be a lesson for the future; only look out for yourself. Well, you won’t have a future, but you get my point, right?”

He tried to yank Alex off again, and once again, Alex held on by the tip of his fingers, his nails scraping the bricks and breaking off. Alex’s fingers bled and his hands scarred, his head felt heavy and the world was spinning. He was too tired to keep holding on, too disoriented to think of a plan. All he could do was hang on as Mr. Jones tried to throw him off the roof again, and again, and again.

“You’re being really difficult right now, Alex!” Mr. Jones snapped, the both of them breathing heavily after several minutes. “Would you just… die… ALREADY?!”

Michael, Alex thought desperately, terrified that just saying the cowboy’s name would take too much of the energy he was using to stay alive. He wanted to see Michael, he wanted to tell him how much he loved him, how much he would miss him. Where are you? Alex shut his eyes tight, thinking of Michael, his grip on the chimney weakening.

One more pull, he knew, was all it would take. Then –

CRASH!

Alex opened his eyes and gasped. Mr. Jones had been thrown into the set of chairs and tables Alex had in his backyard. He was unconscious.

“Alex!” Michael called. “Alex, where are you?!”

“Here,” Alex breathed, then, louder, “Up here!”

Michael, Isobel, and the real Max came into view, looking as if they’d run a marathon.

“Alex,” Michael called, eyes wild. “Are you okay?!”

Alex nodded. “Yeah, I’m – I’m fine.”

“Michael,” Max said, lifting the ladder. “Help me with this.”

The both of them set the ladder against the wall for Alex to climb down. Max held onto the ladder while Michael held his arms out for Alex. The airman barely touched the ground before he was engulfed in a bone-crushing hug.

“You’re okay,” Michael breathed against his hair. “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

“Alex,” Isobel stared cautiously at Mr. Jones who Max was injecting with what looked like a serum. “What happened?”

Alex shook his head. Michael would not release him for a second. “I thought he was Max. I’m sorry, I – I should’ve been able to tell.”

“You’re exhausted, look at you,” Michael said, taking Alex’s face in his hands. He seemed to forget himself as he kissed Alex’s forehead, his eyes, his cheeks, his nose. Alex stopped him before he mindlessly kissed his lips.

“I’m – I’m okay,” Alex said, though he kept a tight hold on Michael’s jacket. “Really.”

Michael seemed to realize that Alex also wanted to stay close, and he brought an arm around his back, rubbing soothingly. Alex thought he could almost collapse against him and fall asleep now.

“What did he want with me though?” Alex asked.

“He knows how important you are to us,” Michael said.

“All the help you’ve given us,” Max shook his head as he came over. “You’re kind of our protector, Alex. He doesn’t really like that.”

“No kidding,” Alex muttered. Looking at Max now, he could see the difference between them. Max’s eyes were darker, but his concern more genuine, his kindness almost palpable. Alex blushed when he thought of the man he’d had breakfast with. He found himself disappointed that he’d lost a friend he didn’t know he needed.

“I’m here now,” Michael said against his hair, and Alex’s heart hammered painfully in his chest. “He won’t touch you again.”

Alex turned his red face away from Isobel and Max’s eyes. He wished Michael wouldn’t talk to him like that in front of other people.

“I just need some sleep,” Alex shook his head against Michael’s chest. “Please, just… get him off my property,” he nudged with his chin at Mr. Jones. “I don’t want to see him here again.”

Max nodded sympathetically, touched his shoulder, and asked for Isobel’s help dragging Mr. Jones to his car. Meanwhile, Alex was left alone in Michael’s arms.

“Mind if I stay with you?” Michael said, pushing Alex’s bangs back from his eyes. “I won’t be able to function if I know you’re here unprotected.”

“I don’t need protection.”

“Please, Alex.”

Alex searched his face, his hands coming around Michael’s waist and reaching up to touch his back. He couldn’t believe how much he missed Michael’s body against his.

“Can’t you just stay with me for the sake of staying with me?”

Michael’s expression faltered. “You’d let me?”

Alex pressed his forehead against Michael’s shoulder, trying not to think of Mr. Jones’s words. He fights for who he loves… but not to keep anyone. He just doesn’t care enough.

Mr. Jones had been wrong. Alex knew that better than anyone. He held on tighter to Michael, as tightly as he needed to make sure the cowboy didn’t leave him again.

“Just stay with me, Michael. Stay.”

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex one shot #malex fanfic #malex fic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

90 notes · View notes

sheadre · 3 years

Text

Aurora Borealis (Jiang Cheng x Reader) Part 7

Summary: Zhu Ran'En (Reader) the imperial princess, was sent into exile for a crime she did not commit. Meeting Jiang Wanyin, the Yunmeng Jiang sect’s leader was not just a chance meeting. Their fates were written in the stars however, her relations to the royal family will never let her live in peace. How will she manage to save the kingdom while trying to keep Jiang Wanyin away from the snakes of the royal family?

Word count: 2688

Warnings: fluff, romance, blood and violence

Previous chapter - Series Masterlist

While you were staying in the infirmary, Jiang Cheng was working busily on repairing the walls and roofs of the buildings and cleaning the lotus pods from blood. You felt useless as you had to stay put for more than a week with your deep wound but you decided to work on your disguise in the meantime. Once the second part of your plans would come to fruition, you had to be prepared. Over the time you were preparing for your exile even back in the palace, you started learning how to disguise yourself so not even those who knew you closely, would recognize you.

After a week, you were let out of your room but you were forbidden to train or part take in any physical activity. Not that you felt like training with how much your wound hurt. So you spent your days sitting in the gardens or mostly spending your time with Jiang Wanyin in his study, helping him sort out papers. Xiao Pei insisted on accompanying you everywhere until he was called back to the capital. His behavior made you sure of his budding feelings for you. It meant problem for you. Besides, after finishing your mission, you were planning on leaving all of it behind and to never look back.

You tried to find anything that was different about your old friend during the time he spent with you but the only thing you noticed was his jealous looks thrown to Jiang Wanyin. If you would’ve been in a different situation you would’ve laughed your head off at both males glaring at each other whenever they met. Xiao Pei made sure to feel himself at home in Yunmeng which you found impolite however, decided against voicing your concerns. You were sure he was doing it to play onto his rank both carrier vise and birth right vise.

Days passed quietly after everything was repaired and taken care of. You were enjoying a late breakfast out in the gardens with Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. Sun shone down on you as you chewed on a piece of grape. (fav. fruit) were your favorite but by the time they would reach Yunmeng, they would all go bad. Chatting away with Wei Ying was a daily routine by now besides it was hilarious when he was teasing ‘Lan-Er gege’ as he called Hanguang-Jun playfully making the man’s ears go all red.

Quiet footsteps could be heard approaching the three of you and by the look Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian was giving the newcomer, you deducted that it could be no other than Xiao Pei. None of the others liked your friend from the palace which you could understand in some way. What made you feel uneasy was the fact that you knew a different Xiao Pei, one who would get along with your new friends. You turned to your old friend with a gentle smile on your lips and greeted him.

“Good morning, Xiuxiu” at the old pet name, the general’s ears turned red. Back when you were children, you called him Xiuxiu without a care in the world that all the eunuchs and court officials were gasping in shock at how informal you were addressing one of the royal family members. They expected you to address your sister and cousins by etiquette. After a while you did address them as such but little children usually do not understand the reason behind it when adults try to make them follow the rules. Besides, the emperor was always patient and indulgent when it came to young children. When you became an adolescent though, your grandfather called you to spend lunch with him. From then on, he expected you to call him and everyone as the etiquette stated you should. The emperor was kind and righteous, treating people as they should be treated. He only ever failed to see how evil his own son, the Second Prince was though.

“Good morning, your highness, Hanguang-Jun, Mo gongzi” Pei Xiu nodded towards the two men sitting in your company. To your relief, Wei Ying decided to stay with a polite ‘good morning’. You were expecting your friend to politely ask if he could join but instead, a strange silence engulfed the four of you. You looked at Pei Xiu again with furrowed eyebrows but he was smiling at the other two with a strained expression. Was he trying to will them away with his presence or something? It was not a rule that the lower ranked person should leave once a royal appears and wishes to speak to the one surrounded by the lower ranked men.

You couldn’t take the strange atmosphere anymore so you stood up after wiping your mouth with delicate moves and turned to Pei Xiu. Reaching for his hand, you pulled on it tugging him towards the gardens.

“Come, walk with me, Xiuxiu” you smiled before turning to Hanguang-Jun and Wei Ying. “Thank you for keeping me company! We’ll take our leave now.” You didn’t miss Wei Wuxian’s dumbfounded expression even though you quickly turned back to your old friend.

You had no idea why Xiao Pei was so annoying these days. Back in the palace, he never acted like this or maybe you were not around so many attractive men back then for him to have a competition with. Your mind was racing with questions and theories about his behavior when he stopped you by pulling his hand back. You stopped curious and turned to him questioningly. He was handsome but you never saw him other than your relative or friend. His eyes were staring at you with seriousness, his lips set in a thin line as his jaw clenched.

“Ran’En… you’ve changed much” he said.

“Once you leave the capital, the weather takes a complete change” you replied with a wistful smile. “It is a wonder to me whether I will be able to pick up where I left once I arrive to the capital.”

“Do you miss it? The old days?” Xiao Pei asked stepping closer to you.

“I only miss some people, not the past” you replied. “When will you return to the capital?”

“Will you see me off when I depart?” he asked and you could tell that something in the air shifted. It was filled with hope, oh so much hope for a positive answer to the question lingering inside that much more simple question. You swallowed hard, lowering your gaze from the pond to your feet.

“Xiuxiu… please don’t hold onto feelings that could never see to fruition” you said quietly. “We both know that I either die in the palace or disappear once everything is settled.”

“I’d still love you for the rest of eternity, Ran’En” Xiao Pei answered, his voice trembling before his lips pressed a soft kiss to your temple. When you looked up, you only saw his receding form. You felt your heart break for your friend. You know exactly how it feels to love someone who can never be yours. A tear slid down your cheek while you prayed to the Heavens to grant him a happy ending one day.

However, your worries quickly receded once you could be around Jiang Wanyin again. It made you feel guilty for feeling giddy so quickly when A-Cheng was around, forgetting about your sympathy for your old friend’s heartbreak. It felt wrong yet right at the same time.

Ever since, those words were echoing inside your mind making your heart thump hard in your chest. Xiao Pei’s commitment and loyalty to you was on a completely different level if he could say that he’d love you till he dies and even then. Then there was the sect leader who clearly held your heart. Every glance, every rare smile he gave you, it made your heart race. Feeling how much Wanyin cared for you, you were both grateful and heartbroken. Fate had a cruel way of pushing one party towards the other. Doomed love. You wished you could be what Wanyin deserved but you were not. You accepted a curse but fate decided to make your paths cross just to leave both of you brokenhearted in the end.

Jiang Cheng was your soulmate, you were fated to meet him though fate decided to take him away from you. You’ve already given everything you could for a good cause. You could’ve just walked away after you got exiled but you had to turn back and try to fight. Others would try to distance themselves from the one that could never be theirs but you weren’t that type of person. You were a masochist. You kept stealing glances at Jiang Cheng as the two of you worked in his study. It wasn’t usual for a woman let alone a noble woman to handle financials but you weren’t an average noble woman. The little Ran’En, who was still living inside your heart, loved to go against the rules. Learning mathematics was your way of showing everyone that you won’t stay inside and be pretty.

Jiang Cheng’s eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated on his work, rolling up and rolling out parchments, grabbing books and throwing them on the floor once he found what he was looking for. His purple robes loosened around his neck as he was moving about the study busily, revealing his collarbone, giving you a hint of what was under those robes. Everything… Oh, if you’d get the opportunity to give him everything, you would do so. The sect leader must’ve felt your gaze on him as he lifted his face to look at you. You smiled at him with a mischievous grin making him blush deeply.

“What are you staring at me like that, your highness?!” he asked embarrassedly only resulting in that grin on your face stretching wider.

“Aren’t you a little cold, sect leader?” you pointed at his loose robes. If it was humanly possible, his face grew even more red and quickly turned around fixing his robes. You pouted when he turned back and continued. “I was about to ask if you’d like me to warm the room up for you. It is a shame I had no time.”

“Sometimes I really wonder if you’re an imperial princess” he huffed but his blush was still there. “The amount of shameless things that leave your mouth speaks otherwise!” You were about to stand up and go over with a witty come back when a disciple knocked on the door and entered with urgency. A letter was clutched in his hands and he bowed deeply stretching out his arms towards the sect leader.

“This letter came this morning from the Imperial Palace! The messenger said it was for you, sect leader Jiang!” he announced and you could tell that the poor disciple was trembling slightly. After all, it was not an everyday feat that one could hold a letter from the emperor himself. You stood up and took the letter from him, the young boy tried to protest but a flick of your glowing eyes giving him a look made him shut up. Jiang Cheng dismissed him quickly closing the doors behind him while you opened the letter.

Seeing the intricate, sophisticated look of the characters sent a chill down your spine. Oh, how long it has been since you saw a letter written by the emperor’s right hand man. In a way you felt nostalgic and missed some of the days spent in the court, however, mostly, you despised even just the thought of meeting people there. Skimming through the lines, you grinned happily.

“An invitation for me” Jiang Cheng uttered still quite shocked as he was reading the letter over your shoulder. Feeling his soft breath fan over your jawline sent a shiver down your spine, your heart speeding up in your ribcage. You quickly took a few steps away from him as you turned to him plastering a large smile on your face.

“We have a lot to do before we set off though!” you clapped your hands already having new ideas about what you will spend your days with until taking off. You saw his handsome face look at you with confusion which morphed into dread quickly.

“Etiquette lessons?”

“Etiquette lessons” you grinned at him as you nodded eagerly.

Meanwhile at the Imperial Palace:

The sun was shining warmly over the palace, a lonely figure in light armor and a straight, rigid posture was making their way down the main corridor towards the Second Prince’ residency. Servants bowed deeply to the man walking down that path, most of their faces showing fear or hiding it behind indifference. Once the figure made their way to the large doors of the Second Prince’ study, Lian eunuch gasped at the man’s sight and opened the doors quickly while lowering himself into a deep bow.

“General Pei! Second Prince is inside” the eunuch said but the general was already inside. Xiao Pei waited for the doors to close behind him before he turned to Second Prince. The man was tall and imposing, his shoulders wide and posture rigid as he sat by the table taking the finishing touches on a letter. His dark eyebrows were protruding, casting a deep shadow over his black eyes. His high cheekbones made his cheeks look sunken in like he was slightly underweight.

“Dianxia*” Xiao Pei bowed with an emotionless expression. Ever since Ran’En left a year ago, this general changed so much. He no longer was the righteous general Pei, he was the general Pei who was feared by many both inside and outside of the court. The darkness he was surrounded with came from within. Ever since the princess left, the general became a ruthless warrior yet he still wanted to hide that darkness from her. There was this shame he felt when he thought about how the princess would react if she knew all about his actions. “I have come as you asked.”

“How was your stay in Yunmeng?” the prince set the brush down carefully and folding the letter, he stood up. Second Prince strode over to Xiao Pei with a cold smile on his lips, his eyes glinting with maliciousness. The power this man held was frightening, however, what made him truly terrifying was the fact that he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Biting the hand that fed him for many years in the second he got the chance to grab onto more power and authority.

“It was not how I imagined it would be…” the general replied emotionlessly. Xiao Pei knew he was in dangerous territory as he lowered his gaze. “Jiang Wanyin… if your highness wants to proceed forward successfully, your highness should pay attention to him.”

“Ah, newcomers easily steal the spotlight” the prince chuckled quietly. The general’s jaw clenched at the underlying meaning of that sentence. He knew many people in the court already knew about his gentle feelings towards the princess. He cursed himself for being such an obvious fool. “Unfortunately, the little bird you brought to me haven’t sang her melodies to me.”

“She’s faithful to the princess, she’d rather die than to betray Ran’En” Xiao Pei narrowed his eyes as he avoided the prince’s piercing gaze.

“I have my ways with women” Second Prince winked at the general before he walked to the doors. “His highness the emperor already sent a letter to Jiang Wanyin. Rejoice, general, my niece will soon arrive back to the palace.”

Xiao Pei watched the prince leave before he himself followed suite, his handsome face looking like the stormy sea at night. He now knew how hard it was for Ran’En all on her own in this damned place. He needed to figure out how to take the next step without the Second Prince or Ran’En suspecting anything. Once Ran’En arrives to the palace in whatever form, she will be hard to deceive or avoid her attention. She was too smart.

To be continued…

*Dianxia 殿下 = Your Highness used for those who were princes and princesses by birth. It means below the hall.

#fluff #romance #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #jiang cheng #jiang cheng x reader #wei wuxian #lan wangji #reader-insert

14 notes · View notes

fantastic-rambles · 3 years

Text

Black Beast, Silver Blade [3]

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Characters: Akutagawa Gin, Ozaki Kouyou, Dazai Osamu, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Nakahara Chuuya (briefly)

Warnings: Violence/homicide, mild gore, some angst, idk.

Word Count: 3.4k

"If you're his mentor, then isn't it your responsibility to look out for him?" Ozaki's voice was lightly venomous. Gin had never heard her speak in such a tone before, so instead of walking past the older woman's sitting room, she cautiously peered inside. A pot of tea had been set out on the table, but neither Ozaki nor the young man sitting across from her seemed to be touching their cups. Gin's heart skipped a beat as she recognized the heavily bandaged man swathed in black. If Dazai was here, was it somehow related to Ryuu?

"You know I have to stay with Chuuya-kun this time," Dazai retorted, leaning back on the couch. His eyes flicked to the doorway, widening fractionally as he noticed the girl watching them, and then he smiled as if he'd been expecting it all along. "Why don't we let Gin-chan decide, since she'd be the one in danger? Come in, come in."

He flapped his hand at her, but she hesitated on the threshold, looking toward her teacher. Ozaki was frowning slightly as she also turned her head to look at Gin, but she eventually nodded reluctantly, and Gin stepped lightly into the room, stopping when she stood at Ozaki's shoulder. She waited quietly, suppressing her presence as she had been taught, as she fixed her eyes on the youngest Executive of the Port Mafia.

He hadn't changed much since the last time she'd seen him, and she found herself wondering about his bandages once more. He didn't seem like someone who could be injured so badly, given that he'd apparently single-handedly taken down a small gang without lifting a finger, and yet, she never saw him without them.

"Yah, Gin-chan, you're as cute as always!" Dazai exclaimed cheerfully, though the steadiness of his gaze didn't falter. Even so, Gin could feel herself coloring, and she inclined her head slightly in silent thanks.

"Anyways, I was just talking with Kouyou-san about how I need someone to hold A-kun's leash for a little while," Dazai continued. "She thinks--and I agree--that you're not ready for a mission of this level yet, but there's also nobody else who could handle it without losing an arm, at the very least. We're planning a raid on one of our best suppliers because they've been skimming enough off the top that they think they have a chance at taking us on. To teach them the error of their ways and make sure that none of them slip through the cracks, I want to have a team go in from each side and trap them in a pincer attack. Based purely on strength, the vanguards would be Chuuya-kun and A-kun, but I'm worried about both of them losing control during the fight. I'm the only one who can stop Chuuya-kun if that happens, but your brother will probably listen to you, right?"

Gin frowned slightly beneath the mask that she'd taken to wearing. Ryuu had never been particularly inclined to obey anyone else, and these days, the only person whose words he seemed to hang onto were Dazai's. But before she could respond, Ozaki interrupted, jabbing in his direction accusingly.

"Tell her the truth, Dazai. It's not that you think she can control him, but that if he savages her, there's a chance he'll come to his senses. I thought that we all agreed to keep their relationship a secret so they can't be used against each other: if you do this, who knows what rumors will start? Unless you're hoping that Akutagawa-kun will kill Gin to remove that weakness."

"Aiya, aiya, you're too suspicious, Kouyou-san!" Dazai reprimanded the other executive. "Okay, yes, you're right: I think A-kun would recognize Gin-chan and hesitate to raise a hand against her, which means she can push him in the right direction during our raid. But I really don't want her to die! If A-kun actually killed her, or even if she died because of a situation that he got her involved in, he'd probably be of no more use to the Port Mafia!"

Although he spoke jokingly, Gin had to repress a shudder. It wasn't that she was afraid of Ryuu, or of death. But the way Dazai had said he would be "of no more use" so carelessly, as if her brother was simply a tool that would be discarded if it broke, was an icy blade in her heart. Both of them knew that Ryuu's mentor was just this sort of cold and logical man, but it still scared her to think what would happen if the only man her brother respected, the one who had given Ryuu a reason to live, abandoned him. And on top of that, if she was no longer there…

But if she wasn't there and Ryuu turned his fangs on his allies, he would either be killed by the Mafia or blacklisted if he somehow managed to survive.

"I'll do it," she said softly. She couldn't see Ozaki's expression from where she was standing, but she could read her mentor's feelings anyways in the way the older woman tensed. She was happy to know that Ozaki cared for her, but this was something that she couldn't back down from, and she was relieved when Ozaki didn't try to dissuade her. Instead, the executive addressed her next words to her counterpart.

"It has to be tonight?"

"Yup! I've already sent out the call to muster, so we're committed now!" Dazai stood up, brushing off his pants and clearly indicating that the meeting was over. As he passed Gin, he pulled a twist of paper from the pocket of his coat and offered it to her. Knowing that it was probably information regarding where she had to rendezvous, she accepted it silently.

"Tonight, then!" he reminded her brightly before he left. Afterwards, the room was filled with a tense silence, and Gin wondered if she should just leave. But then Ozaki sighed, taking another cup from the tray and filling it with tea before placing it beside her own.

"Sit down, Gin."

Quietly, she obeyed, taking a seat beside the older woman and turning her head to look at Ozaki. She was startled when her mentor suddenly reached out and placed a hand on her cheek, and she could feel the warmth even through the thin cloth.

"Poor child," Ozaki murmured, her expression soft and a little sad. "I wish that I could come with you, but I have a meeting with an important partner tonight. Which Dazai must have known."

Her eyes flashed with momentary irritation, and again, Gin felt a deep appreciation and sympathy for the woman who had been taking care of her. She herself would feel more confident if Ozaki were beside her tonight, but Dazai was always quite deliberate in his actions, despite how frivolous he seemed. If the situation really was as dangerous as he had suggested, then perhaps this was a test for Ryuu, to determine whether he would be able to expend his powers to the fullest without losing control: if Ozaki were there, even just as backup, he could afford to hold back.

But then Ozaki turned away to pick up the teacup, offering it to Gin with steady hands. Hesitantly, Gin unhooked her mask, smoothing it flat in her lap, before accepting the offering, the delicate porcelain rattling slightly on its saucer. She waited for the other woman to raise her own cup, then took a sip of the lukewarm tea. They drank in silence, and when Gin had finished, she reached out to place the cup back on the table and rose to her feet. After she had resettled her mask on her face, she bowed deeply to Ozaki.

"Thank you for your guidance."

"Come back." Ozaki's voice was low and fierce. "Whatever happens, stay alive: you and your brother. And come back to me. I'm not done with you yet."

"Thank you," Gin repeated softly, hoping that she would be able to obey the command. When her mentor said nothing else, she retreated, unfolding the paper that Dazai had given her and memorizing its contents before tearing it to pieces and disposing of it.

She had hoped that she would have the opportunity to speak to her brother before the raid, but he hadn't come home for dinner. So now she was elbowing her way through the foot soldiers--drawing more than one curious glance--and making her way to the front of the lines. One man tried to waylay her, but he immediately let go of her arm when she slashed her knife at him, leaving the faintest trail of blood across his throat. After that, she was given enough of a berth to let her slide through the crowd, preceded by a low murmur. Thus, when she finally emerged, both Dazai and Ryuu were waiting for her, and Ryuu's eyes widened with shock and recognition.

"You--" he took a step forward, but his movement was arrested by Dazai's arm across his chest.

"Akutagawa, this is Gin, one of Kouyou's subordinates. I've borrowed him to reinforce this side since I need to be with Chuuya-kun. Gin, I'm sure that you've heard of Akutagawa? I hope that the two of you can get along," Dazai introduced Gin blandly. Gin inclined her head slightly in silent greeting while Ryuu just continued to stare at her. Finally, he turned away.

"I don't need his support. He'll just get in the way," Ryuu retorted, sliding his hands into his pockets. Grinning, Dazai slapped him on the shoulder.

"Well, if he does, I'd rather you don't kill him. Kouyou would be upset with me." Apparently satisfied that Ryuu wasn't going to make a scene, Dazai sauntered away while Gin advanced until she was standing just behind her brother.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed. Glancing over her shoulder at the assembled men and women, Gin was satisfied that they were keeping enough of a respectful distance that the siblings could speak quietly together without being overheard.

"Dazai-san asked me to come. I agreed," she replied calmly. "He thought that it would be a good test of my progress without putting me in serious danger since you'd be here. And I think that he's concerned that I won't be able to kill actual people."

She lied smoothly, having rehearsed it in her head for hours as she'd waited for Ryuu. She hated having to lie to him, but she had quickly come to the conclusion that it was better than the alternative. The truth would only hurt him, knowing that the man who he respected so dearly doubted his ability, and her story was plausible enough. It might even be true: Dazai was someone who always saw several moves ahead and rarely did anything for simply one reason.

"It's fine if you can't."

"This is my choice."

Before Ryuu could continue to argue, his walkie-talkie squawked, and he turned to face the assembled forces, raising a hand.

"Five minutes."

As he turned back around, he caught sight of Gin's raised eyebrow and explained, "They'd get in my way."

Then his cloak warped, darting forward in dark blades to slice apart the heavy steel doors and send them crashing to the ground in pieces. Before the dust had settled, he sprang forward, and Gin followed at his heels. As the sound of gunfire echoed in her ears, she sprang off to the side, her eyes picking out features in the gritty haze: piles of shipping containers, a narrow walkway, frequent muzzle flashes. Then the crash of metal, screams, the bitter copper tang of blood.

Leaving Ryuu to his work, she ran silently along the wall of the warehouse, scanning her surroundings for a way up. He could handle the forces on the floor, but anyone on the walkway would be out of his reach, so she couldn't leave them be. If his men were five minutes behind him, there wouldn't be a need for her to be by his side until they caught up, so until then, she could act on her own to keep him safe.

When a flimsy aluminum ladder materialized in front of her, she quickly climbed up, peering over the top. But none of the men were looking at her, as they were focused on the carnage below them, so she crawled over the edge, staying low as she snuck up on the closest of them. Truthfully, though, she needn't have bothered: the man was screaming curses as his machine gun chattered away, and he only became aware of her presence in the moment that her left hand wrapped over his mouth and her right hand drew her knife across his throat. Instantly, she released him, and he fell to his knees, his hands reaching up to try to staunch the flow of his blood as she silently cursed herself for not cutting deeply enough to make a clean kill.

But he would die soon enough. Leaving him where he was, she ghosted up to the next shooter, her left hand gripping her right wrist tightly to try to stop its tremors. Something must have alerted her target, though, because he suddenly spun toward her, and she had a brief, terrifying moment of staring down the barrel of his gun before she ducked and rolled forward, slamming into his legs and knocking him into his companion, sending both of them sprawling to the ground. Gin, on the other hand, had risen to her knees and lunged forward, planting her weapon squarely in the man's throat and ripping it sideways, releasing a fountain of blood that drenched her and made her shudder. Her other assailant was struggling to untangle his own gun, giving her precious few seconds to reach up and slam the heel of her hand into his nose, driving the nasal bone into the brain.

And then a concussive force slammed against her left shoulder. Gasping, she retreated as a trail of bullets followed her, clinking against the metal with more than a few burning through her flesh. And then a louder roar echoed from behind her, making her flinch and drop to the ground as feet pounded by her.

"Are you alright, sir?" A hand landed on her injured shoulder, and she jerked away from the touch as the reinforcements rushed down the walkway to clean up the rest of the smugglers. Glancing over the edge, she saw the troops that Ryuu had held back surging up the warehouse in a black wave toward a figure of wild and concentrated violence. The other side of the warehouse was apparently in the process of being flattened, with dented and distorted shipping containers flying through the air. Waving off the man's concern, she stood on shaky legs, gripping the railing with her good hand and swinging over the edge, dropping onto a pile of containers, and rolling forward to decrease the impact. Her right leg cried out in pain as it was jolted, and she bit the inside of her cheek to avoid crying out herself as she looked down at it.

There didn't seem to be anything wrong with it, other than two holes that bled freely. There wasn't time to treat it properly, not if she was going to catch up to Ryuu, so she used her knife to cut off her left sleeve, wrapping it tightly around her leg to put pressure on the wounds and slow the bleeding. Then she stumbled forward, using the containers as an upper road that kept her out of the potential crossfire as she approached the maelstrom of cloth.

She paused just outside of his range, dropping down to solid ground with a wince. As she peered around the edge of the container, her heart ached to see Ryuu staggering, covered in blood, as Rashoumon whipped around him, devouring bodies with a ravenous hunger. The screams echoed in her ears even though she'd been half-deafened by the machine gun fire on the walkway, before they were abruptly silenced. But at least it was almost over: the rattling of gunfire was more sporadic now, some of their enemies throwing aside weapons and raising their arms in surrender.

And then she saw one pair of dark jaws flying towards a man kneeling on the ground. Without thinking, she ran forward, throwing herself between the two of them. With unexpected force, the beast slammed into her, its momentum driving her into the side of another storage container and making her cough and struggle to draw breath as the air was driven out of her lungs.

"Ryuu," she gasped. She didn't know if he heard her as sharp teeth pricked at her sides, and she castigated herself mentally: the man wasn't even one of theirs, but an enemy. What did it matter if he died? That was the point of this raid, after all. And yet, striking down someone who had lost the will to fight... how could she allow it?

Too soft, a voice whispered in her head. The iron jaws released her before floating back to Ryuu's side, leaving her to slide down the corrugated steel, still fighting to breathe. A sharp pain stabbed her side as she inhaled shallowly, fighting the urge to cough that would undoubtedly make it worse. Foolish, weak, still hiding behind your brother.

An ominous-looking ball flew toward her, but she just stared at it, unable to move. It crashed into the container, crumpling it inwards as easily as if it were a tin can, and she gazed at the enormous hole beside her with wide-eyed surprise.

"Alright, alright, good job everyone!"

A familiar voice rang out in the silence that was settling over the warehouse, and Gin couldn't help breathing a sigh of relief that made her wince. Glancing over, she saw Dazai standing nearby, his hand wrapped around a shorter man's wrist: Nakahara Chuuya, she guessed. Nakahara's skin was covered with dark marks that were retreating from their point of contact in a slow crawl that made her uneasy. Ryuu stood a short distance away from them, his coat no longer a mass of blades, but shining with a dampness that made it glisten ominously. But he remained in control of himself and his ability: a small blessing.

Gingerly, Gin rose to her own feet, using the remains of the container to support herself. The movement seemed to capture Dazai's attention, and he released Nakahara, who fell to the ground in a limp, boneless collapse that suggested he was unconscious. Before she realized it, the Executive was standing beside her, his hand under her elbow steadying her. Ryuu was only a few steps behind him.

"Akutagawa, take Gin to the medics, will you? And then you'll wait to get patched up too. I'll take care of the rest here."

"But Dazai-san--"

"That's an order, Akutagawa. Both of you did well."

Ryuu closed his mouth and bent over slightly to wrap his arm around her shoulders. Bands of soft, dark cloth curled around her torso so that she was barely standing, her weight almost entirely supported by her brother.

"Thank you, Ryuu," Gin whispered. But he just shook his head in response, guiding her away from Dazai and the carnage. Now that the fighting was over, he didn't seem to be in much better shape than she was: he was breathing heavily, and not all of the blood that drenched his cloak seemed to be the enemy's. But there was a fierce gleam in his eye as they walked towards the exit, his weakness concealed by a strong sense of pride that kept every step firm. For Gin, though, it was all that she could do to not lean against him, to reassure herself that he was really there. But Dazai had gone to so much trouble to keep their relationship a secret, to give Ryuu excuses for his behavior. She couldn't risk it all for a moment of self-indulgence: that could wait until they returned home together.

As they walked together, Gin wondered again about the purpose of this exercise. It hadn't seemed like Ryuu had lost control: was it intended as a test for her, after all? Or did her brother simply have a better grasp of his ability than his mentor expected?

And then she smiled slightly, her expression hidden by her mask. They were both badly injured, but they'd survived. That was all that mattered.

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #fanfic #fan fic #akutagawa gin #gin akutagawa #ozaki kouyou #kouyou ozaki #Dazai Osamu #OSAMU DAZAI #akutagawa ryuunosuke #ryuunosuke akutagawa #Nakahara Chuuya #chuuya nakahara #mine

6 notes · View notes

broadwayandnetflix · 4 years

Text

Domesticity - Richie Tozier x Reader

Warnings: Language (it’s IT)

Theme: Fluff, Angst

Summary: After getting the call from Mike, you and Richie head down to Derry twenty-seven years later. Only this time the two of you are married and have a kid.

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: I wrote this fic for @80s90steen so I sure hope that this request does you justice! I wrote this with a small imagine in mind and am quite pleased with how this turned out.

A dopey grin firmly planted on your lips, you swayed around your shared apartment with a glass of over-filled red wine in one hand, and a Bluetooth speaker in the other.

Finally, for the first time in weeks, you had some free time, and how did you choose to spend it?

Getting absolutely wasted on boxed wine, while listening to Rihanna’s latest album, wearing your husband’s oversized t-shirt and sweats.

Being a temporary single parent had started to take its toll on you, with your husband being on his comedy tour for the past couple of months. You had assumed that you could keep it together, maintaining your job, enrolling Mason in daycare, and safely keeping your sanity in check.

Except one thing lead to another, and you found yourself crying at your neighbor, Abigail’s door asking her if she could watch your son for the night. Her eyes had glossed over with concern and sympathy while she gladly accepted, leading your son into her house to indulge in a sleepover with her own kids.

So here you were home alone and drunk off your ass on boxed wine, while reruns of Friends played in the background. It was pure bliss.

That was until you got a phone call, glancing towards the television’s digital clock you assumed that it would be Richie. The two of you often checked up on each other after he finished a show, updating each other on either his venues or how Mason was doing.

Except it wasn’t from Richie to your disappointment, yet from a caller ID in Maine. A frown tugging at your lips, you pressed accept, letting the click of the call to go through.

“Y/N?” a voice asked with a familiarity clinging to it that you couldn’t quite place. “It’s Mike.”

Time seemed to stop all at once, Mike’s voice starting to slur and jumble within your conscious, your wine glass now escaping your grasp and smashing to the floor.

Not even noticing Richie slip into the house, bag dropping to the ground, and rushing to wrap his arms around you.

“Shhh, you’re okay, okay?” he cooed quickly, reaching down to pick up your phone and putting it to his ear.

“Mike, it’s Richie, yeah I know this is her phone. Listen, I’ll explain later, yeah, thanks, see ya.” Richie explains quickly into your phone, eyes never leaving your figure while he massaged circles soothingly on your back.

“I forgot,” you whispered shakingly as everything came crashing back.

Richie looking down at you with an expression that you couldn’t quite decipher only nodded in response to your comment before helping you up.

“What does he want, Rich?” you ask quietly already full well knowing the answer.

“He’s back Y/N, Mike never seemed to leave Derry and with reports popping up and the calendar’s lining up. I think we all forgot, except for Mike,” he informs his voice wavering and shoulders sagging immensely.

It had been so long since the two of you had seen each other, and you had dreamed of the day that he’d come back home. Except you didn’t quite see it panning out to be like this.

“Fuck, Richie, it’s been way too long.” you murmur before wrapping yourself tightly into his arms.

“I know, babe, fuck, I’ve missed you so much.”

His taller figure entangling itself with your smaller frame, as he kisses the top of your head, pulling you closer to him.

“Where’s Mason?” it starts off as a faded question until he pulls himself away from you, looking around your living room.

“At Abigail’s,” you reply, eyeing the front door and then back towards him.

His eyes widen in confusion. “I needed some time off, it’s not easy without you here,” you admit.

His gaze softening, mouth gaping open to reply before you cut him off with a quick kiss, pulling away just as quickly.

“We leave when exactly?” you ask quietly.

“Tomorrow night,” he clears his throat, “I called my parents so they can look after Mason for us.”

You simply nod before pulling him back into your arms, the two of you trying to savor the moment as long as you possibly could.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you! Yes, I did, yes I did!” Richie’s voice exclaims, as he playfully lifts your son up into the air. Mason giggling at the endeavor, flashing his father a big tooth-less grin.

Moments like these almost made you forget how shitty this whole situation was, as the three of you endured the eight-hour drive to your hometown.

Of course, driving with a two-year-old had its ups and downs, but for the current moment, Mason was quite the angel. (Knock on wood)

You could tell that Richie had been harboring a sense of guilt from his absence in the family. The regret and insecurities that he so desperately tried to hide from you practically hung around him like a cloak. No matter what you said to change his mind wasn’t going to cut it, his stubborn personality had never left him since childhood.

You gripped the steering wheel and refocused your gaze on the road, blocking out the random 90’s songs in the background and your husband’s whispers and coddles. Ultimately focusing on how this whole phenomenon started up again, how you and Richie managed to tangle up into each other’s lives again.

2011, New York City

How you ended up in a comedy bar in Manhattan past eleven was beyond you. You and a couple of your friends had initially planned to spend the night at a new restaurant that had just opened up. Instead, half tipsy, and giddy the four of you had stumbled into a nearby comedy club.

You surprisingly were soberer than most as you were the single one of the bunch. No guy ever seems to meet your expectations or fulfill what you had longed to find for so long. All of your friends wedded and knocked up with litters of little ones that often became a recurring subject during your times together.

Caroline, one of your closest friends, led the lot of you into a row of empty chairs, as you all plopped yourselves down. At the current moment, you were watching a woman who seemed to be finishing her act. Her stand up appeared to be funny, but you had entered too late to really get any gist of her persona.

A quick vibrate of your phone got your attention as you quickly looked down, not noticing the next performer that would take the stand.

“Hi, I’m Richie Tozier-“you looked up, not even paying attention to the words that were spilling out of his mouth.

All you could focus on was him. The boy, (or now man you guess) that you had spent practically your entire adolescence crushing on. The same boy who would make the shittiest jokes and tease you mercilessly. The boy who made your heart twirl and whirl, the boy who would sneak you back into the hidden shed and kiss you until you couldn’t breathe. Or the boy that you left behind for college, the boy who broke your heart with his sweet words and gentle goodbyes.

You forgot, you genuinely forgot him, and you couldn’t breathe, he was right there in front of you. Of course, he became a comedian, of fucking course he did, which prompted you to giggle like a fool.

“What’s so funny?” Georgia smirks as she leans over to get a better look at you.

“Nothing,” you reply back nonchalantly, trying to hide the growing grin upon your expression.

After the show finished and your friends were calling cabs home something inside you made you stay put. It didn’t take long for him to make an appearance; his figure now slumped over a barstool drinking some exotic drink.

You couldn’t stop yourself from trailing over to him, trying to keep a straight face. A god damn fool, that’s what you were, but just like back then, he looked so tempting.

“Is this seat taken?” you ask quietly, he shook his head his gaze not seeming to leave his glass. A sigh escapes your lips, you wave a bartender over asking for a glass of wine.

The glass sliding across the countertop seeming to gather his attention, his eyes now on you. They squint at first, taking you all in. He shakes his head in disbelief, looking back down before looking back up again. You can’t help but grin at his little display of remembrance, he was just as you left him if you excuse the grown part.

“Y/L/N?” he whispers in awe, eyes widening once you nod. “You just saw that? Holy fucking shit, is that really you? You look fucking gorgeous, I don’t even-“He practically shouts instantly, gaining the attention of everyone else left within the joint.

You chuckle softly, smiling ever so brightly towards his antics, looking down briefly to hide your blush.

“Hey, Rich,” you whisper softly before leaning forward to wrap your arms around him. “We’ve got some catching up to do.”

Present Day, 2016

“Whatcha thinking about?” Richie asks, breaking you of your thoughts.

You glance over at him quickly to see Mason fast asleep within his car seat, and Richie, map in hand, peering over at you.

“Us.” you murmur with a faraway smile.

“Uh oh,” he teases, raising his eyes brows towards you suggestively.

“Oh, stop!” you giggle before looking back down at your maps app on your phone. Derry getting closer and closer, now only two hours away.

“You know what I just realized?” Richie mentions abruptly, map down on his lap and hands nervously playing with his seatbelt.

You hum in acknowledgment for him to continue.

“That none of the others know that we got married and have a kid,” he quips. “I mean, that’s like news, right?”

You guffaw at the realization and glance in your mirror to see your son still curled up sleeping soundly.

This was going to be interesting.

Derry, Maine 2016

After a slight compromise between the two of you, you had decided to bring Mason with you to the restaurant. Only for a short amount of time so you could safely reach the Tozier’s house and get a reasonable hour of sleep.

You stood outside the restaurant with Mason in Richie’s arms, and a bag full of his necessities within yours.

How the hell were you going to introduce a two-year-old to the raunchiest group of people that you know?

“Babe, we’ve been through much worse. I’m pretty sure we can handle the Loser’s Club.” Richie teases before nudging you in the side affectionately, walking forward to the door to let the night fully begin.

Despite your insanely early arrival, you guys surprisingly weren’t the first ones there. Mike occupying the reserved table set out for you, instantly standing up to greet you.

You could see the realization hit him slowly at first and then all at once. His gaze flickering between you and Richie and then dead centering on Mason. A small smile growing by the second once he understood.

“Don’t tell me that you two actually stuck it out together?!” Mike exclaims in realization. “I mean holy shit, Tozier really got the girl.” he murmurs with disbelief.

“What you don’t think I’ve got the charm? I certainly captured Y/N’s attention when we’re kids, hell, she was practically drooling over me.” he teases with a playful glint in his eyes, only to have it wiped away after a quick swipe to the side.

“Ow!”

“Nah, he’s just the same old same old, Mike, he’s just surprisingly a good father.” you stare while you place your stuff down before taking Mason from Richie’s arms.

“She says as she proceeds to take the child out of my arms,” he smirks, mouthing something to Mike that you couldn’t decipher.

“Oh yeah, how rude am I? I completely forgot to introduce you guys,” you stammer turn towards Mike. “This is our son Mason, he just turned two a couple weeks ago actually.”

“I figured,” he glimmers with a newfound sense of adoration towards Mason, “He really does look just like you guys, it’s crazy how time flies.”

Mason now scooped up within your arms, eyes big as saucers towards Mike. His whole body softening at the sight of him, bending down to Mason’s level to make funny faces.

Your heart practically melting at the scene, maybe this night wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Oh no, don’t tell me Y/L/N got knocked up!” An all too familiar voice rings out from behind you.

You spoke too soon.

Eddie Kasprack. Rivaling your husband, easily one of the biggest clowns you have ever met. You can’t even fight the grin that is beaming upon your expression, which is practically mirroring his. That is until he completely drops his attention down towards your son.

“Okay, like babies are not my thing, but if this isn’t the cutest little guy in the whole world.” He cooed sweetly, instantly warming your heart.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, you heard it here first guys,” Richie announces further, causing Eddie’s eyes to widen even more than you thought they could.

“Who invited this asshole-oh shit? I can’t curse in front of the child,” Eddie blurts out, causing both of you and Richie to crack up instantly.

“Wait, am I seeing this correctly?” his gaze flickering back and forth between the three of you. “Are you two like a thing, and is this like your thing?” Eddie asks, deadpanning at the realization. “Mike, oh hey Mike, did you know about this?” his speech going like thirty miles a minute.

“Like three minutes before you did,”

“Damn.” he mouths silently.

“How are you still a train wreck, you had like twenty-seven years to mature?” Richie blurts out, gathering the focus of everyone in the group.

“Okay, if it weren’t for your child like an inch in front of us, it would over for you bucko,” Eddie taunts before focusing on something behind you.

“This is going to be such a long night, and I literally just got here.” Beverly groans as she walks into the room, Ben trailing at her heels.

After everyone got situated, including a very late Bill, the rhythm of the dinner began to flow very nicely. Of course, your little family being one of the main topic’s it was still nice getting to catch up.

Getting intel on how everyone’s lives turned out, learning about how Bill became a bestselling author, Beverly’s and Eddie’s side businesses, and how Ben became an architect. Each profession seeming to fit each person’s persona like a puzzle piece, something that seemed just right for each one.

It was remarkable at how calm your child could be at times; Mason was, if anything, one of the most low maintenance toddlers that you had ever met. That didn’t escape the whole ‘terrible two’s’ facade that you most definitely endured, which definitely was not fun. The patience, however, that the other’s gave you and Richie when needed with Mason was so emotionally reassuring.

In fact, Mason practically brought a whole different side to everyone. When your son babbled on with incoherent sentences during dinner, Eddie would be quick to join in and converse with him. When your son needed a diaper change, Beverly quickly swept in without much thought and offered. Or when you feared slightly that your son would get emotional, Ben played little games to distract him across the table.

The whole ordeal made you two ridiculously happy, you’d often find Richie’s hand intertwining with yours under the table at certain times. More often than not, you’d catch him glancing down at you with a loving smile.

You and Richie listening intently to each story that was shared between the lot of you, and how everyone had gotten hitched. You could tell that not everyone was entirely pleased with their spouses, but after a few glasses of wine, more stories had been shared.

“So when exactly did you two tie the knot?” Bill asks curiously from across the table as he bites into a piece of chicken.

Richie taking a drink of his water, pausing to look over at you, practically beaming at the memory.

“Well, this one found me one night in a comedy bar in like 2011 was it?” you nodded, “Yeah, I’d say we hit it off pretty quickly, but we didn’t get married until two years later,” he remarks.

“He definitely proposed in the worst way possible, dumbass put the ring in a cake, and I practically choked on it,” you add in quickly with a smirk.

“I thought it was romantic! I didn’t know you were going to almost swallow it!” Richie argues back just as fast.

“I really guess nothing has changed, Tozier didn’t have charm back then, and he most certainly doesn’t have it now.” Eddie comments, earning a collective chuckle from the group, including you.

“Wow, I guess I’ll see myself out. My own wife against me, Y/N, I expected more from you.” Richie feigns, smiling widely when he causes you to break out in a fit of giggles.

“You guys might be absolute dorks, but you do know how to create absolutely adorable children,” Beverly admits in response to your son as he plays with the Cheerios that you had brought for him.

“Why thank you,” you gleam in response, your gaze never leaving your son. “I do think; however, we should get going soon; it is past this little guy’s bedtime,” you admit.

Richie nods quickly in agreement, “Listen, he may seem cute now, but you guys do not want to deal with him when he’s sleepy.” he murmurs, followed by an exhausted look for added effect.

After a collective goodbye from the group that you’d meet up with later tonight at the townhouse, the three of you head out towards Richie’s parent’s house.

Richie now driving as you sit with Mason on the passenger side, not ready to part with him just yet. This whole trip to Derry and the underlying meanings of while you were all here, it pained you to leave your son somewhere you couldn’t see him.

So much so that you had become a little bit of emotional mess on the ride there, hugging your son just a little bit too tightly.

“I love you, babe, but please don’t suffocate our child to death.” Richie teases, causing you yelp loosening your hold on Mason.

“I’m glad though that everyone was so understanding towards Mason,” Richie hums, turning on his turn single before pulling into the development. “I think we made the smart decision in taking him here. They’d be too distracted by our child,” he states quietly.

Nodding in agreement, you wordlessly hand your son’s bag of necessities over to him. His eyes never leaving yours, softening at the sight of seeing you upset.

The two of you saying your goodbye’s to your son for the time being, and thanking Richie’s parents profusely. You and Richie making your way back to the car, Richie sliding into the driver’s side and you into the passenger’s once more.

The silence stretches out between the two of you, the only noise filling the car is the air conditioner and staticky music. You let yourself lay your head on Richie’s shoulder, tears streaming down your cheeks. His arms enveloping around yours, pulling you closer to him, whispering reassuring comments in your ear.

“We’ll get through this love, we always do.” a quick kiss to the forward he stays there until you pull away.

“Okay.” you sniffle as the two of you drive off in sight of a long journey ahead of you.

#@broadwayandnetflix #2019 #richie tozier #richie toizer x reader #richie tozier x you #it 2019 #it chapter 2 #bill hader #angst #fluff #it movie #it movie imagine #IT #IT imagine

452 notes · View notes

dreamlover31 · 3 years

Text

Love Will Find a Way: Chapter 26

The warm, sweet taste of caramel trickled down her throat from the Styrofoam mug locked between her lips; the ever-present odor of coffee grounds and the chatter of local patrons filtered throughout the small enclosure.

The flaky croissant laid aimlessly on top of the plate; her fingers picking at it like you would a scab that was trying to heal, she sat at a table that was parked towards the back; her eyes surveyed the surroundings and slowly made their way back to the window, where she watched bystanders pass her by without a second glance.

At that moment, she spotted an all too familiar face, the tall medium build man who attended her baby shower extended a small wave; to which she reciprocated. Her dark brown iris’ traced his movements, from when he entered the establishment to the point where he stood in front of her, after an exchange of nervous smiles, Sean pulled out the chair and sat down.

“Hey”

“Hope you didn’t wait too long”

“No…thanks”

“Listen, I’m glad you called…for a minute there I was worried that you’d written me off completely”

“No…I’ve been meaning to call, it’s just that…well things have been a little hectic lately”

“Hey, I get it. So, is Rafael going to be joining us?”

“Sorry, but he’s working on a pretty big case now…it takes up a lot of his time…” Alexa’s face saddened as she lost eye contact with Sean, the change in her demeanor caused a look of concern on Sean’s face; his hand slid across the table and landed on top of hers in a comforting gesture. Immediately, their eyes regained contact.

“Is everything ok? I mean, I know it’s none of my business but…”

“No, it’s ok…I can’t keep things bottled up, can I?”

Sean folded his arms on top of the table as he gave Alexa a reassuring nod, she took a moment to collect her thoughts, from there; the buildup of loneliness and frustration faltered with her telling’s of how Rafael seemed to focus on his job more than the responsibilities at home. The continuation of her account of events caused a few tears to form, at one point, she turned away from Sean and blinked to stop them from streaming down her cheeks; the same hand that held hers earlier made a place on Alexa’s shoulder in another gesture of comfort and sympathy.

“Hey…hey, it’s going to be ok”

“I mean, I know I should be more patient with him. His job asks a lot of him, but at the same time…I feel like I’m going through this pregnancy by myself”

Even though she wasn’t a part of his life anymore, there was something inside Sean that still cared for her, and it pained him dearly to see this strong, courageous woman reduced to a weeping mess. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, an idea formed in his head.

“You know, Central Park’s not too far from here…maybe we could go for a walk, a little fresh air might do you some good”

Alexa nodded in agreement at his suggestion, one of the baristas walked by their table just as they were getting ready to leave, Sean signaled to the young woman and asked if she could fix a to go bag for the tea and croissant that Alexa had yet to finish.

The woman informed him that she’d be back with his request shortly, as soon as it was recieved, the contents of her meal were placed inside. Outside of the coffee shop, Sean whistled for a cab and instantly one drove up in front of them, upon entering the vehicle, instructions were given to the cabbie to deliver them to Central Park, a good 20 minutes passed just as they reached one of its prominent entrances.

Once he received his tip, Sean headed out first, then went around to the other passenger side door where he carefully lifted Alexa from the cab; the yellow vehicle drove off the moment they reached the sidewalk. During their stroll through the vast landscape with its picturesque scenery, a newfound sense of calmness and wellbeing overtook Alexa, then as if a spark had been lit; she began to converse with Sean about his new life, as well as his relationship with Sonny’s cousin.

Essentially, he became an open book with her, as he shared stories of the intimate and special occasions they’ve enjoyed as a couple; Alexa was reminiscent of the many times that Rafael treated her to romantic dinners or displayed small tokens of affection.

Their light-hearted laughs echoed along the trail, for the first time in a while, she felt the blissful tenderness associated with having someone to share her innermost thoughts and provide comfort/ reassurance. As the hours ticked away, daylight began to fade against the Manhattan skyline, Alexa noticed the dwindling sunlight and quickly glanced down at her watch, then gasped at the lateness of the hour.

“Oh, my god, I better get going, Rafael could be home any minute”

“Alright, I get you a cab”

The two of them returned to the entrance where they originally entered, Sean waved down an oncoming cab, after she was seated; Alexa relayed to the cabbie her intended destination. Before it could depart, Sean looked over at her, he expressed how much he enjoyed their time together and reiterated that he was always willing to lend a sympathetic ear; a smile of appreciation graced her face, then she offered that they should set up another time to meet.

“Yeah, that sounds great”

“Alright, I’ll call you with the details”

The cab drove away from the curb as Alexa and Sean waved good bye to each other, from that day forward, the former lovers became practically joined at the hip. Whenever Rafael worked late, Alexa invited Sean for days where they could sample some of the exotic cuisines at the numerous restaurants in Manhattan, enjoy the various theatrical productions on Broadway or gaze at the collection of art at one of the museums.

On one of the nights that she was left in the solitude of the brownstone, Alexa took it upon herself to allow Sean to come over, when he arrived; she smiled gleefully then gestured him inside. He scanned over the layout of the two adjoining rooms and became in awe at the overall design, and placement of every piece of furniture.

“Wow, this place is amazing, did you hire an interior decorator?”

Alexa laughed, “No, we did this all ourselves”

“Still, it’s pretty good”

“Wait until you see the upstairs”

Acting like an impromptu tour guide, she leads Sean up the stairs, the bathrooms and master bedroom were up to par in the sense that they were styled in a normal fashion, but as Alexa put it, the true masterpiece was the nursery.

The light switch flipped on to showcase the oak finished dresser that sat next to the doorway, the changing table planted at the far corner, the antique rocking chair that stood by the window and the crib; with the same oak finish as the dresser, propped up against the wall on the right side of the room. The walls were covered in a coat of light purple and soft blue palettes, Alexa sauntered over to the crib where her fingers grazed along its wooden texture, a soft smile stretched across her face while memories of the day that she and Rafael built the frame of the bed that their daughter would lay came into fruition.

A small toolbox sat beside him as they held up one of the bars, with a small screwdriver in hand, every piece was inserted and screwed into the right slot; while at the same time, his body shifted from one position to another; his posterior became an immediate source of attention to the mother to be, Alexa ogled at him like a horny teenager.

The event that followed the completion of their daughter’s crib involved a lot of tender kisses and the sensuous, passionate exploration of their bodies. Gradually, her mind made it back to the present, she finished showing Sean around before they retired to the living room; they sat on opposite ends of the couch but remained at a close distance.

“I got to tell Lex, you have a good thing going here”

“I know…hey, listen…I want to thank you for everything, I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you and I appreciate you letting me bitch about my problems”

Sean chuckled, “It’s no trouble believe me, I know this isn’t easy for you…but I’m always here if you need me”

“You know it’s funny, I can’t even remember the last time Rafael and I sat down and talked about anything…or even the last time we held each other, every time he comes home…he just passes out on the bed”

The look of sadness that haunted her that day at the coffee shop returned, but Sean moved in and cupped his finger under her chin, he tilted Alexa’s head so that it was facing his.

“Things are going to get better, I promise”

The kindness and sincerity of his words allowed a bright smile to form on Alexa’s face, then as if her body had a mind of its own, her arms wrapped around Sean in a hug. The warmth of another person’s body caused a sensation of closeness and security, as they slowly released from their embrace, Alexa met Sean eyes.

The energy that was coming from his dark blue orbs pulled her into a deep trance, all that she felt was the attentiveness and warm hearted tenderness that had long been forgotten, suddenly, her lips ghosted his. In a split second, Alexa pressed her soft, gentle lips on to Sean’s; an image of Rafael flashed through her closed eyelids and at that moment, Alexa pushed herself away from him.

“Oh, my god, what am I doing?”

“I’m sorry…I should have…”

“No, I’m the one that needs to apologize…you’ve been really nice to me and I’m feeling very vulnerable right now…her voice trailed off, but right then, an overwhelming sense of dread washed over her as a small shiver ran down her spine; Alexa felt like she was being watched. She turned to face the entryway of the living room where a tall figure wearing a three-piece suit and carrying a briefcase stood, the expression on her face was one of pure horror when it became apparent that it was Rafael. The look in his eyes culminated into one of pain and murderous rage.

“Rafi!”

“What the hell is this?!”

Alexa and Sean leapt from the couch in a manner that two teenagers would if their parents walked in on them making out, she held up her hands to convey to him that he needed to calm down, meanwhile, Sean positioned himself behind Rafael while Alexa kept the focus of his rage on her.

“I know this looks bad, but right now I need you to take a breath and not do anything stupid”

“Why the hell is Carisi’s cousin’s boyfriend in my living room kissing my pregnant girlfriend?!”

Alexa’s eyes welled up, she struggled to explain to him that this minor discretion was the result of her being overwhelmed with loneliness and despair and that Sean was blameless in all of it, but then he intervened.

“Look, this isn’t her fault…I took advantage of a vulnerable, young pregnant woman…right at that moment, Rafael’s fist connected with Sean’s face, as he fell to the ground; Alexa screamed. In a daze, Sean tried to regain his footing while he was nursing his throbbing jaw, meanwhile, Rafael reestablished eye contact with Alexa, his face contorted into one of pain and hurt.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Nothing has been going on…we’ve just been hanging out…and he was there for me when you couldn’t be. Rafi…please believe me when I tell you that I love you and only you” she cradled his face in her hands, eyes pleading with him to listen and believe her words; but alas, Rafael took his hands into hers and pushed them away. In that same instant, he stormed upstairs and into their bedroom, but not before he slammed the door; tears began to stream down Alexa’s face just as Sean was about to approach her.

“Don’t…just don’t”

It was then that Rafael reappeared with a suitcase in his hand, without so much as a cursory glance, his hand grabbed the doorknob; he was halfway out the door when Alexa begged:

“Please don’t leave, I’m sorry…I’m really sorry”

He said nothing.

“Rafi, please say something…just talk to me”

“I’m sorry…I can’t even look at you…I…I have to go”

The door closed behind him, Alexa broke down and started sobbing, Sean attempted to offer to go after Rafael, but was shut down. He insisted that she shouldn’t be left alone but once again, Alexa didn’t waiver; after Sean’s departure, she crept upstairs and curled up on the bed. Throughout the rest of the night, Alexa cried harder than she ever had in her entire life; her pillow drenched in tears…what have I done?

Tagging: @madpanda75 @laceybellerain @southern-magnolia @tropes-and-tales @itsjustmyfantasyroom @karens-imagined-world @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @madamsnape921 @skittle479

#rafael barba #raul esparza #love will find a way

4 notes · View notes

anika-ann · 4 years

Text

No Apologies Needed - Pt.4

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 2630

Warnings: swearing, mentions of PTSD, Natasha and Sam being children

Summary: In which Steve is moping and pining and his friends are the worst.. possibly the best?

Story Masterlist

═══════▣◎▣═══════

“Call her.”

Steve raised his gaze from the phone spinning in his hand in alarm, only to see the source of the voice standing two steps from him with an amused smile. He stopped the absent motion with his hand and laid the phone next to him on the couch.

It had been several days since the incident at the bar and what followed it – including the medical attention given to the injured woman in the Tower –, but it was still very fresh in his mind. He was not about to admit that in front of Natasha Romanoff though.

“Call who?”

“Don't play dumb, Rogers. It doesn’t suit you,” the redhead huffed, rolling her eyes. Steve just sighed. Of course she knew.

“Why would I call her?” he asked, honestly curious.

There was no single reason to do that. He had selfishly used her as a cover at the bar, he had got her kidnapped and injured, but at least he had apologized profusely, made sure her injuries had been treated and they had parted ways with an offer for her to contact the Tower if she found herself in any trouble.

Not one reason to call her, no matter how much of space she had been occupying in his head.

“To ask her out, naturally.“

Well.

Naturally, Natasha would pick up on that too. So what, maybe there was more than just one reason why he was thinking about the woman and the character of some thoughts was very inappropriate given the trouble he had caused – just another thing to discourage him from making the call. Steve was almost ashamed of thinking about kissing her again to be honest.

“I'm not gonna do that,” he stated rather calmly, sure of the exclamation. He wouldn’t say he didn’t want to, because he didn’t like lying. He wouldn’t text her or call her, because he had to leave her alone. She deserved a peace of mind after what she had been through.

“Um, yes, you are.”

“I can’t do that,” he rephrased, staring into Natasha’s eyes with determination. He couldn’t and he wouldn’t.

“Wrong. You have to do that. You were making googly eyes at her. So was she.”

“I got her kidnapped!” he blurted out hastily, straightening in the seat.

“So? You handled one crisis together already.”

“Natasha-“

“And I didn't hear any complaints about the kiss either,” she noted with a knowing grin and Steve internally groaned, feeling the heat of a blush creeping up his neck. Now she hit the nail on the head precisely and Steve actually was ashamed.

“That's— that's not relevant!

“That good, huh?”

“Romanoff!”

“Grow a pair and call her, she was cute,” the spy invited him with a friendly smile, just like hundred’s times before when she had been trying to set him up with someone. Steve had thought there were over that.

Apparently not.

“I'm not calling her.”

Natasha shrugged and held out her hand. “Alright, then I will.“

“I swear to God, Natasha-“

Her eyes left his for a second and then she sighed, raising her hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay. I won't. And if you really don't wanna talk about it, I'll drop it.”

Steve blinked in surprise. Since when she was giving up so easily? There had to be a catch… except Steve couldn’t quite see it.

“Um… really?”

She shrugged again. “Yes. Really. Not a single word. It’s none of my business.”

“Thanks,” he murmured, a bit taken aback by the kindness and sympathy in her voice. She smiled at him warmly and he allowed himself to sink back into the couch, slowly relaxing. She patted his knee.

“You're welcome, Steve.”

Then she looked up again, watching something behind Steve’s back. It was when he finally noticed someone else had entered the room, now standing few feet behind him. Steve quickly spun to face the intruder, only to meet Sam Wilson’s grin and raised eyebrow.

“So… have you called her yet?”

═══════▣◎▣═══════

It was a movie night. A very tiring movie night which Steve was hoping to skip, but the others wouldn’t let him.

They all gathered in the common room – where Steve found his phone he had been missing ever since the harassment time starring Natasha and Sam –, putting on the first episode of some TV series about a vigilante archer, because apparently it had been Clint’s turn to pick a movie.

Honestly, Steve was barely paying attention, his brain otherwise occupied; he was still thinking about contacting the woman from the bar, for multiple reasons. He was toying with his phone absently with one hand, turning it over and over, while he pretended to follow what was happening on the screen.

He almost had a heart attack when his phone announced an incoming text.

Tony and Clint shot him dirty looks for disturbing the atmosphere, while Sam and Natasha looked his direction with almost excited expressions. Bruce just ignored it – until another beep followed the first one.

“Sorry,” Steve uttered, opening the text from an unknown number with a frown. Most of the people having his number were in the room with him, hence had no reason to text him.

When he read the words on the screen, his jaw dropped.

Hello, Steve. It’s nice to hear from you. I’m fine, except for my distaste for bars growing and occasional nightmares. Thank you for caring. I’m sorry if you beat yourself over what happened, because you don’t have to. I’m coping. ...

The text ended there, and Steve opened the next one on autopilot, seeing the message was simply too long to fit into one text.

… If you want to see for yourself, we can meet. Just give me a call when you’re free, I’m sure your schedule is more busy than mine. P.S. Of course I remember the wings and Sam. Just like Natasha Romanoff or you. You are all hard to forget. In a good way, I mean.

Steve simply stared at the screen speechless, unaware of Clint pausing the movie, the lights switching on or everyone observing him with suspension way more intense than when watching the movie.

Was it really who he thought it was? But… how? Why? And— ‘nice to hear from you’? ‘Thank you for caring’? How would she know she was still on his mind-

He quickly rolled up the page; and there it was, an undeniable prove of the conversation not being one-sided and not starting with her texting him.

There were texts sent this afternoon. Right after he had been teased by Sam and Natasha. Right after he had left his phone behind – or had he? Or had someone just snatched it from his pocket?

His ears started ringing, his pulse hammering in his temples, the edges of his vision getting a red frame. It didn’t take a genius, it really didn’t. His eyes found Sam, who was now looking everywhere but at Steve, while Natasha gave him a small smile.

Steve’s blood boiled. They were both in this. Both of them. Steve was about to commit not one, but two murders tonight.

“Cap? You alright there?” Clint asked, honestly concerned.

Steve felt like he was choking on air, unable to form a coherent sentence to answer the archer.

“What is she saying?” Natasha pried instead, leaning in. Steve turned off the screen, slamming the phone to the armrest, not even reading the messages he had supposedly written.

“Out. Natasha and Sam, stay,” he strained through his teeth, his jaw almost hurting with how tightly he clenched it.

“What-“

“Let’s go, Tony,” Bruce interrupted him, sensing the thick atmosphere suddenly falling on their group. Steve didn’t care for the curious and confused looks he received. He had bigger problems at hand.

And murders to commit, because what the hell-

“Before you say anything-“

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Steve exploded, rising to his feet to hover above his friends. “Are you out of your mind?!”

“Well, technically-“

“I don’t care about technicalities, Sam!”

Natasha rolled her eyes and snatched Steve’s phone before Steve knew what she was doing. Then, he just threw his hands in the air helplessly, his blood pressure probably rising alarmingly high. She wasn’t even trying to look ashamed while going through the reply! She even read the messages out loud for Sam!

Steve crossed his arms on his chest, glaring at the pair murderously as they wore a matching grin. His ribcage was expanding wildly with every breath at the sight of them.

“Are you done?” he asked icily and Natasha looked up before levelling herself with him – at least as much as she could; Sam rose to his feet too.

“Why is this a bad thing, Steve?” the spy questioned calmly, almost gently.

“Why is this a-“

“She wants to meet you, that’s great, man,” Sam supported Natasha and Steve shot him a look that would have him lying in a pool of blood if eyes could kill.

“Except I’ve never offered her a meeting, Sam.”

“Well, according to what the texts say-“

Steve grinded his teeth and grabbed the phone so he could at least read what ‘he’ had written. There were three texts and an attachment. Because the amount of text just wouldn’t fit into one. It took a lot of restraint not to crumble the device in his fingers at the revelation.

Hello. It’s Steve Rogers. I am very sorry for the numerous troubles I caused you and I feel bad for what happened, for how we parted ways. It feels like I should do more for you. Please, if you would be willing to meet, text me or call me at any time, I’ll try my best to answer. I hope you are well. SR

I’m aware that the way we met was disturbing at best and that I need to give you some sort of an identity confirmation. There’s a picture of Sam (He’s the man with wings, do you remember him?), showing how fed up he is with my moping and moral dilemmas. SR

Of course, if don’t feel like meeting, I understand and I promise you will never hear from me again. SR

The supersoldier was left speechless, not sure if it was from anger or surprise.

He had to give it to his friends – these texts, they were… very authentic. He could see himself sending those; polite and long, signed at least with initials, which was something his friends teased him about endlessly, always reminding him that texting was about being brief, contrary to love letters, and once someone had saved his number, he didn’t need to sign.

Also, the picture of Sam was a very plausible copy of his expression when he was being done with Steve. And all the words written were very true, luckily leaving out the fact that Steve was thinking of the woman in question in more than just one way. Natasha and Sam had both done an excellent job.

Except they hadn’t because texting in Steve’s name was just unacceptable – more so when it was about contacting a woman whom he had caused a trauma she was most likely trying to forget.

He glared at his friends, feeling his nostrils flare.

“You had no right to do this! If I leave aside that you invaded my privacy-“

“You left the phone on the couch and you don’t even lock that thing, Steve,” Natasha protested calmly.

“That still doesn’t give you the right to take it and just do what you want!”

“Probably, but it gives me the opportunity to do that and that’s on you, Cap.”

“Ugh! That’s not the point, Natasha!” he shot back frustratingly and she arched her eyebrow in a silent challenge. ‘And what is?’ “Did it cross your mind that she might be trying to forget the traumatic experience she lived through because of me? That she just wants to leave all of that behind?”

“Of course it did, Steve. But she wasn’t even hurt-“

“She’s a civilian, Natasha! Just because she only had bruises and burns from the ropes – which are still injuries, by the way – and wasn’t shot or something, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t suffer the consequences. Not everyone is used to this level of stress, not like we are-“

“Sorry, Steve, but she was just fine when I talked to her,” Sam interrupted, crossing his arms on his chest as well, as he referred to the meeting after she had been treated. “And from what the texts say-“

Steve whined in frustration, running his fingers through his hair, fighting the urge to just rip it out.

This was unacceptable! This was bordering with harassment, it was hurtful and— and just incredibly wrong!

“It doesn’t matter what the texts say, Sam! You of all people should know how PTSD works! She could just-“

“Exactly, I know-“

“Alright, stop it right here, boys,” Natasha interjected, stepping between the two men and Steve realized that he was leaning into Sam’s space, his hands curled up in fists and possibly ready to strike. “What’s done is done. You know you have to talk to her now, Steve. And preferably meet her, because reaching out and then not responding is a shitty thing to do.”

Steve aged several years only because he did his best not to hit Natasha for the nudge. Was she really trying to guilt him now? Seriously?

Why was it fucking working?!

Because you don’t want to disappoint her. Because you do want to meet her.

Steve closed his eyes, taking a very deep breath to calm down. He massaged the bridge of his nose.

“Of course I will text back or call now. Then I meet her to explain that it was not me who contacted her in the first place.” He snapped his eyes open, giving his teammates a pointed look. “And you two, you will come with me to apologize for hassling her.”

“Won’t do, Big Guy. How do you think she would feel when finding out it wasn’t you who cared – or at least decided to do something about it? We wouldn’t want to upset her like that, right? Now be a good guy and call your sweetheart, would you? We promise not to listen in…”

“Romanoff…” Steve growled and she only gave him a cheerful challenging smile.

“Tell me it won’t upset her if she learns the truth, Rogers. I dare you.”

Okay, that… that did pull the rug from under Steve’s feet. Just like when she had been guilting him. He didn’t want to upset the woman further. It would be a wrong thing to do and… and he liked her, so it would be even worse. Not that lying would be any better.

“I… I-“

Sam patted his arm patronizingly and Steve inhaled through his mouth harshly at his next words.

“You’re welcome, Buddy. Good luck.”

“Now let’s invite the others in so we can finish the pilot, alright? You go make your phone call.” Natasha didn’t even finish the sentence and already went to open the door for others.

Steve was tempted to toss the phone after her. Except despite all the circumstances being perfectly terrible, he felt a flutter of butterfly wings in his stomach at the thought of hearing your voice.

He was an awful person.

He walked past his friends out of the room and went to his own, hoping that at least there he could get some privacy. A lump grew in his throat as he dialled your number, stage fright creeping up his spine.

And then your timid ‘hi’ sounded from the speaker and Steve found himself smiling unwittingly, which was something he would later deny, especially in front of Sam and Natasha.

If the meeting which you had arranged for only two days’ notice went well despite him admitting what the truth about the texts was, he was not about to tell them either.

═══════▣◎▣═══════

Tags: @mermaidxatxheart @winter-scolder

═══════▣◎▣═══════

Thank you for reading and letting me know in any way what you thought; thank you for reblogs and comments especially :-*

If you’re interested in more of my (usually fluffy) writing, check out my Marvel masterlist or specifically S.R. masterlist.

Have a lovely day and stay safe ♥

#marvel #fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #civilian reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #captain america imagine #reader insert #mcu #avengers #avengers fanfiction #no apologies needed #anika ann

93 notes · View notes

hellowkatey · 3 years

Text

What are Men to Rocks and Mountains? Chapter 5

Rating: T | No warning apply | Obi-Wan Kenobi & Satine Kryze

Summary: Obi-Wan was hoping for a day off. Satine finds she is being lied to.

Read it on AO3

Chapter 5: I Must Return

Rainy days on Coruscant are Obi-Wan's favorite. Though he is also fond of bright, sunny days when the light warms his skin and uplifts even the worst of moods, there is something comforting about the rainfall. He enjoys the evenness of it as it pangs against the transperisteel panes, rolling down in predictable manners. When it rains, Obi-Wan can be found in a meditation room connected to the Archives. It is not known by most and has the lovely feature of consisting of mostly windows.

This is where he heads now, a stack of coursework tucked under his arm. While he was elated to wake up to the soft pitter-patter of precipitation, there is something nagging at him as he walks the halls. Obi-Wan stares at the rain, trying to deduce what could possibly be throwing him off.

It is rain. Falling as gravity has deemed it to. But the more he stares the more he notices the rain has been thrown off-rhythm. The drops are not even in volume, which is giving a more chaotic sound to it all. As the Force moves through all things, the irregularity of the rain is making the Force seem just as off-balanced. Certainly not the tone he had hoped for, but perhaps the rainstorm will calm by the time he begins his studies.

Obi-Wan reaches a main artery of the Temple, which is swarmed with younglings. He has to twist and dodge the eager initiates as they travel in clusters, not caring to walk in any sort of orderly fashion. It is usually annoying when he is trying to get places, but he finds it quite amusing at his leisure. Obi-Wan remembers being that small himself, attached at the hip to his creche-mates and not caring about any random padawan moving through the Temple. Sometimes he misses those days. The monotony and his constant contact with his best friends were soothing. Obi-Wan took it for granted, wanting to reach his apprenticeship without realizing the things he was losing.

An initiate he recognizes from helping out with classes catches his eye, the humanoid boy flashing a toothy grin that seems to be missing a few parts. Obi-Wan smiles back, reaching down to ruffle the boy's hair as he passes, earning a squeal of delight. Obi-Wan chuckles, looking back at his pathing as he nears the entrance to the Archives.

As though the galaxy could not let him have his pleasantries, the Force whispers in his ear to look. Obi-Wan stops. Turning around he looks across the sea of younglings that has begun to thin, only to see a young woman standing out among them. Lady Satine is the spitting image of how Obi-Wan felt weeks ago arriving at her residence. Hair and clothing sopping wet, giving her as undignified a look as a lady such as herself could possibly achieve in public. He swallows hard. He hasn't seen her in over a week. Since the fundraiser. Does it bring him a small kind of satisfaction to see her so disheveled? Maybe so. But at the same time, for her to be in the Temple cannot be a good sign.

While he may want to just turn around and go about his day, Obi-Wan knows he can hardly do such a thing. He walks toward her slowly, becoming more and more aware of the distress in her face as he draws closer. Red-rimmed eyes follow his movement with an expression that is far less combative than he has ever witnessed on her slender face. Her skin is pale, dark circles under her eyes pronounced. And then he is standing but a meter away, and he realizes she is trembling.

"Lady Satine," he breathes, giving her a bow of respect. She hardly reacts. "Are you well?" He asks though it is very obvious she is not.

She swallows hard, staring through him for a moment before focusing her gaze and looking him in the eye. "I'm afraid I must ask for your help."

One day earlier

Satine sits quietly in her designated pod as the senate session progresses into its third hour. She sighs, wishing Bo or Kira or even Nel would have decided to attend with her. While usually, she shares her pod with senators of other nearby planets in the Mandalorian system, it seems the chancellor gave her special permission for a private seat due to her circumstances. His intentions are right, but quite frankly Satine is bored.

The senate affairs of today are not of any concern to Satine. They address issues that Mandalore has no claim in, and none are even to be put to a vote anyway. Tomorrow will bring another long session of senators yelling at one another while Mas Amedda attempts to keep peace and Chancellor Valorum tries to push a swift vote. Never dull in the senate chambers.

She scrolls through her datapad, reading some additional reports on Mandalore's status she requested from... less official sources. While Satine appreciates the data that Valorum has been so kind as to supply her with, they are mere numbers on a page. Like Nel said nearly a week ago, she is stuck in the bubble of Coruscant when she should be putting her time into figuring out how to end the civil war.

The thought of Nel makes her sigh. Their relationship as of late has been distant ever since the fundraiser. She tried once to bring up the argument, but he elected to just apologize broadly instead of actually discussing the things that were said. The more Satine considers his words, the more she is disillusioned with the man. While an agreeable fellow in his looks and physique, Satine feels like his intellect is unstimulating. He refuses to humor any conversation of deeper topics, particularly when they have to do with emotions. While their romantic future appears to have hit a stalemate, he did a good job of reminding her of her duty to Mandalore that she admittedly has not been putting enough time into.

Senator Tal Merrik sent her field journals over an ultra-secure network. He has been a mentor to Satine over the years, hailing from her home planet of Kalevala and being one of the few to visit her whenever he was in Coruscant. He has been deeply involved in the fighting-- more than most senators would be willing to do-- and had good intel.

She reads it carefully, taking in every horrifying detail. The cities that have been decimated. The death count on both sides. Clans are splintering, split between pacifism and tradition. It's the most honest account she has received thus far, and it pains her. Who can win a battle of war versus peace? The side of peace must fight for peace using war, though that is the direct opposite of the end goal. How can an example be made of a peaceful Mandalore when it is achieved in violent ways? Satine realizes she is clutching the datapad hard enough that her knuckles are white. She relaxes, tuning back into the senate meeting to try and calm herself down.

Thankfully, it seems the hearing is wrapping up. The chancellor has already descended and final announcements are being read. Satine looks down at her comlink to let Bo and Nel know that she is done, only to find a message waiting.

Went to grab food, be back in an hour -Nel.

She looks at the time received and groans. They won't be back for another forty-five minutes at least. "Deny Jedi security, Satine," she mocks to herself as she gathers her things. "We will be your security, Satine." Who was she kidding? Bo and Nel are good fighters, but battle is what they do best. Not security work. Even Kira is not made for the mundane duties of a bodyguard, but she is at least mature enough to handle it.

By the time she exists her pod, the hallways have all but cleared. A storm is predicted to roll in at night, so there is much less lingering than usual. Satine walks through the quiet passages of the rotunda, heading toward the elevators. She continues reading Merrik's report as she walks, hoping it will make her walk slower and time go faster.

I must tell you, Satine, the force of the New Mandalorians are wavering. The traditionalists have the advantage of their craft, and it is not an easy opposition to put up with in a peaceful manner. Especially with the tragic assassination of Duke Adonai Kryze-- to which I give my greatest sympathies in what must be your time of great grief-- I'm afraid we have reached a turning point in this fight and the New Mandalorians are not on the winning side of it...

Satine stops, staring at the final sentence. She reads it through once, and then again.

The tragic assassination of Duke Adonai Kryze.

Time of great grief.

I give my greatest sympathies.

The next thing she knows Satine is grabbing onto the wall for stability, ragged breaths forcing themselves from her lungs where she trapped them. The hallways seem long all of the sudden and a chill creeps through her.

Duke Adonai is dead. Her father is dead? No... he can't be! She would know...

Satine reaches a point where she must make a decision. She can melt into the ground in the Senate hallway, sobbing out the feelings of grief that are threatening to push through the numbness of her shock... or she can find answers.

There is, of course, only one correct answer in a time of war. She picks herself up and marches to the elevators. The world around her seemed blurry and slow. Nothing about it feels real. Maybe this is all a dream?

Satine prays that it is. That she is just having a moment of awareness in the midst of a horrible nightmare.

Within minutes, she is barging into the Chancellor's office, not caring to go through the usual pleasantries. "Did you know?" Her voice sounds foreign coming from her mouth. It is demanding, yet strained with the rasp of holding back a sob.

Chancellor Valorum looks shocked, both from her sudden presence in his office and her vague question. "Lady Kryze, what do I--"

"My father. Did you know?" Valorum's face falls. It is all the answer she needs. Satine stands in front of his desk with her arms wrapped around herself as though she will fall apart if she doesn't hold herself together. She feels like a child, but she doesn't care. Her anger quickly fails to keep its flame and turns to sadness. "When?"

"I was informed of Duke Adonai's assassination very soon after our last meeting, a little over a week ago."

"A week!"

"But," he looks physically pained as he stares at her, and she distantly wonders how pathetic she must look right now. "I was also told in the same report the death would be reported to you by representatives of Clan Kryze personally."

Satine's head whirs. She opens her mouth, but no words manage to escape. She closes it again, hugging her arms around her tighter.

"My deepest apologies, truly. When you mentioned your sister had arrived on Coruscant... I thought you knew."

Satine presses her lips together to hide that they are quivering. She bows shallowly. "I thank you for your honesty, Chancellor, and apologize for this outburst." Before he can answer she is out the door, tears already streaming down her face.

It is a different kind of sadness that fills Satine now. She expected to wail, collapse in a pit of despair, but the tug of grief is much quieter than that. Her tears stream continuously down her face in hot streams that drip off her cheeks. Her throat is tight, feeling as though she will never be able to open it to speak of the horrors she is feeling inside. While she cries, silently and solemnly, she is not crumbling. Quite the opposite, actually. She walks with conviction to the elevator, fueled by the anger of betrayal. Never has violence crossed the mind of Satine so vividly as in this moment when her comlink rings and it is Bo-Katan.

She ignores it. Satine steps into the lift and presses the button to let her out at the taxi drive.

Obi-Wan slips off his cloak, wrapping it around the soaking girl. He can't help but notice how small she looks. She is an average size for a human female, a few inches shorter than Obi-Wan himself, but somehow she always seemed taller. Maybe it was her strong posture that gave her a commanding look or her voice that tends to fill a room when she speaks. He was always aware of her presence when he was in it, but now she feels like she is trying to take up as little space as possible.

"Come," he says softly, placing a hand at her shoulder blades and is surprised when she doesn't jolt away from him.

They walk silently through the Temple. Obi-Wan receives many looks from passerby's, but he makes sure the message he projects in the Force is a firm mind your business. Even the initiates make a point not to stare.

Of course, he cannot not run into people he knows. Bant is walking with Garen, both of whom see Obi-Wan with a trembling civilian. They look surprised and worried, nearly stopping to talk before he makes it obvious he must continue. He presses his lips into a thin line as he acknowledges them, promising to explain later as he passes.

Obi-Wan takes her to a lounge area that civilians are able to occupy and sends a quick message to Qui-Gon to meet him as soon as possible.

The lounge is quiet and comfortable. Satine clutches Obi-Wan's cloak around herself as she settles onto one of the couches. He watches her closely, unsettled at the way she is moving about the room. It is like she is floating aimlessly through space, not trying to push herself in any certain direction. Just... drifting. That empty look on her face has at least settled into more of a neutral expression, though it is plainly obvious she has been crying.

He sits next to her, putting a good distance between them to allow her space. She stares down at her lap where her fists have balled up the thick material of his cloak.

"I did not know where else to go," she says softly, her voice raspy and raw. She looks up at him, her blue eyes seeming much brighter lined with tears. "And I am sorry for how I have treated you, Obi-Wan. It was not fair of me."

"The past is the past," he says, nodding with gratitude. "That is not why you are here, though. What is going on? Are you hurt?"

Lady Satine shakes her head. "It is not me who is wounded. Physically, at least."

Obi-Wan cocks his head to the side in confusion. She clears her throat, staring past him. "The ruler of Mandalore is dead. My... My father." She closes her eyes, breathing deeply, and Obi-Wan now can feel the deep grief radiating through the Force. He allows himself to feel it for just a moment, letting the heaviness settle in his own chest. Obi-Wan wants to reach out and offer a touch of comfort, but he restrains himself. Her eyes open once again, swirls of conflict in them now. "And now that the Duke is dead I-" Her vision focuses back on Obi-Wan, awe evident on her face like she is just realizing her words. "I am Duchess of Mandalore."

Earlier

In the same way she barged into Chancellor Valorum's office, Satine bursts into her own apartment. Bo and Nel stand in the center of the living space, turning in surprise at the racket.

"Satine!" Bo says, her eyebrows narrowing in anger. "What the hell are you--"

Bo is cut off by Satine grabbing her by the collar and pulling her close so they are nearly nose-to-nose. Nel twitches but doesn't pull them apart.

"Why were you sent here?"

Bo's eyes calmly search Satine's face.

"To bring you home."

Satine's anger is quiet and deadly. "I see. So not to tell me our father has been killed?"

For the first time, Bo looks shaken. "How did you--"

Another flash of rage courses through Satine. She pushes her sister backward, suddenly needing an entire galaxy of space between them. "So you've been keeping this from me? Do you think me a fool?"

"No, sister, please, just--"

"No justification you give me can change the fact that you have kept me in the dark. And for what? There is no reason you can give that would put any sense to this madness!"

Bo looks at a loss for words, alternating between looking at her and Nel. Having suddenly remembered Nel is standing there too, Satine turns her attention to him.

"And I am guessing you are just as complacent in all of this."

He stares at her with much less visible emotion than Bo, which makes Satine feel even worse. "It was for your own good, Satine."

"Don't tell me what is my own good. You strung me along, made me feel bad for not knowing what is going on in Mandalore when you are the one deliberately not telling me vital information." She looks back at Bo. "I want you both to leave."

"Be reasonable, Satine!"

"Reasonable?" she scoffs. "You are disillusioned if you think I am the one being unreasonable in this situation. I want you out. Immediately."

A war with words is not one that Bo-Katan can easily win. She looks at Nel and they silently retire to their rooms to get their things.

By nightfall, Bo and Nel have left. They produced orders that Kira was also to return, so Satine's good cousin begrudgingly leaves with them. For the first time in years, Satine is truly alone, and naturally, it should fall in the moment she wants anything other than to be alone.

Finally, she wallows. The grief hits her like a truck and she falls where she stands. It has been years since she has seen her father, and now he is gone before she can say goodbye. Before she can apologize for the hell she raised when he ordered her to Coruscant. She did not understand then. Sometimes, she still doesn't. But she knows enough to know he was saving her life. Saving the future of Mandalore as much as it hurt.

At some point, she falls asleep on the floor. Satine only knows that this happens when she wakes up with a booming post-sobbing headache and a crick in her neck from resting on the hard ground. It is morning, and all is still. She slowly picks herself up, stretching out her cramped limbs and staring blankly into space.

The pain of loss has diminished. The sentiment is there but she feels much more in control of her emotions. With a clear head, Satine now can see the path ahead of her. She knows what she must do.

It's raining when she steps out of the complex. While she moderately prepared for this by choosing to wear a warm tunic and water-repellant trousers, the feeling of the cool droplets against her skin still sends a shiver down her spine. She hardly cares, though, as the numbness from the rain complements the way she already feels.

Satine at least has her nerves to distract her from her other anxieties. The closer she draws to the Jedi Temple, the more she concludes that this is pretty much the opposite of what she wants to do. Unfortunately, what she wants and needs to do are very different things in this situation. Master Jinn has been kind enough, clearly offering her a lifeline with no mention of her previous biases against her security detail. Obi-Wan, however, is another story.

She can't say he hasn't been an upstanding Jedi to her. In terms of doing his duty, he has done just that. Even in their squabbles, he certainly has the gift of wit, but she can't claim he has disrespected her. Even so, to face him again is making Satine nervous. Maybe it is of her own embarrassment for how crudely she has been judging him, or maybe they truly are incompatible. He just... simply drives her crazy. The fact she is finding it increasingly difficult to present concrete reasons for this feeling makes her even madder.

By the time Satine reaches the front steps of the Jedi Temple she is riddled with anxiety, regret, and shaking from the chill. Though the walk is only a kilometer at most, the rain is unrelenting in soaking her to the bone. How pitiful she must look... maybe it is why the Temple guards take no time in allowing her entry once she alerts she is there to meet Qui-Gon Jinn.

Satine has never been in the Jedi Temple, and her expectations of what she would find are not at all what she expected. There is a simple beauty to the vaulted ceilings, plentiful tall windows, and various shows of impressive art. The visitor's entrance opens to a large rotunda of multiple passages going in every which way. The guard instructs her to wait to be met by Master Jinn, and so she has time to take it all in.

While the architecture is gorgeous, Satine is most surprised by the people that now surround her. Children of all races and species fill the corridor. Laughing, teasing, talking in large clusters-- it feels more like a primary school than a Temple, lively and inviting. She stands in place, slowly turning to take it all in. A Jedi Master-Apprentice pair walks through, the Master reaching out to tug on the padawan's braid affectionately. A small group of elderly Jedi pass, throwing her small smiles that seem to quell her stress just a little bit. In the center of the room, she spots a young man, a padawan based on his braid. He weaves through the crowd, standing quite tall over the more plentiful children. Satine watches as he swiftly changes his course ever so slightly to greet one of the young ones with a ruffle to his hair. The kid squeals, making his little friends also giggle at the attention. The young man turns, flashing a big bright smile at the kid and making Satine suck in a sharp breath.

Obi-Wan is the young man, though he is not at all the man she has known thus far. This Jedi is standing tall with his shoulders back, basking in the comfort of his home. Gone is any sign of awkwardness or discomfort she usually associated with him and now she sees a boy as lively as the Temple he lives in, somehow seeming to bring a little bit of brightness to a cold and dreary day.

Satine realizes she has seen the Jedi smile but she has never seen him grin.

Obi-Wan continues on, but then he stops. Satine's heart is pumping in her chest as he suddenly turns around, staring directly at her like he knew she was there all along. Her heart drops when his happy demeanor fades at the very sight of her. Why couldn't it have been Master Jinn?

He is approaching her now, his eyes scanning over her like is trying to figure out a star chart with no coordinates. Sizing her up, though he has no reason to do so. Never has she felt smaller.

"Lady Satine?" he sounds surprised but genuinely curious. "Are you well?"

What clued him in? Was it the soaking wet clothes? How horrid I must look right now after spending the night sobbing and sleeping on the floor? A Jedi needs no Force to make that deduction.

"I'm afraid I must ask for your help."

His eyes search hers, and then he nods. The next thing she knows he is carefully wrapping his cloak around her shoulders. While usually, she would object to such a gesture, especially from Obi-Wan, Satine is cold. The cloak is thick and warm and has a lingering scent of warm spice and a touch of sweetness that reminds her of an aromatic cup of tea. She has no energy to deny such a pleasant feeling, and even allows his hand to lightly rest at her back as he guides her through the Temple.

He takes her to a lounge area. Small but cozy. Obi-Wan mutters something about Master Jinn coming as well but his voice just sounds far away. She's distracted. Not by the things that actually matter but about the trivial things that take her mind away from her loss.

"I did not know where else to go... And I am sorry for how I have treated you, Obi-Wan. It was not fair of me."

He looks surprised and concerned. The young Jedi is not nearly as distant as she expected him to be at their reunion, but showing great interest in her wellbeing. He asks why she is really here and Satine finally musters the courage to say it aloud.

"The ruler of Mandalore is dead. My... My father." she chokes as she tries to keep her breaths even, pushing away the panic attack that threatens to surface. But as the words settle into the air, realization hits Satine like a truck. The ruler of Mandalore is dead. "And now that the Duke is dead I-" She cannot bear to say it aloud. It's too soon. She is not ready. The panic continues to surge through her until she finally focuses on Obi-Wan, his calm eyes staring at her with patience and sympathy. She looks back, allowing herself to be grounded in his placid energy. Duty. It is my duty. "I am Duchess of Mandalore."

Duchess of Mandalore. It sounds foreign. For so long her future has been talked about in what felt like theoretical terms, but suddenly nothing is rhetorical.

"Satine," the Jedi says softly. She realizes he has never addressed her in such an informal way, but she will allow it for this moment. "I am so sorry. What can I do?"

The door to the lounge opens and in walks Qui-Gon Jinn. His expression is laced with trepidation upon seeing the two sitting on the lounger. Satine looks at Qui-Gon, and then back to his padawan.

"I must return to Mandalore. At once."

Read it on AO3

Note: I will not be posting every chapter here on Tumblr... just the ones I am the most pleased with since this is a longer fic and will have filler for plot purposes (i.e. chapter 4). To read in full, check out the link to read on AO3.

#obitine #fanfiction #star wars #the clone wars #prequels #sw legends #ao3 #what are men to rocks and mountains #pride and prejudice fusion #obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #fluff #angst #technically canon compliant

5 notes · View notes